The Third Chapter

The fairy stood up, pulling on the end of Mikkel's notepad until he could see what the man was writing. The words meant nothing to him, but a drawing of himself at the top of the page caught his attention. The creature traced the pencil marks with the tip of his finger. "You," Mikkel spoke, pointing out the fairies dainty hair curl in the drawing.

The fairy chirped something, and Mikkel watched him, amazed. "Did you try to speak?" He questioned, moving towards Lukas. In his ear he heard, "You."

You. The word was simple, but hearing it from Lukas made him snort from laughter. "You! You said you!"

"You?" The fairy said quizzically. Mikkel nodded, patted his head, and said, "Good! Very good!"

Lukas' high-pitched voice continued running over the word. It was impossible to hear him from more than six feet away, but that was okay. His voice was too insignificant to travel far. For the entirety of the evening, he practiced the word. Mikkel lit all of the lamps in the house, sat in front of one, and coloured the fairy with watercolour paints. When Lukas noticed, he pointed at the illustration and said, "You," yet he pointed at himself.

"No, you say 'me'. Me."

"Me," he repeated, pointing to himself again. "Me. You?"

The man tenderly took his wrist between his fingers, pointing the fairy's hand towards his own self and saying, "Me. Me."

"Me. Me," he repeated, gesturing at the illustration as well this time. Mikkel brightened at the others words. The fairy pointed at Mikkel next, saying, "You?"

Another amazing discovery for the fairy. Mikkel had to pause their makeshift lesson to record this groundbreaking moment. Is picking up language very well! One day in and he understands you, food, me, and perhaps more!

"That is right! Also, Mikkel. Mikkel," he exclaimed to Lukas. On the page he wrote his name out, saying the syllables slowly until at last, the fairy said, "Mikkel. Mikkel. Mikkel…" He continued, then his face lit up, his eyes widened, but almost as soon as his expression changed, it turned back to its usual apathetic state. He flew around the room, pointing at items. Each time, Mikkel gave him a new word to repeat.

"Candle!"

"Candle."

"Blanket!"

"Blanket."

"Fire!"

"Fire."

They continued for hours, and Mikkel was exhausted. The fairy always found something new to point at. The man could only blame himself for Lukas' excitement. It was him who decided to give the other coffee. Before long, he interrupted him with a yawn and told him, "It is too late. I need to rest. But we can begin again in the morning!"

The man, being the scholarly type that he was, chose not to discuss a sunny, rain-less day tomorrow, which would mean that the fairy would no longer need to stay with him. As guilty as he felt about it, and truly, he did, Mikkel didn't intend on releasing the fairy. But it wasn't for his own selfish ambition, it was for science. The fairy, just like any creature, required studying.

Lukas didn't catch on. He was oblivious to why Mikkel would want to keep him. Between friend or foe, Mikkel was a friend. There was no reason for the fairy to believe otherwise. The man had given him a place to stay during the storm, food, and was giving him a way to view and communicate his world. Now, whenever he wanted bread, he didn't have to pout and whine, he could say, "bread." That, to him, was wonderful.

When Mikkel said he wanted to rest, Lukas didn't quite understand. He flew into Mikkel's room, watching the man light a lamp. Mikkel didn't notice the fairy, and when he turned to see him hovering in the doorway, he was startled. "If you'll pardon me, I have to change out of my clothes."

The fairy was steadfast. He was unable to grasp the situation. With a graceless smile, Mikkel captured the fairy in his hand and took him back to the main room. Before he could fly back into the bedroom, he slammed the door shut.

Lukas leaned on the door at the bottom, wailing and pressing his cheek to the wood. In his mind, Mikkel had left him out for the entire night and would completely forget about him. "Mikkel, Mikkel, Mikkel!"

The man pressed his ear to the door, listening to him whine. "Oh, just a moment!" He scrambled to undress. He was unsure if he should put nightclothes on. He'd only brought one pair and didn't actually intend on wearing them because he was sure he'd be alone. Now that he had company, he decided to slide on the pants, at least. The fairy was trying to sneak under the door because Mikkel could see his leg. "Lukas, stop that! I'm coming. Please be patient."

When he opened the door, the fairy flew inside and sat down on the pillow, clinging onto it as if Mikkel was going to kick him out at any moment. The man laughed, sat down on the bed, and picked Lukas up. "You're so silly!"

"Me…," he started, looking around like he was going to find the rest of his sentence on the wall somewhere, "so silly."

"I am so silly," he corrected. Lukas huffed, but said, "I am so silly."

"Good! When you talk about you, say 'I'. For example, I," he said, gesturing to himself, "am tired."

"I… you, are tired."

"Very, very good!" In the dimly lit room, Mikkel searched for another notepad and another pencil. He is learning! On the first day, he has learned to say a proper sentence! The creature is capable of—

Mikkel stopped writing. Lukas was intelligent. He could learn that Mikkel was keeping him here and would learn ethics, just like a child. The man faced a moral dilemma. Should he continue to teach Lukas, or stop and keep him uneducated? Knowledge was more powerful than anything, he'd always strongly believed that. To deny the creature knowledge. To deny the fairy, the fairy that very well could have been a miniature, benighted human, would be corrupt.

The one thing he feared above all else was developing an attachment. With the insects he studied, there was no attachment. When he released one, there was no torment, no distress, and no yearning for the beings to return. That was one of the best things about studying them. Of course when one of them died or he accidentally killed it, he would be disappointed and sorry that he'd made a mistake, but he never dwelled on it for over ten seconds.

With the fairy, there was no room for mistakes. He was delicate, just like a little flower. There was no dropping him on the floor from the table and picking him back up. If he dropped a book on him, there was no exoskeleton for protection. Lukas' shoulder was already bruised. Mikkel would have to handle him with care from now on.

"Mikkel."

He looked up, smiled, and folded a clean shirt, setting it on the table next to his bed. In the closet were a few strips of tattered fabric, most likely from his Aunt's last sewing session in the house, and they worked for blankets. "You sleep on the shirt there."

Lukas looked at Mikkel, then the shirt, and surprisingly, he began to whine again. "No," he muttered to the man.

"No? What do you mean? You don't want to sleep?"

Lukas shook his head, then fluttered down onto Mikkel's pillow, laying down close to the center and saying, "blanket." Mikkel started to protest, but the fairy looked like he was already nearly asleep and he decided to let it be. He laid down beside him, and even attempted to put his head on what little pillow there was, but the fairy keened and pushed on his cheek. "Alright, alright," he whispered, blowing out the lamp and wadding up a blanket for a second pillow.

Despite the lumpy pillow, Mikkel slept well, but had a rude awakening when he felt something crawling on his neck. In his haze, he'd forgotten that the fairy was with him and he thought it was a rat, and it was his instinct to sit up and cup the front of his neck, but the fairy was unharmed. He had only been pressed to the man's neck a little too close for comfort. "Mikkel, no," the fairy said, kicking his throat. The man released him with a groan, clutched his throat, and his face turned red as he coughed.

"Lukas, that wasn't good! Let's… let's not kick so much anymore!"

Lukas flew over to the table, fearful of Mikkel while he was angry. When the man seemed calm, Lukas flew over to his shoulder and perched atop it, holding onto his ear. "Food," he said. "I am food."

"I want food," Mikkel corrected, stumbling into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. "I hope you enjoy eggs! I am certainly not the best cook," he told him with a chuckle. He cracked a few eggs onto the pan, watching them cook and groaning when he flipped one and the yolk broke. "Damn!"

"Damn.'

"Don't say that!"

"You say that, Mikkel," the fairy replied simply, watching the yolk poor out of the egg and onto the hot pan. But Mikkel wasn't thinking about the egg anymore. He was thinking about Lukas and how smoothly he was speaking already. "You're learning very quickly," he mumbled. The man removed a lid from a bottle of medicine, rinsed it, and piled Lukas' food onto it like a dish. "Here you are!"

The fairy smelled the food, then took a large bite of an egg white. He would have loved to scarf the food down, but he was attempting to be mannerly again.

"Do you like the eggs?"

"The eggs," he mocked, jabbing the egg piece with his finger. "The eggs… is—"

"The eggs are—"

"The eggs are eggs. The eggs are flowers. The eggs are flowers," he announced merrily. Mikkel looked at the eggs, not understanding. "Flowers? Show me how the eggs are flowers. How? Flowers… are NOT eggs."

Lukas shoved the plate away with a haughty breath and plucked a petal from the flowers on the kitchen table. "Flowers ARE eggs," he retorted, sliding a white petal under the egg and comparing the two. "Egg. Flower. Egg. Flower."

Mikkel's face lit up and he cried, "They're both white! White is a colour. Oh, I could teach colours!" He clambered around until he found his watercolours. On a new piece of paper, he wrote Colours. Lukas chewed on a piece of toast contently, watching Mikkel's hand move to draw out some kind of word. "Colours," he told him.

"Colours."

First was a red stroke. "Red. Roses are red. Apples are often red. Ladybugs are red. Blood is red… perhaps that one is too morbid. Orange. What's orange? The sunset is orange. Monarch butterflies are orange. This flower on the teacup is orange. Yellow. The wheat is yellow. Butter is yellow. My hair is…" He continued through every colour, and with each example he gave, he drew a picture of it.

Lukas stared at the paper for a while. His eyes were busy with each example and each word. After the lesson, he began to point at things, announcing their colours aloud and asking questions. Some of the things, though, Mikkel couldn't even explain. Like shadows on the floor and colours that looked like blue but weren't quite blue, and the aura around a candle must have had a colour, too, because Lukas asked for it.

"Colour is caused by light. Light," he said at last, pointing to a lit candle. "Without light, there is no colour. When the light goes out, everything turns black."

Perhaps the lessons were putting strain on Lukas, because he moaned and laid on the sofa, burying his face into the cushion. "Colour. Colour. Sofa is red. Shadow is… light."

"Shadow is absence of light."

"Huh?"

"No light."

"No light," he mumbled. Mikkel closed his book and sat beside him. His little mind was wandering, he could tell.

"Water."

Mikkel's eyebrows furrowed. "Water?" He questioned. "Would you like water?"

Lukas flew over to the window, looking outside. The clouds were still overhead, but the rain had stopped sometime before the sun rose. The fairy gave an excited huff and turned to Mikkel, flying to him and tugging on his finger, elated to see that there was no more rain to hinder him. "Mikkel! Window," he urged. Mikkel swallowed thickly, allowing himself to be pulled along.