Frayed Knots

by FountainPenguin

"It's not my problem if you're embarrassed, Anti-Cosmo," H.P. said as I hugged my shoulders. He scratched his chin. "Hm. I suppose there's no help for it. If you honestly and truly want to wear a hat, then you'll have to secure a high position of power so no one ever dares to say anything about it that's negative in the least." (Written August 2016 - Ongoing)

35. Crossroads

(Posted August 18th, 2023)

Crossroads

In which Anti-Cosmo sings with Anti-Saffron, tutors Anti-Wanda, visits the Head Pixie, and wraps up migration season in the Winter of the Scattered Whispers

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After hours - or days? - on the cold stone floor, hugging Lohai's lamp against my chest, First General Anti-Buster came looking for me. He lowered himself to one knee and tried to pry out the reason for my distress. That got me up rather fast. No, thank you. I dusted off my clothes and splashed a bit of water on my burning face. I certainly wasn't about to tell Anti-Wanda's father that I'd spent hours daydreaming of a night spent serenading his daughter at roost. He patted me twice on the back and sent me on my way.

My crumpled mood dropped even further when I encountered Anti-Juandissimo on my way up the west stairwell. His limp badly slowed his descent, so he walked alone. Thumping his way down. We raised our heads and met eyes at the same time. He took one look at me, registered the stiffness in my wings, reared back his fist, and slugged me in the jaw. My head crashed against solid stone. I stumbled, arms and legs flailing, and caught a grip on the cold handrail. When I whipped my head at Anti-Juandissimo in absolute shock, he grabbed my collar and hauled me towards him.

"That is but a taste of my fury, mon ami."

"I beg your smoking pardon?"

"Do not insult me! I know you have made eyes and plans to steal my damsel!"

"W-what's this? Is this about Anti-Wanda?" I wrestled against his grip, cursing my utter lack of street smarts. I couldn't wiggle free. I gripped his wrists in my claws. Anti-Juandissimo stood on the higher step, legs braced, and I'd been flying. My toes didn't even scrape the stair below. Gritting my fangs, I spat, "We're avuuzi! And she's not even your damsel! She belongs to Anti-Bryndin!"

"She's mine!"

I scratched him across the nose with my talons until his fingers peeled away. Anti-Juandissimo, gasping, high-tailed it out of there. I caught my balance, then checked to see if his kleptomaniac fingers had somehow snatched the ring off my hand. It still rested there on my knuckle. Totally fine.

Hmph. I think perhaps he simply didn't want to be on the receiving end of my claws for long. Either that, or he had to nurse his emotional pain.

Perhaps, I thought ruefully as I made my way up the remaining stairs, Anti-Juandissimo and I were not so different after all. He'd known Anti-Wanda for as long as I'd known Mona. His old creche father Anti-Binky had promised her to him a long time ago. It can be difficult to break those ties. I myself had been struggling against Anti-Blade's and Anti-Phillip's attempts to woo her. Anti-Lance had her under his wing now, although I wasn't certain what would become of it. She'd found him attractive in our younger centuries, but I imagine some of that initial spark faded once she formed a stronger bond with Anti-Blade.

Then I rolled my eyes. As much as I could not deny the tug I felt towards Anti-Wanda, I still enjoyed her sister's company just as much. More, sometimes, though I wouldn't say it. Anti-Wendy was a far more serious individual, always straightforward and ready to get down to business. We talked about the Eros Nest, about people we knew, about Dm. Venus losing her absolute mind over that pretty will o' the wisp born with Ilisa's black and orange wings and carting her triplets around in one arm half the time, her coffee in the other…

Anti-Wanda was a bit more flighty than her sister. A bit more familiar, a bit more adventurous and bold. I hoped they were doing well, the sisters. I know their reunion with their long-lost father still wasn't something they liked to talk about. Both dames had visited their father's cabin a few times, and I think Anti-Wanda even went fishing with him once, but… Ta.

They were all healing. The sight of them together, though (however infrequent) sometimes prompts me to wonder if I should connect with my Granddad Anti-Gonzo. I saw him around on occasion, but Anti-Gonzo is the boisterous sort and old-fashioned along with it. He was always absent from my father's life. He didn't give a flick for his own children because Anti-Starling refused to join his colony. Somehow, I doubted he'd enjoy floating on a lake in a boat with me. Maybe when I had a child someday, I could take them fishing.

I loved boats… I'd never owned one myself and I'd only stepped on a cloudship a few times in my life, but they were such pretty things from a distance. Perhaps that was what I should invest all that credit money in my unimportant bank account towards. I'd have to research where the builders get their wood, because if all manufacturers had stripped the Land Bears for it, well… That rather ends my quest before it even starts, doesn't it?

The lavatory I ducked into was just as stone-cold as the hall, but at least etched with ancient ruins that provided a faint blue glow for sensitive late-night eyes to see. I splashed some water on my face, trying to rinse some of the blackness from my eye. It stayed stubbornly fixated where it was. I drew my wand again and tapped it several times against my hand, but it spat unpleasant blue sparks when I did. Simply maintaining physical contact with it should have been enough to immediately repair my skin, but nothing happened. I couldn't draw the magic down from my core. It swirled, stubborn as a yale, inside my head.

I grit my fangs. Well, I certainly can't let Mona see me like this. She'll realise at once that I'm too riled up to use my magic. I haven't seen her since the fight concluded. She'll suspect I'm flirting with another damsel, and then I'll REALLY be in hot water.

Sigh. I massaged my forehead with my fingertips, nursing silent pain and cursing secret pleasure. It wasn't like I could turn my desire off at will… I was far too experienced with my own body and needs to believe in easy escapes anymore. That crowing desire in my heart fed on my energy like a nippy cù sith, or like the growling pit of hunger in my own stomach. Let's say that I avoided attending breakfast today. While I would live, existing in my peripheral state of "bonded to a host and unable to perish for lack of food," that did not mean I wasn't hungry. I could deny myself a handful of blueberries and a morning muffin, but I would still yearn for food when lunch came around. To deny myself again would leave me craving supper. Denial of these feelings would not deplete them, and only action could ever satisfy.

Ah, but I was Anti-Cosmo, youthful mastermind. One of the only Anti-Fairies to ever be permitted to attend a Fairy World school. I could work around my discomfort. There had to be a clever option…

Could I tease and flirt with Mona, working her emotions into a storm, before she ever saw my injured eye? She would have no reason to foster jealousy if she believed herself the queen of my immortal soul.

Then I recalled that recent whispered conversation with Mona in the empty array room. A cool flush spread over my face the moment I played her words across my mind. The two of us running off together, leaving Anti-Lance, starting our own colony… Mona dressing in drake's trousers while I donned a damsel's skirts and frills… Oh, I may have been alone there in the lavatory, but I covered my face and groaned softly against my hands. Bloody smoke, Mona knew me all too well. That delightfully wild sense of adventure had its hooks in me. Forget secret teasing. I'll simply tell her I spent the last several hours dreaming up a crossdresser's fantasy. The mental image of my darling Mona dressed in a flattering and androgynous way would surely set me off with the same fire Anti-Wanda's teasing comments had.

But abandoning Anti-Lance after this migration…

I didn't have the foggiest idea what I would tell Anti-Lance.

At least I had a course of action for my next hour or two. Evening was drawing on and soon others would be off to roost. There's no more romantic time of night than twilight itself. I practically sprinted through the corridors, bumping into other Anti-Fairies. I fought with every shred of strength not to let on how difficult it would be to channel enough magic to fly in my present state.

My colony was sharing our roosting area with two others, all of us utilising a single array tree. Two Anti-Fairies were chatting idly in the branches when I rushed through the arched doorway. They broke off when I began rummaging through the ledge-nooks on the walls. One of the anti-fairies released her toes from the array branches and skimmed over to me. "Hey! What are you doing?"

I flicked back an ear at the sound of her voice. "Oh, Anti-Coleen! Perfect. I could use your help with this." I reached back and latched onto her hand, pulling her forward without waiting for an answer. Her fluffy hair bounced against the back of her neck- such a pretty dame. "Ah, which of these is Mona's nook? She asked if I would bring her a nightgown."

Anti-Coleen looked at me as though I'd sprouted hissing snakes from my armpits. Nonetheless, she pointed at the right nook in the wall where Mona kept her things. Mona held low rank. Her nook sat in a low section where I could reach without needing to float. I thanked Anti-Coleen and gathered the black cloth in my arms. It melted at my fingertips. Silk…

The servants had washed and folded my clothes as well, but I couldn't reach them from where I stood. Scaling the wall would be a five-minute ordeal and Anti-Coleen and Anti-Tosh were already staring at me. No matter. I could give Mona my own clothes… I wasn't shy about undressing in her presence. Well… Not much, I think. After all, she was my betrothed. I liked to hope she'd see me fully naked one day. So I left with just the nightgown.

I'd only made it a short skim down the corridor when I ran across Anti-Lance, Anti-Jasper, Anti-Snowflake, and Anti-Rosefire. All my colonymates were clearly heading off to bed. No sign of Anti-Blade, as I suspected. Anti-Lance looked at me in some surprise to see me in a tizzy. He pulled me closer.

"Anti-Cosmo? Is something wrong?"

"No! No, creche father… It's, um… Well, Anti-Saffron has confided things in me… and I can't honestly say how much longer we might be part of your colony. Still some time, I hope, but there may be a wedding on the horizon. So sorry if you have to be caught in the crossfires of that…"

I didn't even want to look at him as I spoke. But to my great surprise, Anti-Lance only nodded. He rubbed his thumb along my cheek to indicate that there were no hard feelings between us. "Yes, I thought as much. She always was drawn towards my brother Anti-Blade. It's expected that I'll stop her if she tries to leave my colony and follow him, but so long as you marry her, there's nothing I can do. At least, short of challenging you head-on. I'm not planning on it. You're my follower drake."

… She had been interested in Anti-Blade. Was this attraction to him bundled up in her proposal that we leave? Did Mona dream of dressing up in his breeches too? Did she wish for the feel of his scratchy clothing, in all its imperfect stitches, riding smoothly up her legs? The thought prickled behind my wings.

She already requested we postpone our wedding once… How much time do I have left before she slips away to chase drakes like him altogether?

Anti-Lance's thumb stroked tenderly across my cheek. His words were honest. Honourable with just enough humility that he dodged the label "pride." I blinked down at the gown in my hands while my eyes began to swell. Anti-Wanda hours earlier, Anti-Lance now… Had I ingested sugar without realising it? Anti-Lance's touch sent curls and shivers down my spines, like a spoon swirled through liquid chocolate and poured over warm croissants. My stomach flipped, lost at sea.

Mona keeps pressing me to lead my own colony…

I tightened my fingers in the silky fabric of the nightgown. Acidic tears burned against my lashes. Mona hadn't been the only one heaping pressure on me. My mother had been doing that since I was born. But I loved Anti-Lance's company… I'd spent centuries roosting beside him throughout our days at lower school. This semester at Carl Poofypants had been one of my best. He still carried my favour on his tongue.

Suppose I shatter his soul if I up and walk out? And am I even ready for life as a creche father on my own?

The thought of taking damsels under my wing hadn't seemed so frightening when I'd imagined Anti-Wendy at my side. Somehow, when she'd suggested I challenge Anti-Binky in the Eros Nest… the world had seemed smaller. Leadership inside that cage was more about power and titles than actual responsibility. I wouldn't need to lead my colony on a distant migration, or tally up our expenses for the year, or take charge of seeking safe places to roost while on a multi-day flight. To this day, our kind are still poached by Snobulacs and other alien races who desire our tongues as some sort of aphrodisiac. If I chose a bad place to roost and even a single member of my colony was swiped from under my care, could I live with that?

And what of the children born to the mothers with me, whom I'd be expected to raise as my own? Could… could I ever truly love them? Knowing they weren't mine?

That was just the half of it. I'd fled home numerous times, roaming solo, with no one by my side but Lohai in her lamp. Taking on entire responsibility for another individual sounded… strange. I'd come to know Mona fairly well throughout our years, despite my disappearance when I was trapped inside Liloei's lamp, or my time away in Anti-Kanin's bachelor colony. I knew her favourite fabrics. Her preferred foods. I knew the best way between the Blue Castle and the Anti-Bentleaf colony. I knew which books she enjoyed reading, every piece she'd ever read, and the animals she'd pledged her life to since the time she was young.

I knew her thoughts on politics, at least a few of the ways she wanted to raise our future children, and I knew which flight paths she'd like to circle to see the prettiest sights at all the right times of year. I knew her schedule for paying visits to the Soil Temple. I knew her favourite kitchen knife, her favourite pretty mug.

Did that make me ready for a wedding? Commitment?

But tending to all of Mona's private needs… just she and I, alone with the open sky… I mean, I didn't know the first thing about caring for a wife. Did marriage come with an instruction manual? In the Eros Nest, when Anti-Wendy had offered to become my queen, it sounded almost too good to be true. I hadn't felt quite this much pressure on my head.

I wonder if Fairy-Cosmo daydreams of his wedding day… All glitter and frills, most likely.

"Is something wrong?" Anti-Lance asked again, this time with brows arching in more concern. I lifted my eyes and locked my gaze on his. Could his eyes pierce straight through my mental shields, down into my gut, where he could pluck out my thoughts as easily as a ripe, hearty fruit on a low-hanging tree branch? My throat throbbed as though on a string. I held very still. Anti-Lance stared at me, searching my face for unspoken truths, but I only shook my head.

"No, thank you. I'm quite all right. Simply… you know… dreading the thought of leading a colony on my own, no longer under the guidance and embrace of a knowledgeable leader…"

Anti-Lance nodded as though convinced. He said a few encouraging words to me, then made a sweeping signal with his wings for the rest of the colony to follow him down the hall. Before leaving, however, he gripped my shoulder firmly in his hand. "Don't you two stay away from roost too long. I worry when you're not around."

"We'll return shortly, Father. You can count on it." I kissed his mouth, hiked up my wings, and hurried on my way. As I left, my cheeks burned with winter winds. Oh, there was no doubt in my mind that Anti-Lance knew why I wasn't flying. In fact, Anti-Rosefire likely knew the same… I simply thanked the stars that neither acknowledged that reason aloud.

I searched the stone halls of Cedarcross until I found Mona examining the paper lanterns in one of the upper halls. They weren't lit yet, but dangled like decorations from the ceiling. We'd light them in a week before leaving and make a great sport of chasing them about. This was one of those open places - a mezzanine - which surrounded a larger room below. Anti-Fairies mingled down there, their voices trilling, but Mona and I were alone in this hidden place among the coloured lanterns. For now, anyway.

Upon my arrival, Mona straightened up and eyed my injured face. I flinched. But she'd been too well-bred to question such an embarrassment. Instead, she studied the nightgown in my hands. We exchanged a few sentences of opening small talk before she pointed at it with a claw. "What is that?"

"I brought…"

The flirtatious plea of dressing up with her - offering the clothes straight off my back, asking her permission to pull her gown over my head - died unspoken on my tongue. Mona kept one eye on me, one hand resting on an unlit lantern hanging near her hand, and I heard the clatter of a dropping wand inside my brain. I looked at the silky cloth in my arms. And I looked at Mona again. The nightgown began to slip away between my fingers.

"I- I- I'm having second thoughts about leaving Anti-Lance, even if… even if it's so we might dress in different ways. Don't get me wrong, Mona… The adventure and execution of it appeals to me immensely, but I'm not yet in a position where I could maintain the charade extensively. May I express my honest thoughts at roost?"

Mona scrunched up her nose, looking over me again in general concern. Oh. Yes. My wings. They wouldn't fold against my back, nor could they lift me from the ground. I closed my eyes, silently bracing myself for spitting accusations. Dozens of voices, blissfully unaware of my plight, drifted up from the floor below.

But my betrothed did not accuse me of being unfaithful. Or of anything else. Her fingers wandered across my cheek. "Yes," she murmured. "We'll do that when your wings are no longer stiff… For the moment, touch me while we stand."

My throat clogged up. "Mona…"

Mona shuffled closer to me, skirts and feet rustling. She sounded like a torrent. A waterfall. I did not scoot back. I stayed there, my eyes squeezed shut, until I felt her cool effervescence brush against my skin.

Please…

She drew closer. Ever closer. I sucked in a thin stream of air. At last, Mona lay her cold palm against my cheek.

"Does this work…? I know it isn't, um, upside-down…"

Every colourful lantern bobbing on their strings around me felt like a hot, stinging eye glaring beneath my skin. It sent rivers between my wings. Dry snot gathering in my nose. Dust and bugs flooding my mouth if I dared open it to speak. It was only on instinct that I grabbed hold of Mona, bringing her to me before I could say any hurtful words. Touch, precious touch… I wrapped my hands behind her, pressing her body to my own. Her skin glided over mine through a few thin layers of dark fabric. I pushed her back against the mezzanine bannister. Mona glanced down, perhaps caught a little off guard to have her wings dangling over such a high space like that, but seized tightly to my arms. Unconcerned voices prattled on below.

A yawning, thunderous pit of blackness clawed across my chest. If every sliver of anxiety manifested as a beetle, hundreds of them would be crawling down my skin, swimming through my sweat. I hid my face in the shoulder of her puffy dress sleeve. All the words bubbled out of me, spilling-

"The thing is, I like staying in Anti-Lance's colony room! It's special, set aside just for Anti-Fairies, and there's only one like it in all of Carl Poofypants. Even if we split off into our own colony, we'd still have to share it with his colony while I'm attending school." I leaned against her, pressing a firm kiss against the exposed veins of her neck. "Do you see, Mona…? Why upend our current standing like that? At the moment, Anti-Lance takes care of everything. I can see no benefit in deserting him, even for all the crossdressing freedom we could desire…"

While we spoke, I moved my hands behind her back. Mona did the same, sliding hers up to take a firmer hold. Her effervescence glittered like tiny snowflakes on the side of my neck. The silvery mist of it lifted my hackles like a cù sith's. My wings twitched. Oh, for smoke's sake. Those certainly wouldn't lose their stiffness anytime soon.

"But I wanted to cross-dress," she murmured. Her talons pressed into the dorsal trachea carved into my upper back. Anti-Fairies don't breathe with those. We're simply born with them… We mimic the bodies of those we favour. While grazing her fingers across it had no effect on my ability to breathe, Fairy-Cosmo instantly snapped upright as though her claws were tiger's fangs. An expected mental ping fired in my direction, smacked me, and bounced back to signal I wasn't in a highly stressed state. Though… it likely did convey the current predicament of my grounded wings. I imagine that counts.

He did not send the signal again. A bubble in our shared magic pool suggested he had identified my situation and was slinking off with a flushing face. Poor, jealous man. I smirked, easing my fingers along Mona's back in search of the same patch behind her neck. Her wings twitched, anxious as a canary's. "Give it time, darling… Just stay patient with me a little longer as I wind my way through school. The moment Anti-Lance finds reason to leave that place… That's when we'll use borrowed clothes and borrowed names."

There. I skimmed my fingers along the patch behind her neck. I've no idea if that did anything for her, but the perforated skin there wasn't something I made an effort to notice in most situations, and I found minor delight in mimicking her like a puppet.

"Is it that important to you?" Mona whispered. "To stay?" She clenched my shirt in small, shaky fists. Unsure of herself. I paused to re-evaluate our position on the mezzanine. Was she comfortable that way? Or was I pushing against her too hard? I slid one of my hands down her side until I gripped the bannister. Okay… She mostly clamped me with her hands and knees. I had a good feel for where her lower backs, legs, and buttocks were, and with her wings beating gently, she wasn't likely to tip backwards and fall. Yes, this was okay. As long as I didn't overbalance us.

"I'd like to stay with Anti-Lance a bit longer. I'm not quite ready to leave the nest."

Mona's brows practically sewed themselves together. She pressed her palm more firmly to my back, her stomach more tightly against mine. As I kissed her collarbone, she asked, "Have you developed upper-stage feelings for him?"

… Oh. Perhaps my wandering thoughts hadn't stayed quite as secret as I'd thought. "I, um," I stammered out, flushing like clinking ice cubes in a glass. The teasing mood between us flickered like a candle. I tried to catch it in my hands as though straining for every drop of cloudland rain. Suddenly, those voices in the open room below us seemed far less cute and far more distracting. My claws cinched in the frills of Mona's dress. Oh, bother it all. I'm always caught between wearing my emotions on my sleeve or outright lying about them, and I've never really been the best of liars out there. At least not in front of Mona… she's known me too long; she reads me too well.

She looked at me then, very pointedly.

I smoothed my hands along Mona's sides, drumming my claws. "Yes, actually… Anti-Lance has been a long-time friend of mine. I'd love to ease into wei-ta with him, but he either doesn't feel the same or has buried himself in his studies to the point that he's smothered every spark. You know how he is. He reads romance novels because he doesn't experience those feelings himself. He, um, wouldn't return my interest, s-so I don't consider my feelings a reason on their own to stay. I simply don't think I'm ready to lead a colony. I mean, that's such a heavy responsibility…" My words trailed off as I realised that guilt, not pleasure, now flushed her pretty face. I swivelled back my ears. "Are… you asking me this because you, too, have developed upper-stage feelings for another individual? … Is it Anti-Blade?"

Mona… hesitated. She always had a tendency to hum, even back when we were pups, but it sounded especially loud now against my ears. Even over the thumping of my core, the rush of magic in my veins, chatter and laughter down below. She lowered her eyes. "I… No. I haven't."

"Speak up if you feel the urge to. You need not be ashamed."

We stood silently there at the mezzanine, pinned between the bannister and a wall of bobbing, unlit lanterns hanging from silver spider strings. Mona's grip loosened on my back. Then it tightened again, her hand straying once more towards my dorsal patch. She didn't touch it, but lingered near it. That was nearly more infuriating. "I'm not emotionally invested in Anti-Blade. Keeping up with his expectations exhausts instead of eases me…"

"Oh?"

"He isn't my soulmate in this lifetime. Perhaps he was previously picked as Anti-Jesse's primary partner… but it wouldn't work with us now. Tarrow predicts possible paths. He guides our fates." Mona grimaced then, almost apologetic. "If Anti-Blade was the right match for me when I'm Anti-Saffron… then he would have been. But he wasn't, that night."

"So… so you don't feel comfortable getting close with him."

Mona, still leaning slightly back over the bannister, studied my face as though seeing it for the first time. Yellow lights glinted, turning the edges of her black hair to golden threads. "Close? With someone Tarrow didn't choose for me in this life? … I can't, Julius. Please listen. I know you don't feel the same way about monogamy, but I can't stretch myself to commit to multiple people like that. I only want to spend my life with one drake… and that's you." Her arms locked behind my neck. She lifted herself from the bannister rail and grazed her lips on mine. "You're my fated match…"

I… was. Yes. That's right.

I gripped the bannister so tightly, it bit the inner curves of my fingers. I tried to stay steady, stay stable on my legs. Did she want to kiss me? Um… Was this an invitation?

Whether or not we were fated in Tarrow's eyes, here she was. She gave her consent for us to touch. She desired me. I wasn't taking advantage. Mona's fingers slid behind my head… She pulled my face to hers. Our foreheads rested, our effervescence intertwining, and I gripped her sides as tightly as I could.

"You're my match," I repeated. "Yes… and I adore every part of you, even when you nag me. Mona, I want you to stay with me… Stay with me for as long as I'm Anti-Cosmo."

"Mm," she murmured back. My blue hair hung thick and long behind my neck, and she pushed her fingers up into the whole mess of it… seizing handfuls, tangling her claws. "I never once stopped calling you Julius in my head."

"Mona…"

Her lips crushed against mine. Dry, maybe, but nonetheless softer than any worm I'd ever plucked from the ground to dangle, toy with, and devour… Cold, forceful, and familiar. I tasted brass and strawberries pulsing along my tongue. The traditional Anti-Fairy smells, and oh, how I'd missed this sweet taste. How I'd missed the tantalising torment of it! Even the sizzle of her acid against my gums could not destroy my spirit. I didn't pull away, didn't try to break our mouths apart. Why should I? Mona had initiated it, and she was clearly comfortable kissing me. I kept my reaction chaste for just a moment, waiting for any surge of guilt or fear to seize my muscles and drag away my pleasure…

… but that fear never came.

This is my fate. It's decided.

I gripped Mona's face as tightly as she held mine, crushing her cheeks between my thumbs. I didn't mean to breathe on her. Especially not this loudly, but I couldn't suppress exhale after exhale. Then we were both pulling at each other, straining our wings and trying not to keep on our unsteady feet. Her fangs pricked my lips… lacking aggression, lacking wild desire, and I pushed back against her in my inherently ravenous way- pushing until she lost composure and giggled, like a schoolgirl. Her teeth knocked into mine.

"Julius…"

"We need to snog more often," I mumbled against her lips. "I still feel the sting of acid in your saliva, you know."

She hummed her response, looping her arms around my back, just beneath the joins in my wings. I drew out our kisses thoroughly, deeply, until I knew the inside of Mona's gums better in that moment than I knew my own. Her wings fluttered in little flashes of pale pink, and soon after that she melted against me like white chocolate in the sun. Her fingers slipped back to that dorsal trachea patch on my neck, plucking at the perforations in my skin, and lingered there. I roamed my kisses along her cheek between her forehead and her chin. Mona slid her hands over my shoulders, pulling them back to my front, and wrestled against the buttons on my shirt. I paused, my hands still light between her neck and wild black hair. We still stood among the empty paper lanterns in the corridor. Did she intend to undress me? Here?

She snapped apart those two buttons she was working on. Her fingers slipped beneath my shirt, running along the tight Water-blue fabric of my undergarment. I needed new ones, I realised then… I usually pick them up every Seven Festivals, but I'd missed the last one due to my time in the Eros Nest. Though I'd hardly grown taller, this particular piece had become a mite more ragged in the last eight years than I would have liked. I might try one of the looser varieties… that might cut down on my chafing and excessive shedding. Fairies don't know the pains of shedding little hairs and tiny scales that get caught inside your one-piece undergarments until you have the chance to change… but then, I suppose I don't know what it's like to sweat magic and dust so heavily from your skin that you often require two showers every day.

Fairy couples must conserve a great deal of water together, I thought in a flicker of jealousy, then forgot it. Mona coasted her hand across the thin fabric, roaming with no purpose except to rub all the soft hairs along my stomach in the wrong direction with her fingertips. Please. That wasn't even right! I let her anyway, busying myself with teasing kisses across her neck. Despite the skin that separated us, I could sense icy magic glittering through every one of those pretty little veins. Very, very cold magic… Had her wings yet grown stiff like mine? As two minutes of her roaming hand beneath my shirt became three, then four, I cupped my hand behind her pointed ear and dared to trill the first few staccato notes of my courtship song. Mona shushed me with her other hand.

"Yes… For cripes' sake, Julius! Yes… Just don't be so forward!"

"Hmph; well, I never," I mumbled back at her. My words cracked, muffled by her fingertips. I peeled her hand away. "You have no appreciation for my romantic theatrics."

"Your speech is slurring, silly," she said, nudging the top of her head against my cheek. "I love it when your fangs retract…"

Sigh. Curse that stupid lisp, out of my control. My wings twitched with irritation, claws curling around the hem of her sleeve. For me, the time spent waxing poetic on beautiful serenades is the most effective part of courtship. I loved my poetry. I loved the romantic whispers of experts in that field from long ago… and I even loved the erotic poems my counterpart's father had so beautifully penned before he lost his life. So cruel, that dame, to deny me my favourite part.

Well… I suppose the serenade is hardly my favourite part of lovemaking…

"Shall I escort thee to roost, sweet dame?" I asked. Mona giggled back at me, fighting to hold back the noise with her little blue hand. Her crimson eyes shone above her fingers.

"Consider cutting the 'S' sounds from further flirtations, my mate… You sound traditionally childish."

How charming. I wiped my lips on the back of my hand, seething and stubborn. This of course did nothing for my retracted fangs. I couldn't exactly fix that. I grabbed Mona by the upper arm, showing very little gentlemanly restraint as I dragged her down the hall after me. What? So maybe I am a slave to my own temper tantrums! I'm working on that.

The tiny sheep pin on my collar - and Mona's too - marked our colony as belonging to Room 61. It wasn't deserted, but I could tell at once that most of our nightly companions were still awake and prattling on in that grand room below the mezzanine where Mona and I had kissed. But Anti-Poof was here, and Anti-Lance, Anti-Rosefire, Anti-Jasper, Anti-Snowflake… all of which gave me some relief. I intended to mate my betrothed tonight… and I hadn't had as much experience with the whole mating routine as I would have liked. Anti-Kanin hadn't touched me as deeply as I would have liked. Anti-Apollo had partnered my briefly when I fled Anti-Kanin's company, but that night hadn't cracked my dome. Neither had my time with Anti-Cinder in the Eros Nest. I'd shared the iris virus to a few of the dames under Anti-Binky's wing (Anti-Wendy, Anti-Tinsel, Anti-Violet), but to this day, the only Anti-Fairy I'd shared the intimacy of dome cracking with was Il d'ijärv.

I swung Mona in front of me as we entered the room, practically throwing her against the trunk of our array tree, and then gestured to the branches when she took a moment too long to recover her balance. "Well? Go on, now. Up. Up." As I saw it, if she rejected my romantic side, she could have my aggressively passionate one.

Mona shot me a look of surprise, but it deepened to a flush when she realised I wasn't joking. She turned her back to me and, with her wings as stiff and useless as mine, used the ladder-like slats of the array to haul herself towards the branches. I flicked after her, making only a cursory attempt not to look up her skirts. I don't see why it mattered. I already knew her undergarment was Soil-brown, and I'd have her undressed soon enough. My tongue flicked about my fangs, and Anti-Poof and Anti-Lance both sent me knowing glances before returning to their soft talk with Anti-Julian. Anti-Snowflake lay snuggled against our creche father's arm, his wing draped like a blanket around her. I noticed Mona glance up, catching her eye, before she shyly ducked her head and scooted out onto a branch that would support our weight. Anti-Snowflake smiled at me, too, before nipping Anti-Lance's wing. He adjusted it so it kept her a mite warmer, never breaking off his conversation. Smoke, I admire him… He never loses his patience, never forgets his duties to the drakes and damsels underneath him.

Once we roosted together, I wasted no time in returning us to the ecstasy we'd shared in the corridor. Only this time… this time, properly oriented, we could take things farther. I kissed Mona's forehead again and again, snagging my claws constantly in her hair, while her fingers went to work on the buttons of my shirt. Evidently, those two she'd pulled loose earlier had not satisfied her desire. I squeezed my arms around her, but it was the kisses along her neck that made her jump the most. Each time she startled, her toes would seize slightly on our branch, jolting her body against mine. Sometimes painfully, with her elbows. No matter. I felt every soft heave of her breast, and smothered far more laughs against her skin than I knew what to do with.

We played on like that, teasing and roaming our hands across one another's bodies, as Mona gradually unticked every button on both my shirt and my undergarment. When my turn came to do the same to hers, I didn't pretend I wasn't interested. Damseline clothes are so incredibly complicated with all their snaps and ties, but it was well worth it when Mona shook off the last of the lace. I let her dress fall with a flump to the floor. And… I paused for a moment, taking her all in. My hands slipped from her shoulders to cup her front, then ran down her hips.

"Mona…"

I had never seen her without her frilly skirts. Even her pyjamas were puffed a little. True, she went off sometimes for her veterinary internship, but if she wore scrubs in the workplace, she always changed back before she met me. I traced my eyes over every part of her. She was shaped differently than I'd always imagined. A bit smaller in the chest, narrower in the waist, thinner in the stomach… I tilted my head. How strange, come to think of it… When I sized up the drakes around me, I always felt I knew very well what they would look and feel like if their bodies met mine. I'd touched Mona's body often before - sometimes with my hand low behind her waist, other times pressing both hands against her corset, and of course pressed up against her while clothed in our sociosexual way - but…

… How strange to see her before me, dressed in the thin brown cloth that marked her as a child of the Soil year. How much smaller she seemed now, deprived of her fancy clothes.

I realised then that this was the first time I could remember her entirely out of reach of her anti-qalupalik coat. I gazed at her, reaching up to touch my hand against her cheek.

"Mona," I whispered again. She bit her lip, peering at me with wide and cautious eyes. I glanced away, gliding my hand along her front until it met her garment buttons. I took a breath, steadying the magic in my head. Now wasn't the time to start hyperventilating. I didn't need to send Cosmo through a panic.

"Okay," I heard myself saying. "Yeah. This feels right…"

Mona paused, almost reluctant as she roamed her eyes across my chest, which stole that extra magic straight out of my veins. Nonetheless, she adjusted her feet and, very carefully, placed one of hers between both of mine. I inhaled again, trying not to let my hands start shaking.

Okay.

I wrapped my arms about her waist, pressing my tongue between my fangs. This felt right. This was how I'd seen my friends do it, and it was how I'd done things in the Eros Nest… though none of my companions there were Zodii, so they didn't wear the coloured cloths. But this felt right. I fiddled with every button down her front, easing apart that Soil-brown garment, and Mona played with the thin strap on one of her shoulders. When I finished with the buttons, I just… hung there for a moment, staring at Mona's cheek, until she turned and smiled at me. She reached her hand up to touch my wrist.

"I'm ready," she whispered. Her words sent a tiny zap through my chest. I clutched my hand to my own loosened garment, fluttering my wings, before I caught hold of myself. Why did I feel so nervous about this? I'd been betrothed to Mona all my life. It was expected that I sing with her one day. There wasn't a soul who would judge me if I fulfilled that role tonight. In fact, perhaps I should feel a bit silly in waiting until after I was 160,000 to do so… I bit my lip.

"Can I… touch you? I mean… You know."

"Are… you asking?

I'm such a fairy. "Yes. I-if you want to."

"I do want to."

"Yes, then."

I brought my hands up from her buttons and held them gently to her breasts. I'd only pulled apart the lower buttons, but now… Well, I felt silly for it. I fumbled with her buttons again, trying not to flinch or hiss when I accidentally nicked my own knuckle with a claw. I had everything under control. And why did I feel my core beating in my head? This wouldn't even be my first time with a damsel. Why make such a milestone of it?

My hands glided back to her breasts. I felt… I felt…

… wrong, somehow. And I kicked myself mentally when I realised why. Because I'd read so many erotic Ivorie novels, and Anti-Fairies didn't mate like this in the stories that she penned. Ivorie never did grasp Anti-Fairy anatomy in full, I think, because she often wrote us like we were Fairies who curled up against each other in beds and sheets. Is that why I was missing some thrill deep inside my chest? Because I'd grown enchanted by those flowery descriptions, those temptations of Fairy damsels?

You might figure something out with Blonda, I reminded myself then, gently. Even if Blonda and I didn't physically push our bodies together, my recent fantasies included her inviting me to the tangled blankets of her bed. I rarely slept on the floor these days - only when my energy levels were so pathetic that I couldn't bring myself to go to roost - but the thought of pillows and bedsheets sparked excitement in my core once more. I evaluated Mona's body against mine and reminded myself to enjoy every moment of this. What did it matter that it wasn't my first time? It was Mona's, I think… and either way, I could still pleasure myself immensely with her company.

Enjoy the Anti-Fairy way while it's here before you. That alluring experience with a Fairy will fall into your lap if it's fated too, and there's no point in wondering about it now.

I ran my hands across Mona's body, squeezing here and there, pressing small kisses to the back of her neck. I touched her, toyed with her, and instinctively (thoughtlessly, recklessly) pushed my mind against hers until she gasped a little "Oh!" and wrapped her arms around her chest. A thin, soft beam of white light ran along her forehead. There it was. Her dome slid open. Loose, waiting, hungry… and I froze.

"U-um…"

… Mine hadn't cracked yet.

Mona ran her hand down her front, steadying herself, and nodded as she licked her lips. "O-okay," she stammered out, her whisper breathy. "Julius… What do I do?"

"Try to crack mine," I whispered back, pulling my wings higher. Could the other Anti-Fairies in our roosting room see? And did they judge me for it? A thin, throbbing whimper started in the centre of my throat, but I forced myself to maintain my calm, maintain my low voice. "It's all right if you wish to look me in the eye now. You can. That will make kissing far easier."

Mona pressed her hand against her stomach again, testing the edges of the thin, vertical slit that marked out her nursing pouch. Um. I tried not to follow her gaze to that. She reached her hand down, tracing her finger along the slit, and I winced again. Did she think I didn't care for her? Why wasn't she saying anything in reply?

"It's fine," I quickly said. I gripped her waist as sudden panic ran along my skin. Suppose she flew off from me here and now? Suppose she accused me of losing interest in her beauty? Suppose she blamed herself if she couldn't satisfy and never wished to see me again? Suppose she bitterly wondered to herself if her body would do better in pleasing Anti-Blade? I pulled her head to mine, clutching her hair, and spoke in a whisper against her ear. "It's supposed to be true, if I recall, that the threshold for damsels is a mite lower than it is for drakes. Your dome is receptive and it's ideal for the dame to crack hers first… Fertilisation magic would be contained inside mine, a-and if mine opened first, we'd have mere seconds to catch it inside yours before it dissipated. This way is better. We, um, won't have a pup without the honey-lock in play, so the magic inside my head is infertile, but… it's good to practice, isn't it?"

Mona turned her head, skimming her eyes across mine. "Julius? … Do you love me?"

"Yes, yes, and tonight is going exactly as it's planned to. This is the way of things, darling… Drakes have a higher threshold for stimulation. Here. Kiss along my jugular- you know that drives me mad."

She hesitated. I tried again: "Mona, I meant it. Strange drakes and damsels don't interest me. Why should I want them when I share such a close bond with you? There's no pleasure in those meaningless flings for me. I live only to connect."

Mona nodded, still unsure. She ran her fingers along my skin, pressing kisses to my face, and I did all I could to meet her halfway. I gave myself to her softly, blissfully. I'd prepared for a night like this decades ago by memorising the most romantic poems I knew. I didn't stutter when I spoke. My whispers were clear in her ear. Neither of us slipped and fell from roost- I held her close, and she held me. It was all so perfect. So flawless. So expected. So unenergetic. So simple. So dull. Frankly, I held back a yawn.

When we at last fell quiet for the night, holding one another in our arms, Mona buried her face in my shoulder and wouldn't lift it again. I pet her hair and neck for a time, holding her close… and I wondered about what my nana had said, about 'costumed play.'

Maybe I did need to look into it. I knew for certain that I liked Fairy wings, for they played often in my fantasies. For that matter, maybe those costumes didn't need to look like Fairies at all. I'd been quite eager to cross-dress with Mona someday if we left Anti-Lance's colony to form our own. She as my creche father, ordering me about, nipping or striking out at me if I went against her orders… What's not to love about that?

I turned my face, pressing my cheek to her hair. Mona whimpered softly in my shoulder for quite a while until her anxieties eased away. After a time, she wrapped her arms below mine. I felt her lace her fingers together beneath my wings. Her head nestled against my chest.

"Anti-Cosmo?"

My name trembled on her lips as though she felt ashamed. I shrugged her opinion off, assuring her with my tender kiss upon her forehead that I didn't think any less of her for failing to crack open my dome. "Yes?"

She blinked back at me, her eyes still as crimson as ever. The iris virus hadn't taken. Not this time. "If I have to honey-lock with another drake someday while we're married… I hope it ends in pregnancy, so you and I can raise our pup together at last. You're going to be the perfect daddy."

"I'll finish my research before long," I assured her. "I'm getting very close. Then we'll be able to have a pup that's truly our own, and the honey-lock shall never interfere with our love."

"Mmhm." She nuzzled against my neck. "Marvellous movements made, my mate?"

She meant at roost tonight. I blinked. Had she not been listening to me just now? Had she just blown me off, convinced that my work would amount to nothing in the end? But I told her, "Absolutely."

And it had been a good night. Better than the one I'd passed with Il d'ijärv.

… So why was I left with a gnawing feeling in my stomach that only wanted more? As much as I'd delighted in my fluttery evening with Mona, I couldn't shake the feeling that my needs hadn't been satisfied. The little play between us… I could have done it all again. And a third time. Probably a fourth. But beneath her smothered shame for not lighting in me the same feelings I had in her, she was floating on air. And the horrible thing was, her feelings would be injured if I told her it hadn't been enough for me, and that I wanted something more.

I couldn't tell Mona she hadn't been enough for me. So I didn't. In the morning I told her she was wonderful, and we went through all the motions again… and it wasn't enough. So while she danced and sang my purring praises to all her friends here at Cedarcross, I leaned against a washroom wall and held my palms against my eyes.

I had to face the horrible truth. I had fallen out of love with my betrothed. You know, it does happen to me sometimes. While I've certainly been attracted to pretty faces, I've only felt raw desire towards those I form a friendship with- those I've come to know well. But sometimes, those pulls ebb and fade like fleeting shades of gray. Anti-Wanda was an excellent example of this. I'd fallen in and out of love with her I think three times by now, mystified by the idea of her- until I realised I had her all wrong and lost those feelings like I'd been kicked by a donkey in my gut.

I wanted to love Mona… but hidden, haunted thoughts inside my head whispered she would leave me - leave me! - if she ever learned the truth about how we came to be betrothed. About the way I'd lied to her… lied to everyone, lied under the eyes of Tarrow…

It's bloody hard to place my full trust and friendship in her when I live every day convinced she's two words away from flying off from me. If I confessed to my secret crime, would Mona even give me the chance to explain? All the while, the knots in my karmic weave grew thicker and thicker. If we spent more years together, would I only make things worse? Would she accuse me of denying her a partnership with Anti-Blade?

He should have been her fated match. Her should have sung with her at roost tonight. Not me.

But I definitely couldn't tell Mona that. So I didn't. After tea time, I wooed her until she became smitten with me all over again, her dome splitting shyly open again as I kissed her pretty face. This time, when we went about it, I tried to imagine Blonda in her place… and it wasn't enough. I came away discouraged and inflicted by emotional pains deep within my chest.

What was wrong with me? Of course the problem had to be with me. Mona was overjoyed when I whispered that she was my true love, my one and only.

But life went on. That afternoon, I sought out my father's father Anti-Gonzo, but couldn't find any trace of his flat hat among the sea of crowns. My uncle Anti-Hawk smiled up at me from his wingchair, nursing a broken arm and bandaged leg, and I shook my head when he told me the story. Poor Anti-Hawk. He has an unusually tight core-sync with his Fairy counterpart, who always had been such a daredevil and a klutz. Tight syncs are often genetic, and I count myself fortunate that I've never had to deal with one myself. I saw how wildly Fairy-Cosmo threw his weight around while Faeheim fended off Snowball the dragon.

That same evenings, when I arrived in the library to tutor Anti-Wanda as per our scheduled plan, she jumped to her wings. "Anti-Cosmo!? What happened to your face?"

What? I stared at her, not sure what she meant. Anti-Wanda, gawking, motioned dramatically at her eye. Oh. I traced my fingers around mine, realising then that it had swollen nearly twice its original size. Oh… Yes. Right. Anti-Juandissimo had slugged me a good one in the stairway. I grimaced.

"Never mind that. I had an encounter last night with a poor sap who thinks he's a muscle-headed Fairy. I'll be all right; I simply lost track of time and haven't slept in contact with my wand yet. I, um, don't often carry mine around on migration. Don't see a point, really. Speaking of which, tomorrow's meeting will be out in the courtyard. I want to review a few spells and counterspells with you and we'll need to be outside the temple for that."

Anti-Wanda scratched her cheek, looking me up and down. I thought with a flicker of interest that she might protest, demanding we take our outside lesson now, but she simply floated over to a nearby shelf, plucked up a scroll with her opposable toes, and brought it back to the table. It was a small scroll, from the children's fiction section.

"So, I been thinking," she said. "Maybe I got spiky with ya the other day. I told ya I don't want pups 'cuz I think they're needy li'l ticks." She paused, staring down at the scroll, while I tipped my head to one side. Then she exhaled. "I mighta been… that word that means you ain't thinking with your heart, and you say stuff you feel horrid for when you're hanging at roost awake."

"… Insensitive?"

"Insensitive," she repeated, tasting the word like a square of chocolate. Her wings drooped. She looked up at me for the first time. "Fairy-Wanda can still get with a guy who ain't a common fairy and churn out babies like weeds if she wants 'em. So for me… I ain't truly at risk of being without a kid forever. I'm not like you, who's got a counterpart with tied-up tubes inside him. Ain't never really had to think about it. I was spiky to you. I feel real bad I mighta hurt ya with my words."

"That's quite all right," I said. "You don't have to apologise to me. I'm in vla. Use me as a person to vent with if you need to; you're in healing and I'm in repentance. It doesn't matter how I feel."

Anti-Wanda raised her head. Her lower lip trembled. I reacted instantly, throwing my arms up to block myself from getting smacked with a rod. But Anti-Wanda didn't smack me. She leaned over, her hands planted in the centre of the table, and spat just two words.

"That's stupid."

"Oh," I said, flushed. Had I offended her in my flinching? I lowered my hands. "So sorry… It was instinct."

"Not that," she said, plainly exasperated. Her wings fluttered at her back, lifting her feet a bit off the ground. "It's that culture thing. Why's it a tradition and custom that I can treat ya like trash? Why d'ya feel like you deserve that?"

I glanced to the left. Then to the right. The temple library glittered with quiet and dust at this time of evening. I looked back at Anti-Wanda and shrugged my wings. "Why, darling? Because I was thoughtless that night at Cracklewings when I knocked your boyfriend out cold and tried to flirt with you after. I know it was wrong. I cannot change the past. I cannot take away that pain I may have caused you. I must repent of that by being willing to expose myself to the honest expressions of your heart, no matter how 'thoughtless' you may fear they are. If you hold anything back, we may never move past this turmoil we have found ourselves in. You simply must have the ability to treat me as you need. How else will you learn to heal?"

"Well, I wanna heal without hurting your feelings… Has anyone ever declared vla to you before? How'd you deal with the guilt of it?"

"'The guilt?'" I asked incredulously. "Are you mad? Anti-Wanda, it would cure years of pounding heartaches in the span of a spider breaking wind if the person who hurt me most would declare vla to me with genuine love inside their heart! As a matter of fact, I daresay I'm still recovering emotionally from a blow I took many years ago. I was in a bachelor colony. My creche father was kind to me, singing with me, kissing me, and telling me he loved me. He had his adult wings, I didn't, and it all stopped when I crossed the growth marker. He… said he couldn't love me if my final adult height remained so pathetically short." I looked away. "And then I brought him inside a genie's lamp, where rule-free wishing would allow Lohai to make me taller without a risk of my magic fritzing out. And… he still didn't want me. And he found a boyfriend, and I never felt welcome in the flat anymore… I'm still habituated to his acid and will be forever. It hurts so very dearly."

"Was it Anti-Kanin?"

I swung my head back to her, wide-eyed and speechless. She knew? What could I say? But Anti-Wanda looked at me very hard and prodded me anyway.

"Was it my cousin, Anti-Kanin? You used to travel with him back before ya got your scent gland."

My face steamed like an ice bath. "Regardless of who it was, I'd feel so much better if he apologised to me. The blow would have been far more cushioned if proper sociosexual communication had been involved. But he withheld that from me… and I still hurt from what was done. I wish my old creche father would declare vla."

Anti-Wanda stared at me a moment more, her chin resting on her pointy knuckles. A familiar mole stood out on the back of one of them. The longer she sat there, the more I began to fidget. What reason could she possibly have for biding time? She drew it out so long, so painfully. I didn't know what to say. Or even whether I should pick up a study book and try to get us back on topic. Finally, she said, "Did he, you know… touch you when you were still real young? Anti-Kanin?"

My hands tightened at my sides. Who was she to prod so fiercely? "I was over 150,000. That's legal age even without my adult wings. And I consented to it. Don't waste your time casting punishment on him or you'll need to cast it on the others I touched in the process."

"Fine, if you don't want me to," said Anti-Wanda, shrugging her wings to shake the heavy topic off. She pushed herself away from the table, but she was frowning hard. Her brows bunched together. "Hmm. Gosh, you's got a lot of stress up in that big head. I'mma take a dump. Back in a sec."

"The loo is over there," I said, calmly pointing across the library. She nodded and hurried off, keeping one hand on her stomach all the while. As Anti-Wanda left, I wrinkled my nose at her crude way of asking for it. Take a dump… How unsanitary. Mona always called it the powder room.

Anti-Wanda's departure left me alone with my thoughts, but somehow, I still couldn't hear myself think. I leaned over the table with my fingers pressed against my temples, trying to focus on the scrolls all around me… but the words blurred before my eyes. I thought of Anti-Kanin… Anti-Lance… of Anti-Wanda… of my mother… of Anti-Saffron…

… and then for a while, I thought of nothing at all. Nothing but the pull of my fingers in my hair as I oozed my face between them. And for a while longer, I buried my face in my folded arms and wept like a stifled child.

But Anti-Wanda didn't bring the topic of Anti-Kanin up again. After a few moments away, she returned with her fists clenched by her sides. I sat up, warily pricking my ears. Anti-Juandissimo had already punched me once tonight. Was I about to be whaled on a second time?

When she reached the table, however, Anti-Wanda dissolved her fists, pushing all her weight on her hands. She leaned across it until her nose nearly touched mine. Oh? Flapping her wings hard then, "You said you got started on a 'project' that'll let common anti-fairies have kids. You got any jobs I can do ta help? I'm incredibly stupid, but I can follow orders if you speak 'em nice and slow."

I blinked. Is that really what she thought of herself? She said it brightly, not using the same tone of voice I might have if I were discussing a part of myself that left me with low self-esteem. I thought I knew both Wanda and Anti-Wanda well enough to recognize the way some of their traits had split between them - Wanda, for example, being much more uptight with a streak of rebelliousness that showed like a skunk stripe around those she was comfortable with, while Anti-Wanda acted rebelliously all the time until someone plopped her in an uncomfortable situation. Then she'd cling to the sidelines and ask for help until she developed a better understanding of what was going on. Wanda Prime did very well in school, always staying late to ask her teachers questions - she felt no shame in it - and pulling excellent high-star grades. Anti-Wanda had been denied many opportunities for education in the Eros Nest. That wasn't her fault and… perhaps it didn't shame her, either. She simply spoke the words with a raw truth to them. I did not argue.

"No, I won't need any assistance; thank you, dear… I'm stuck at the moment, awaiting the day Fairy-Cosmo takes a sexual partner." I let my smile curve along my face. "You see, I'm going to outfox the honey-lock. The honey-lock marks a brief moment in time when an Anti-Fairy's body is flooded with the most powerful magic in the universe, allowing one to break barriers, destroy walls, and escape practically all but Death himself in the grand journey to his lover's side. When the honey-lock instinct strikes me, I shall simply not follow its pull to my intended partner."

"Not follow the honey-lock?" Anti-Wanda repeated incredulously. "You're loopy loopy."

I waved this off with a flap of my hands. "The honey-lock is a temptation - an instinct - and instincts can be ignored. I'll simply resist it. Rather, I shall seek a damsel who is likewise under the honey-lock's command - someone who is off to meet a separate partner - and shall have my way with her instead of the poor creature the universe intended to match me with."

But Anti-Wanda was already shaking her head. "No one can jist ignore the honey-lock… The Hag would-"

"ANTI-WANDA! Don't speak Her name!"

"Sorry, right, sorry! I forget you can't say that in Snobbish. But yeah, you can't escape honey-locking. Her Highness, Queen Universe, would kick your butt." Anti-Wanda leaned her lips against her pointer fingers then, all her weight braced against her elbows. She peered at me over her claws. "Y'know… I've never met someone who thought the honey-lock was lame. We always talked about it reverent-like back at the Nest."

"I don't believe I ever described it as 'lame.'"

"You scared?"

"No," I snapped back. My pride burst like a squashed tart. I could tell at once that Anti-Wanda didn't believe me, that my furious reaction had instantly confirmed (in her mistaken mind) that I was hiding secret fears… and that really stabbed me in the gut. Me? Frightened? I felt as though a porcupine had been hurled right at my chest.

"It's okay if you are," Anti-Wanda assured me. "But really, you don't gotta worry about it… I've seen it take people before. It always looks scary if you're new to it, 'cuz changing colours is all weird, but… it's not bad. It's just natural, like lost teeth or real smelly toots."

How charming. And to think: this is the dame who's sitting on the Seat of Sky. "No, no… I have ideas. I've devised a whole plan, you know, of how I intend to set my betrothed and I up so our honey-locks will sync."

"Huh?"

"Anti-Saffron, darling! She's my fated match, and soon to be my wife! In our fertile states, I shall give her child and break the cycle our species has been trapped in since the dawn of modern times! She shall bear a pup untouched by Fairy magic, and he shall rule as the firstborn of a new generation! Ahahahaha!"

I floated above the table, arms flung above my head in triumph, while Anti-Wanda looked at me with her eyes blank, strawberry-pink. "So, like… How's that work when Cosmo's tubes is blocked up?" she asked.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Common anti-fairy drakes ain't fertile. The Fairy Council blocked up all their counterpart's tubes. How ya gonna get fertile magic down from Cosmo's core and into yours?"

"No, you misunderstand. I'll be fertile. Me, in my honey-lock state."

"Uh. How's that?"

"Because honey-locked Anti-Fairies are fertile," I said, my impatience mounting like a storm cloud. "Everyone knows the honey-lock grants us an extreme amount of magic. With the power I'm given, I shall l simply break the link. I'll ignore the pull. I'll truly be free-willed and powerful then."

She blinked. I stared. Then she said, "I don't get how that works. We Anti-Fairies only get fertile 'cuz of our counterparts, right? 'Cuz, like…" Anti-Wanda's eyes moved from my face to my midsection to my face again. She bit her lip and made a slight twitching motion with one finger. "I thought Anti-Fairies didn't have anything in 'em that could fertilise damsel eggs. Don't we get fertile magic through the core? Like, from them?"

"No, you misunderstand! That's the whole point! Once I have the honey-lock's power inside my veins, I am untouchable. I cannot be held back. I cannot be killed. The honey-lock grants fertility, and all I must do then is break the cycle by mating with an unexpected partner. Should Anti-Saffron conceive, then she bears an anti-fairy pup who is born the hosting counterpart in his trio, and our curse of reflecting our counterparts' lives shall be broken. The Universe will figure out the rest. She never fails us."

Anti-Wanda went cross-eyed, tracing an invisible shape in the air with her finger. When her finger reached the end, she paused. "Ahhkay… So if you ain't taking stuff from Fairy-Cosmo 'cuz he's blocked, what's the part in you that's gonna make it? There's talk at the Eros Nest that Anti-Fairy drakes get born without that bit. Where's it come from?"

I stared back at Anti-Wanda's puzzled eyes… until my face slowly melted into the colour and texture of the parchment on the table. At least, that's how it felt to me, anyway. My feet touched down on the table. My wings drooped against my back. "Where does it…?"

I only stayed standing for a moment. Then I climbed down from the table and quietly took my seat. I thunked my forehead on my stack of books. Then I did it again, over and over, until my natural elasticity wore down a bit and started to bruise. Anti-Wanda left at one point to get me a glass of water. When she returned, she had the grace not to say "I told you so."

"I really can't fathom how I missed that," I groaned into the books. I stretched my arms tiredly before me, keeping my forehead pressed where it was. "Ohhh, Anti-Wanda… I'm a miserable excuse for a mad genius. I really am. This will never work. The reason we honey-lock is because there comes a time when we're exposed not to the familiar magic of our counterparts, but to an influx of their magic mixed up with a partner's. The union short-circuits us. You're right… Bloody smoke, of course you're right… I can't produce union magic on my own. I must draw it from the source. And I haven't the foggiest idea how to pull that off… I'd have to be in the same room as Cosmo when he mates - in his yidreamu, I should think - in order to collect a sample, and the chances of that ever happening are astronomically low."

Anti-Wanda drew a few swirls on the table with her claw while I finally sipped my water. It frosted the moment it touched my lips. That figured… My magic had dipped so low and cold, it would be a miracle if it didn't freeze on the way down my throat. I kept my sips small and spaced apart. After a moment, Anti-Wanda raised her head again.

"Maybe you can ask Cupid sometime if he'll lift the fairy baby ban for ya. 'Cuz if Cosmo ain't blocked, then you've got no problem anymore."

I laughed, bitter and stung, into my glass. "And why, pray tell, would the Triplet of the Morning ever grant me that right?"

"I dunno. It was just an idea. I thought maybe asking him would be easier than a big complexicated scheme. Oh, hey… Let me say something." She came around the table, hand extended to pat my skin. I obliged, rolling my eyes anyhow.

"Asking would only land me on Cupid's radar, darling… I assure you, that won't help at all."

Anti-Wanda nodded to show she understood, rubbing a circle on my knee. "So… Do common anti-fairy drakes honey-lock at all nowadays if their tubes are stopped? … Like, is the tubes for making babies and just making love diff'rent, or is it all the same? Do ya still get the trigger?"

I had no idea. I sat for a long time with one finger resting against my fangs, staring out the window beside us. How exactly did the honey-lock work for common anti-fairy drakes? My father had passed on. The books I'd read had been published well before the baby ban on our subspecies was enacted. Would I be affected at all? Or…

… so long as the rule stayed standing, was I destined to live my life without honey-locking even once?

Nana Anti-Miranda had promised me that the honey-lock flooded your mind with the sense of being lovingly, completely, undeniably turned on by your partner. Even she had experienced that, and she'd never been attracted to Anti-Fairies in her life without being under 'lock. She hadn't specified whether or not she'd enjoyed the experience, but at least I knew it had ended with cracked domes. The honey-lock always does; that's what it's for. It guarantees fertilisation in our species.

I clenched my fists against my eyes, slightly shaking. Nana had also advised me to consider partners who were willing to dress in Fairy wings for me at roost. What if that did me no good? What if I went my entire life never feeling truly satisfied by a partner? I chased intimate pleasures for the thrill of it, but what good did that do me when the secrets of happiness dangled out of reach?

Anti-Wanda slowed the circle she'd been drawing on my leg and pulled back her hand. I chewed on one of my claws, watching her from the corner of one eye. Well… Perhaps my love life wasn't near as hopeless as I thought. Anti-Wanda had gotten a reaction out of me the other day. I'd had to leave the room, shaking my hands and trying to calm myself down again. Though I'd been at first embarrassed, I was grateful for it now. It did turn out to be just the push I needed to finally sing to Mona for a night.

Perhaps I'd grown too familiar with Mona over the years and had lost that flurry of excitement when she walked in the room. I could work on that. I'd enjoyed pairing with her. Mona had swooned over me more than I'd ever seen her swoon for Anti-Blade, and that had thrilled my chest like a blooming garden of lavender on the windowsill.

I ought to bring her something nice, like one of the fancy white chocolate delicacies locked away in the nobles' dining room. Going forward, perhaps that would light a spark in her crimson eyes again. And perhaps I could light her eyes in another way shortly after that.

Anti-Wanda gazed back at me, one hand resting on her chin. Despite her best efforts, a few dark blue hairs were too short for her pegasustail and dangled loosely in front of her eyes. She said, "Hey… Jist don't worry, Anti-Cosmo. You're gonna be okay."

"Yes… I suppose you're right."

We set the thought aside and went back to business. Tutoring Anti-Wanda quickly became more pain than pleasure. I couldn't look her in the eye for fear my lustful thoughts might betray me, and she sure as smoke knew it. Her sense of humour lost its flirtatious charm. Well. For the most part, anyway. Once, I caught her staring at me with a distant, almost dreamy look in her eyes. Um. It prickled my skin. Was that a look she planned to keep within the first ten stages of intimacy? I couldn't enter wei-ta or beyond without Mona's express permission, after all. Warily, I prodded her to express her honest thoughts.

"Thinking of bringing ya snacks next time I show up to tutoring, with bad puns. Just trying to figure out if that's crossing a line."

"What?" I asked, stupidly not thinking through the question. Anti-Wanda took my flummoxed face as permission to share.

"Snacks with no nuts in 'em."

"Anti-Wanda! Oh my GODS!"

The librarians shushed me from across the chamber. I had to leave for a minute after that one and wash my face with a warm towel. It took several minutes just to bring my colour back to its typical dark blue. Anti-Wanda apologised profusely upon my return. I retained my dignity for another moment more, then confided that once removed from the situation, I had a good laugh about it in the washroom.

"True that?" Anti-Wanda scratched her cheek and glanced at her feet, looking mildly abashed. Her opposable toes opened and closed around her pencil. "I thought you weren't gonna come back… I really thought I went too far with that one."

"Of course I'll come back. You're my vlakrina. Don't worry about me, darling. I only needed a moment to collect my thoughts."

Anti-Wanda picked at a small scab on the back of her hand. I watched her idly until she looked up again. "Did I hurt you, though? Like… as a person? Just pretend there wasn't a vla. Did I offend you?"

I considered this, tapping my wand against our books. After a moment, I said (as gently as I could manage), "I would have come back even if I weren't under vla. You do have a way of bringing laughter to the darkest of subjects. It… may not always be appropriate, and perhaps not all of our peers will look fondly upon such jokes, but I for one will look back on this memory with gratitude that you made a lighter and happier situation of my pain. I have a tendency to spiral downward when left to my own thoughts. Um, should we take a moment at roost? I can express my genuine feelings of our relationship then, if you don't mind."

Anti-Wanda nodded, though I wasn't sure if she'd heard every word I'd said. She did, at least, stop picking at that scab. "Thanks for hanging out with me."

"I enjoy your company. But really, don't concern yourself with the conditions of my vla. When we part ways, I have my friends and betrothed to turn to for comfort."

"Yeah… I guess you do."

We worked in silence. I spent my time wondering - quite bitterly - if an inability to produce my own "fertility" (as Anti-Wanda put it) might allow me a more intimate closeness with Blonda than I previously thought. Was it only blood transfusions and saliva, then, that can trigger Rhoswen syndrome in a partner? They say a direct exchange of magic can sometimes do the same, though I'm quite wary of believing that.

As an infertile drake… would it be safe if I caressed Blonda's body beneath her clothes? Hmm…

Maybe she and I really could work.

We practised reading for a time. Anti-Wanda, as I found out, wasn't as hopeless in her reading as she seemed to believe herself to be. She could string the words together all right and mainly struggled with their meanings. Spelling seemed to be a challenge, but her comprehension was mostly there. Any time I corrected her, she'd only blow hair from her eyes, mutter about how "incredibly stupid" she considered herself to be, eat a berry or piece of cheese off her snack tray, and press onward again. The way she hunched over her work sent repeated pangs through my chest. She…

… she looked so much like I think I used to, and Mona, back when we were young and reading through old scrolls about rabbit care and the biology of too many other animals to count. Anti-Wanda stopped abruptly once, looked up at me, and asked me if she had something between her teeth. I fumbled. She gave me weird looks throughout the remainder of our reading session.

I didn't quite know what to say to that. A soft mental chastisement to myself. Stage 10… Remember that, Julius. You can't proceed any farther with anyone than Stage 10. Keep those fantasies reserved for Mona alone.

I could do that. Stage 10 - Naikuta - was for acid habituation. Mona had graciously allowed me true, full-on snogging with anyone I felt comfortable exchanging my acid with, and there were so many stages beneath that one, such as light caresses or an exchange of tongue-pierce favours, that should keep me entertained. Yes, she had denied me wei-ta without her express permission, but she'd granted me sooo much.

Later, we went out in the courtyard to start on those magic lessons. I started with the basics: discussing magic pools. "All counterparts share a pool that dictates the maximum amount of power all three of them can channel at any one time," I explained, while Anti-Wanda floated across from me, chewing on a bit of her hair.

"Why do we call it a pool? Magic ain't liquid. Why not just a box?"

"I've no idea, quite honestly, though it doesn't really matter. Think of this pool as having different levels of depth… One of you Wandas holds exclusive access to the deepest depth, one to the middle depth, and one to the most shallow section of the pool."

"How can there be three depths in one container?"

"The floor is sloped," I said, making a gesture with my hands. "It's built that way into the ground."

"Huh… And how do you know which one's which? Like, who gets the most magic?"

"There are different tests you can perform as a trio, but the easiest way to identify your percentage is to simply measure the lift of your crown. The higher your crown floats above your head, the larger your share of your magic pool. If you likewise know the lifts of your respective counterparts, there are mathematical formulas which can calculate the total volume of your pool and how much magic you can utilise between the three of you. Looking back through the old records can even determine the abilities of your united powers combined. The Fairies call that your upthach level."

Anti-Wanda's eyes moved from my crown to my feet to my crown again. Her eyebrows lifted. Um…

My face stung. I glanced away, scrabbling for a response, but Anti-Wanda distracted me again. "Does size matter?" she asked, leaning forward. Her arms folded, wings fluttering, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was trying to take a closer look at the thin patch of magic above my head. I avoided eye contact, squeezing my hand around the neck of my wand.

"It might if you are backed against the wall in some sort of fight… but in most cases, no. Most everyone can get by on just a small amount of magic for daily tasks such as poofing objects a short distance, and if you ever do get in an emergency, it's possible for your counterparts to briefly pour their allotment of magic into your hands. Fairy-Cosmo is quite generous with me, for example. He was gifted the larger share of the pool between us, but he doesn't hold back when he senses I'm in distress. However, I am not the hosting counterpart, and even if I die, I can regenerate with a fair amount of ease. I always push that magic back at him… though if I were ever to find myself in a death loop, I'd certainly take what I felt I needed to escape."

Anti-Wanda went cross-eyed for a moment, sort of looking upwards at her forehead. "Yeah," she said. "I guess I've felt the same stuff afore. I've never really used my magic, so I mostly give it all to Fairy-Wanda anyway. She burns through it a whole lot. But she lets me do a lot of mind-melds… and then she eats my favourite desserts so I can taste 'em. It's like a thanks, I think."

I lifted my brows. The mind-meld was a rather powerful force of magic that only Anti-Fairies could wield. It linked us to the minds of our counterparts, combining the sharpest of all our senses… The ears of the Anti-Fairy, the eyes of the Refract, and the touch of a Fairy. Over Anti-Lance's shoulder once - in one of his steamy Ivorie novels, I mean - I'd read a lazy lovemaking session between two Fairies, but all from the point of view of their Anti-Fairy counterparts, who were both busily engaged on a group project for the Anti-Fairy Academy at the time. Both had the mind-meld active, though neither revealed this as they worked. They kept throwing glances at one another nonetheless, each knowing that in three months' time, they'd be tangled in each other's arms as the honey-lock took control.

I'd always wanted to play with the mind-meld in that way, but… as of now, I was still too shy to request such a thing of Fairy-Cosmo. How curious that Anti-Wanda had found a use for her gift. With touch came taste, and there's a certain joy, I think, in tasting every delicious treat in your counterpart's mouth while never gaining the kilograms in return.

"It sounds like you and Fairy-Wanda are on positive terms," I told her, trying not to sound as jealous as I was. "I wrote a letter to Fairy-Cosmo a week ago, asking to meet with him, but he has yet to pen a response and that's the closest I've come to communicating with him. I attend school with your Fairy counterpart. Wanda Prime is a lovely individual. She's diligent in her work and takes pride in her enamel pin collection. I think you might get along with her if your paths cross on the same plane someday soon."

Anti-Wanda frowned. "What's a plane?"

"What?" Had she forgotten our entire lesson already? My shock must have shown on my face, because Anti-Wanda's scales flushed a darker shade of sapphire. She dropped her gaze.

"What?"

"… There are 49 planes in the magical world. We say they 'stack' like the layers of a cake. 22 of those planes are accessible to our kind, one after our deaths, and one only for Tarrow himself. One plane - that's Plane 0 - is the Ghost Zone. Lord Pariah Dark rules the ghosts and Lord Sagittarius Light rules the skeletons. The other 24 planes are so mysterious, we know very little about them. It's said that strange beasts roam that world."

Anti-Wanda… looked utterly flummoxed. "What's a skeleton?"

"Um… Well, never mind that. Does that answer your questions?" I didn't want to overly explain any basics she may have already understood.

"It's only left me more. What plane are we on?"

I knew the answer, but so as not to embarrass her, I checked the bottom left point of the star cap on my wand. This, I turned so she could see. "Plane 9. Officially, we call this plane Anti-Fairy World Outskirts. Right below us, on Plane 8, is where you'll find the Blue Castle and most of our other buildings. Plane 8 is s known as Anti-Fairy World Proper."

"Oh…"

She wasn't getting it. I didn't understand why. Perhaps in our previous lesson, she'd thought I spoke only of theories and not the physical world. "I'll pool together some visual resources," I assured her. "We can discuss these things more then. Really, all you need to know is that 24 planes move in a positive direction and ascending them will bring you closer to Killoëi: the sacred fountain of the gods where Tarrow sleeps. 24 planes move in a negative direction, and descending will take you to the Styxian font, where the Hocus Poconos slumbers in a land without colour. There is one neutral stripe between these realms, which we call the Ghost Zone. This brings the total number of planes to 49. The number 7 is a universal constant: 49 divided by 7 is 7 again."

Anti-Wanda looked at me, then at the ground, obviously trying to gather her words together so she could ask for further clarification. She didn't seem to know where to begin. I stared back at her, twitching my bare toes.

"Were… these things not explained to you when you took the Seat of Sky on Anti-Bryndin's half of the camarilla court?"

"No," she said quietly. "I mean, sort of. I don't really get it. I… just feel stupid, listening to you now. All those thoughts are really up inside your head?"

I re-evaluated my definition of "basics" in silence. Then, trying not to look defeated, I moved our conversation back to the topic of magic pools.

"The size of the pool is inherited," I told her, waving my wand above my open palm. I needed nothing fancy: only the smoke and glitter that normally accompanied such an act. Once I'd gathered it, I held my palm out to Anti-Wanda, face up. It was my right palm, of course. Magic can travel from the core, through the veins, and will exit the palm of either hand, but it's always heavier on the right. Though naturally left-handed, I always switched my wand to my right hand when casting a more challenging spell for precisely that reason. The little sparkles crackled in my hand, shooting upward in a mini geyser. "Some of the more powerful families in the cloudlands, like the von Strangles, create arranged unions so they might pass intense magic to the next generation. But really, pool size is largely irrelevant… Magical skill will come through for you every time."

So we got to work. I desperately wanted to work on healing charms first, because that and teleportation were just about the only spells I could cast without stumbling backwards. Ever since childhood, I've never been able to throw out a magical blast without tumbling. I don't know what to do about it. Anti-Wanda kept her head down, attempting healing charms first on my bruised face and then on a few self-inflicted nicks along my hand (from holding crushed rose thorns). I smiled, nodding along with her, as my hands glittered with the silver, sparkling magic of an Anti-Fairy at work.

"There, you see…? It's not the size that matters! It's how you use it!"

That broke the silence between us. Anti-Wanda snapped up her head. She stared at me for two wingbeats, then threw back her head and laughed with shaky glee. Now I was the one who felt lost. I stared at her, clutching my pumice wand. I couldn't fathom what had set her off.

"S-sorry," she choked out, wiping her eyes on the back of her wrist. "I can't help myself sometimes…"

"What's so funny?"

Anti-Wanda grinned at me, her smile as wide and glittering with saliva as the gaping maw of Snowball the dragon. "It's just… you know. The way you said that. It's a double meaning."

"A homophone?"

"No, no. The other thing."

"… Homonym? I… I'm sorry. I don't follow."

Anti-Wanda made a vague gesture at me. "You know… Down there." My confusion must have been at least as blatant as hers when I discussed the planes, because she shook her head, never losing her smile. "Oh, Anti-Cosmo… I gotta teach you stuff sometime. I didn't forget that deal we made outside Cracklewings. I'm gonna teach you how to talk like a person."

She didn't say another unrelated word to after that, but hummed. On our way in from the courtyard, Anti-Wanda and I ran into Prince Eastkal and Jorgen von Strangle. They blocked our progression to the inner hall. I slowed my wingbeats. Anti-Wanda kept quietly behind me, poking out her head to see. Though she outranked me, she didn't take her position. To my shock, neither Prince Eastkal nor Jorgen even acknowledged her. Did they not know who she was?

The prince greeted me warmly, but asked again - nay, begged me - what he could do in order to repay his debt. I told him quite plainly I didn't feel comfortable conversing with him in front of witnesses and asked if I could meet with him at a later time. He agreed.

Once the fairies had gone, Anti-Wanda looked at me with a crinkled brow. "Who were they?"

"The smaller one with the moustache is Prince Eastkal. His father, King Northiae Wester, is the ambassador of the common fairy subspecies. Their family is descended from Queen Ercel and King Christsonday, the last royalty among the Aos Sí before their people's records were lost in the war. The buff one is Jorgen von Strangle: future Keeper of Da Rules."

"Huh. What do they want from you?"

I'd been very careful not to confirm anything in front of Jorgen or Anti-Wanda. But I supposed I could tell her this one bit… "Prince Eastkal owes me a favour."

Anti-Wanda tilted her head, still looking a little flummoxed. She didn't ask further questions, which I thought was just as well. I'd rather not confess he owed me his life, lest she put the pieces together all too quickly. Anti-Wanda sat on the camarilla court. I simply couldn't take risks.

I did meet with Eastkal privately in the room he'd chosen, because I'd told him I would. I like to be punctual and keep my promises, at least when I'm not too manic to function properly. It was a well-decorated room. Brown. More on the threadbare side than the cushy. Old-fashioned. Dimly lit. No high-backed chairs, of course… This was an older room design and it came from my own people. We'd always preferred cushions on the floor. I glanced about in some suspicion, prodding the corners with my wand. My ears didn't detect the song of any unexpected creatures nearby… but then, that's not always reliable.

"Tea, Prince Eastkal?" I asked, turning to him then. I lifted my wand, ready to foop my tea set in, but the fairy shook his head. He was dressed primly, though not at all in princely attire. He wore a purple shirt and woven trousers. I almost felt overdressed. After all, I'd thrown on a button-up shirt, my blue coat, and my cravat for this.

"No tea… I don't want to waste your time."

"Oh." He couldn't spare even a moment for afternoon tea? I evaluated the room again and confirmed to myself that yes, my analysis of threadbare had not been inaccurate. I felt an uncomfortably warm shudder down my spine simply when he looked at me with those big mismatched eyes. Eastkal floated towards me, reaching out to take my hand. I let him, slowly, and he clasped it in his own.

"The anxiety has driven me wild ever since that day in Faeheim. I owe you a favour. I am not insensitive enough to ask if there is one grand gesture I can offer you in thanks for saving my life… but perhaps I can repay your deed in multiple, smaller ways. Tell me what I can do to declare my respect for your efforts. You shall have me absolutely."

I very much wish you would keep your mouth shut on the subject of my illegal transformation. But I couldn't just say that directly. It would be unthinkably rude. I dropped my gaze to our hands, watching uneasily as the fairy played his fingers over my knuckles. "Well, there really isn't any…"

I stopped. The gears fluttered in my head, grinding forward. Then I lifted my head and stared quizzically at the prince. He gazed back at me, wide-eyed and flushed.

"Yes…?"

"Can you propose a lift to the ban on common fairy offspring? All I've ever wanted since the ban went up, Prince… is the chance to be a father and hold my own blood-related child in my arms. It was largely my counterpart's mutation which sentenced us to this fate in the first place, so I suppose you can imagine why the desire rages so hotly beneath my skin."

Prince Eastkal tipped his head, letting go of my hand. "That's a tall ask… My father and I don't outrank the Eros Triplets…"

"Perhaps not, but surely the Fairy Council will listen to you if you propose lifting the ban in future Council meetings. After all, if they won't lift it then the royal bloodline ends with you. And surely you're allowed to protest against that."

He didn't move. His red and green eyes gleamed with sparking pity. I drifted closer, fixating on those eyes, and tried my best to look like an adorable half-squashed spider in a water spout.

"I know you can help me, Prince. We Anti-Fairies believe strongly in fated meetings. I think it was no accident that I saved your life in Faeheim. If you truly wish to repay that debt to me, I do hope you'll consider the Anti-Fairies who are affected secondhand by a mutation we don't carry and which we never asked to be researched at our expense. Is it not cruel to force us to comply to all of this?"

Prince Eastkal stroked his chin, nodding slowly. I could feel the whispering wind of fate flit through one ear, caress his brain, and fly out the other. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask my father if he would bring the ban up next Council meeting… The Eros Triplets enacted the ban 160,000 years ago, but it can be overturned by a Council vote. I'll see what I can do."

"Ta, mate! You've no idea what it means to me!"

"My life, Anti-Cosmo. You found me. And you saved me."

"Yes, well… Let's not tell anyone about that bit, hm?"

We made verbal agreement of the matter. I couldn't help but notice that Eastkal did not initiate a geis, but I didn't press him on it. I can imagine how dangerous it would be to propose a suggestion contrary to the wishes of the Eros Triplets in the first place… let alone do so time and time again, under vow to never stop. His honour should be enough to complete the job. I was willing to stake a thought on that.

I went about the next few days with as much dignity and grace as I could: socialising with others, wandering the temple's art gallery, visiting with my mother and brother, and so forth. My mum floated up to me, tapping their chin with one claw and asking quietly whether I'd put together any ideas on how to seize power from the Anti-Coppertalon family. They… they were serious about this, weren't they? I blinked up at them, hesitated, and looked away.

"I don't know, Mother… but perhaps we should consider Anti-Wanda's rank. It isn't public knowledge that she and her sister are descended of the Anti-Coppertalon line. In fact, most people have no idea that Anti-Buster is really Anti-Dusty, the elder brother of Anti-Bryndin. After all, I mean, it was kept hidden to avoid the negative press of Anti-Ember bearing unfavoured red-eyed offspring. We all know Ember and Henrie Prime agreed to a one-night stand so they might produce an heir to the throne, and Anti-Bryndin was born of that union. The other half-brothers were subsequently brushed aside. Anti-Dusty was never granted an inheritance, but he IS the firstborn. Perhaps… there is something there we can pick at? Either jealousy or the law? Perhaps we could use that somehow."

My mother, floating with folded arms before me, drummed their fingers against their elbows and frowned. "Well, I'm not sure that matters. Firstborn or not, Anti-Bryndin was the spirit-chosen heir. Why, even if the truth of Anti-Buster's birth came to light - and Anti-Wanda's along with it - I don't suspect it would change any minds. The nature spirits withheld the iris virus when they were born. The people won't be swayed by birth order when the spirits were clearly against it."

"Yes, I suppose you're right…"

Is treason supposed to make your skin crawl quite this much?

I met with some of my other relatives, along with old friends. I even found my Auntie Anti-Potter outside the room her colony was staying in. Despite my limited Vatajasa, we had a charming debate on whether black cats or upside-down horseshoes were the better design for the edge of a blanket she was working on. Through the archway into the room, I could see my Uncle Anti-Harold digging through a travelling trunk. My cousin Anti-Poof hovered beside him, chewing on a cookie. When I questioned by aunt about the nature of the trunk, she pulled off her glasses and massaged the eyes behind them.

"Oh, your great goose of an uncle… He gets ideas, Eskel. Well… To be more precise, he bores easily. He brought far too many old crafts to work on. I told him not to. I said, 'Vur, you leave that trunk right where it is on the landing, and don't you even think about dragging it through my gardenias' but you know how he gets, Eskel…"

"I remember his model ships." That took a while to convey in Vatajasa. I didn't know the word for "model," so I awkwardly fumbled through my sentence as "I can think of tiny boats." It certainly wasn't one of my more embarrassing struggles with the language, but Auntie Anti-Potter peered at me with an inkling of disappointment anyway. I ducked my head, not sure what else to say.

"Well," she said, sighing loudly, "he's really into sewing at the moment… In fact, that's why your cousin Maa is here; this all started with a torn jacket sleeve. I couldn't tell you what they're up to now, but they're sure to be here a while longer. Speaking of, where is Lin? Or your mother? They were both around an hour or two ago. By all means, we can snatch up a timestream snippet to celebrate all the cousins together. Once Tata finds her way back from the lavatory, of course."

Ah. I feigned like I couldn't understand what was said, smiling semi-blankly, even though pretending to be less than what I was capable of certainly left my eyelid twitching. I mean no insult to the maternal side of my extended family, but…

… I really didn't want a picture. Lin - or Birds - was the shortened form of Anti-Robin's name in Vatajasa (That short form is called the "crown name," technically). Of course, mine was Eskel - Milbark trees - while Maa was Anti-Poof's crown name, meaning Mountain. Tata - Stars - was my cousin, Anti-Estella Anti-Lunifly. Which was the cardinal issue here. For the sake of family unity, I respectfully did not tattle on her whereabouts to her mother… even though I'd seen for myself only an hour ago that she was downing shots of soda at the bar. My cousin had a drinking problem. Every one of us knew it, but we were encouraged not to speak of it. After all, it was "only a passing phase…" as if she wasn't now raising a child who already had his adult wings.

Sigh. My aunt and uncle were gracefully getting on in years. Their personalities tended toward irritable, so when I did see a chance for escape, I took it and didn't look back.

My second conversation with Anti-Robin turned out to be far less pleasant. I wasn't entirely sure of the details on his condition - I barely understood my own divus displacement disorder, let alone whatever it was they were suffering through - but my brother didn't recognise me when our paths crossed. They shot me strange looks at first, but only when they spoke did I realise how far gone they were. I had to pull them away from the dining hall… and fast.

"Why are you in Cedarcross?" they asked. Their voice came out as guarded… but open to discussing this with me. "You don't belong here. Your counterpart doesn't even migrate."

"What?" I asked at first, thinking they must have meant Fairy-Cosmo. It was only after a few sentences of back and forth discussion that it clicked. In their mind, they weren't speaking to Anti-Cosmo. My brother thought they were addressing Ilisa Maddington.

"Are you here to evaluate the legitimacy of your babies?" they asked, rather scornfully. "Before you kill the ones without wisp wings, I mean? Travelling to Anti-Fairy World will do you no good. Far too many honey-locked drakes deposit their pups in an anti-wisp's pouch and wipe their hands, done with it all. Anti-wisps have four."

I didn't know what to say. For a few minutes in a separate room off the dining hall, I tried to get answers from my brother regarding Ilisa's past. But when they got stuck on a certain point, cycling through their responses over and over, I decided this case of mistaken identity needed to draw to a close.

"Anti-Robin," I gently cut in, "I think you're having a hallucination. You were born with a nature spirit tangled in your head… Do you remember that? It's impacting your thoughts."

My brother sat down wordlessly, massaging their temples. Did that help? Did I make it worse? I stayed long enough to ensure they could be left alone safely, then granted them their private space. I passed the info to my mother, but they only rolled my eyes and insisted Anti-Robin had grown up to be a lazy, goody-goody bum. What did it matter if they were confused when they'd left home an age ago? Et cetera.

My paranoia finally got the best of me and I went to visit them again, but Anti-Robin had already disappeared somewhere in the crowd. While floating about in search of them, I spotted Nana Anti-Miranda. I pretended not to see. In my stubbornness, I had nothing more to say to her. Not about Blonda and not about anything else. Hmph.

But for all the people I met at migration, there was no sign of Fairy-Cosmo. He did not meet with me, so I could not ask him of his love life or future family plans. Instead, I wrote letters to Blonda. Letters I planned to never send, seeing as letters would arrive later than I would, even if I mailed them off by dawn. But… perhaps I'd hand them to her in person when next we met. It's cruel and funny, you know. Up until we parted ways for the season, I hadn't realised just how much of a confidant she'd become for me, and how deeply I valued her patience and presence. There were some things that I could never tell Blonda, for my words sounded so harsh that I couldn't imagine relaying them without physical touch to soothe them, but the things I could say…

Oh, the things I could say! Words I wouldn't dare whisper in an Anti-Fairy's ear, for we are creatures of gossip and sharing by nature, and I couldn't bear the thought of such things coming back to haunt my social life.

I can't wait to see you again, I wrote to her. Because it was true. Throughout my time away, I'd thought on and off about the ways I could embrace her. I read up on Rhoswen syndrome in Cedarcross's library. Obviously, so long as Blonda and I kept our clothing on, our domes shut, and our mouths apart, we couldn't trigger the syndrome in one another's bodies. But would it really become an issue if we made the teeniest adjustments to those rules? Say we only kissed for a moment… or I barely prodded inside her pouch. Would that be so terribly wrong?

I tried to convince myself that Blonda had merely suggested I treat her like an Anti-Fairy. That she invited me to speak to her in our sociosexual way, which would end abruptly at Stage 5. But the thoughts that flooded my mind as I penned those letters were vulgar ones that would get me smacked upside the head. Had Jay Rhoswen himself felt this way long ago, when he fell in love with his wife's counterpart instead of with his wife? That tragic tale ended with his death, with Anti-Shylinda stabbing him over and over as he lost control and forced himself on her, but… still. For a few moments, their love must have been so beautiful. It defied boundaries, after all.

I wrote dirty, filthy things in my messages to Blonda before locking them away in my demon summoner's pouch, never to be seen. Rhoswen alone knows how badly I wished to explore her milky white body, if for no other reason than the sake of fanatic experiment. Her peaceful eyes, her narrow hips, her perky breasts, her warm tongue tangling with my own… Gods, I wanted that now, even if it meant the possibility of Mona backing down from a romp around the roost. I itched to take her, and perhaps if I enjoyed a little fling or two, I might ask her if she could see herself as one of the dames under my wing.

Sigh. You know, I don't care what Nana Anti-Miranda cautioned me over. I longed to squarely position myself in a soft, private yidreamu with a wildly addictive Fairy in my arms. I craved Blonda's wild hair. Her warmth, the likes of which no Anti-Fairy could ever naturally provide. Would her mouth be warm as well, once I shared my lips with hers? I detailed the full, raw extent of my ragged desires in those letters I hid away and wondered - rather painfully - if Ivorie ever wrote erotica on commission. Perhaps that would be a worthy use of my spare coins.

I need to land myself a cohort-aged lover born in the Love or Fire years, I thought, zipping up the pouch that hid those secret letters at my hip. Plotting out my fantasies was only half the fun. Truly experiencing them was like another plane of existence altogether. A vacation for the mind, body, and soul. Did you know that in all my years in this world, even in my brief relationship with Anti-Kanin, I had only once been on the receiving end of inner-pouch touch? It was with Anti-Cinder in the Eros Nest. Despite his status as a Leaves, he'd partnered me like I was his subordinate. And I'd melted at his touch. At the feel of him, the weight and shape and coolness of him… I longed for that again, perhaps more so because that sensation was something Mona could never provide. Blonda couldn't either, her shape incorrect, but still… it was lovely to pretend.

I did need a dominant lover. I think that even in my past life, I hadn't experienced such incredible bliss inside me like the kind that Anti-Cinder tenderly bestowed. Ilisa, a prisoner of the Nest herself, had been tasked with impregnating drakes for the survival of her species. She had no relations with damsels. No one had partnered her in that way.

Well… Perhaps one creature had. I paused then, staring at the Water-blue betrothal ring glimmering on my hand. Ilisa's journal spoke of her illicit relationship with Sunnie himself, secretly engaged inside his echo chamber. Every ounce of detail had been provided. The words of sacred love he spoke to her… the way he charmed her, the way he made her writhe. Ilisa was nothing if not thorough in her research- she'd always longed to be remembered for her brains and sense of humour as much as for her beautiful wings.

Some folks claimed Ilisa had gone mad after touching a nature spirit so deeply. They claimed she killed herself in the war, setting off the tunnel collapse intentionally to bury herself alive. Others remained convinced that she made up the whole exchange with Sunnie, seeking attention and nothing more. Not unlikely. No one could read her mind. You know, perhaps the story was mere fantasy, but I liked to believe it true. Ilisa Maddington… the dame who'd once lain in tandem with a nature spirit.

Was it wrong to picture myself there in the Water Temple's depths, as Anti-Cosmo, while I allowed the Water spirit to pin me down and do to me whatever wild thing he pleased? Everyone knew of Sunnie's incredibly picky nature. After all, he hadn't taken a medium in over 800,000 years. Ilisa's allure must have been undeniable, and in the throes of my manic evenings alone, such a fantasy felt so right.

Then I grimaced. There were always reasons, I had to remind myself, that the Ilisa in me withheld so many memories of my past. Her childhood had been one of simultaneous neglect and overbearing obsession, and her adulthood full of illicit acts like these. Those memories weren't appropriate for youthful, inexperienced me. I think she still saw me often as a child. Perhaps once I grew a tad more experienced with my body… I could let the Anti-Cosmo part of me explore those memories. Embrace my soul in full. When the time was right.

After a long evening, I left the private study where I'd written my letters, my face aflame with ice crystals, and tried to keep a casual air around Anti-Poof and our friends. We caught each other up on recent adventures, and Anti-Julian showed us all timestream images of the places he'd travelled with his colony. Anti-Edmin taught us how to play a card game he'd designed, and Anti-Coleen tagged along after me wherever I went, her scarlet eyes shining. Her behaviour mimicked that of an injured puppy left on my doorstep in the rain. I'm certain Fairy-Cosmo would have been all over her for it… but frankly, I wasn't one to find puppies very cute. Roaches… Those were cute. Minor nag to our fun she was, but I did my best to tolerate her presence. If I didn't, she'd be quick to remind me where our intertwined fates were someday meant to lead. Her future boss, indeed…

"Anti-Lance?" I asked at one point when we were in the art gallery. The rest of our colony had scampered on ahead, but I liked to take my time studying the painted figures on the walls. Nature spirits, mostly… and as far as I could tell, Dame Artemis had never done any further damage with her golden sponge. I pulled on my creche father's arm, bringing his eyes down from the paintings to me. "I said something the other day that Anti-Wanda found quite humourous. Perhaps you can offer a bit of insight." I relayed to him what I'd said in regards to magic pools and the overall lack of importance when it came to their size. Anti-Lance got a good chuckle out of it, hands deep in his pockets. He shook his head. I looked at him, wide-eyed and confused, until he touched his palms to both my cheeks. He squeezed my face like a ripe fruit hanging from a tree.

"Oh, my sweet summerling… I have just the Ivorie novel for you to read tonight."

"Ah," was my response, accented with a wince. "If Ivorie is your reference material, perhaps I have my answer after all."

"Perhaps you do," Anti-Lance told me, smooth and smiling as he always was, and my stomach did a flip deep down there in my gut. "But you'll enjoy the play by play so much more than a boring dictionary definition. We're still young. Don't make an uptight pixie of yourself now."

He gave me that book following afternoon tea, and I soaked up every last line of the thing until I'd memorised every possible remark of innuendo Anti-Wanda could toss at me. I bragged as much when I went to see her that evening for our tutoring, puffing up my chest, and she got up and left our library table giggling. I floated there, confused, and watched her pace in a circle by the window before she sat down again. She picked up her quill, then flicked her eyes to me.

"You's so pure, Anti-Cosmo… Y'know, you coulda just asked me to explain instead a' taking time to look it up. I never knew anyone who fit the title 'bookworm' half as much as you."

This time, I was ready for her little comebacks. "Anti-Wanda, how bold you are to discuss my worm in polite company," I scoffed, and she fell over laughing so hard, she turned purple in the face.

"Th-that wasn't s'posed to be a joke," she wheezed when she could speak again, and I tilted my head and wondered if perhaps I'd misunderstood how double entendres work after all. I don't think this game of second-guessing and overthinking words is for me.

In the end, migration season ended with the release of the coloured lanterns, and I held Mona's hand as we flew after them with the rest of Anti-Lance's colony. Chasing lanterns is good fun, and the pair of us alone smacked our wands against a good four dozen of them to poof them back to Cedarcross before they could touch any tree leaves. I skimmed hand in hand with Mona for a while until she grew tired and started dropping back, so I flew beneath Anti-Lance for most of the glide across empty no-cloud space. I don't say it enough, but Earth is breathtaking and beautiful.

"I'd love to meet an angel someday," I absentmindedly relayed to Anti-Lance. When he questioned why, I simply shrugged. "I heard they just started developing language. Just recently, they were greenlit for the godparenting program. Do you know Wanda, that dame in school who dyes her hair fuschia pink? She's working towards a godparent licence and will get her first assignment before long. I'm incessantly curious. I need to ask if she'd be willing to write to me."

Anti-Rosefire, coasting on my left, glanced over at me then. "Oh, that's right… The godparenting study opens for applicants next week. My primary counterpart is signing up for it. You need 600 stars to even be considered, right?"

"Wanda said 800, and a letter of recommendation."

"Consider applying," Anti-Lance urged me. What? Still gliding forward, I rolled on my back to get a better look at him. He caught my eye and nodded his encouragement. "No Anti-Fairy has ever held a godparent licence. I've no interest in that path myself, but if it's even a small consideration, why not throw an application that way? I know you have 829 stars to your name, and it might be fun. Anti-Bryndin will likely vouch for you, and your mother might back him up. They're high-ranking individuals in Anti-Fairy World and they've known you your whole life. Don't sell yourself short."

"That's true… Oh, drat. I should have tried to finagle something out of Prince Eastkal… Oh, and the Head Pixie. They were both at migration. Eastkal is a prince and the Head is another ambassador and has a way with words."

Anti-Lance made a face, but didn't disagree. I spent the rest of the night lost in thought… drinking in the beauty of the blue and green planet beneath the clouds. Blonda had told me a dozen times that godparenting seemed like thankless, frivolous work and she couldn't see herself doing a moment of it… but Wanda remained cheery and passionate about her dreams nonetheless.

Hmm…

"Father," I burst out when we came to land at roost for the night. I grabbed his arm, holding him in the air before his feet could hit the branch. "Go on without me to school. You've talked me into it; I'm circling back to find references for my application. I'm throwing my hat into the godparent ring."

Anti-Lance regarded me in light suspicion, tightening his hand around my shoulder. "All right. Find your references… but once you have them, you are to come straight back to my colony. I want you under my wing before the semester begins. Don't get lost. Don't wander off. Don't let your mind trick you into believing I don't want you back."

"Tut tut," I said, rolling my eyes. The rest of our colony might be settling in, but my wings itched for further flight. My energy sloshed back and forth inside my chest. I could fly a million cloudlengths if I had to. "Father, you wound me… I won't lose myself. I'll be back before you even know it."

"Anti-Cosmo, I mean it… Don't live like a rogue too long." Anti-Lance gripped my second shoulder, which made me jump. I tilted back my head to blink up at his eyes. They were stern. His black and silver hair glimmered in the starlight, fluttering like grayscale wheat in the gentle wind. "When I took you in during middle school, and I got a reminder again when you joined me this last year, Anti-Elina warned me not to let you fly off by yourself. I know all about the gangrene. Promise me you won't split off alone for long. You signed your name when you left Cedarcross, so you're my responsibility at least until spring migration."

"Yes, yes! I promise, on my honour, I shall return!" I clasped my hands, pressing out my lower lip. "Just let me do this one little thing, Anti-Lance… I don't think I ask you for very much."

"Okay," he murmured back. His fingers slid down my shoulders, wandering my arms until he came to grip my hands in his. "I trust you… and when you get back, then maybe… if you feel ready for it… I thought we might want to take things up to wei-ta level."

Mona flinched. Icy effervescence caught in my throat. I jerked up my head. Stage 11? He… he couldn't mean that, really… surely not! I mean, um… Yes, absolutely, but… Did he want that intimacy as much as I did? My wingbeats kicked up in a flutter I couldn't suppress. Anti-Lance smiled at me… coldly, knowingly, and his eyes danced with secret pride.

"I thought that might spark your attention. I guess I won't worry for you now."

I groaned behind my fangs, already playing the touch of his skin against my own. "Oh, you're a cruel and horrid tease… Do you really mean that about wei-ta, Anti-Lance? But I thought… I thought you were, you know…" I didn't know the right way to say it. "I thought the upper stages of intimacy weren't really your thing."

"I don't see myself as a romantic person," he corrected. "That doesn't mean I avoid the 13 stages. I'll share them when my friendships feel close enough; I just don't want it mistaken for romantic affection. Wei-ta is purely sociosexual to me."

All right, then. I hugged him, kissed Mona good-bye, and flew off to get those letters I would need. My first stop was Pixie Village, because I thought that trek might sap up the majority of my remaining vacation days. Crossing the border into Fairy World is never truly easy, but this time, Tarrow was in my favour and I pulled it off. Once across, I dropped to Plane 3 and flew as fast as I possibly could to the village. Frankly, I might call it a town by this point, but Fairy World's best-known procrastinator had never bothered to commission a new sign. He'd let the world fall apart if he weren't so stubbornly obsessive with how it's being run.

Under the low-light period of the brightness cycle, I smelled the place before I saw it. Fergus Whimsifinado's pheromones were undeniable. They weaved inside my nostrils, curling across my skin. Orange and cinnamon, underlined with bananas and caviar… Yes. That was him.

I paused in the sky, hovering like a kite, and felt beneath my jacket for my pheromone bottle. I still spread them on my face regularly because it did seem to help my divus displacement disorder. But the bottle was running low. I hadn't filled it since just before I started school. The pheromones in my hand actually were the Head Pixie's, because, well… You know. Fairy World pays decent money for mature donor pheromones - especially those of a dominant gyne - and he's raising far too many offspring to ignore the obvious market benefits. There's a special handheld tool, I think, like a chisel, which they use to scrape this stuff from a Fairy's body. I don't entirely know how it works, only that…

… I did need to get my bottle filled…

Would it be wrong to ask the Head Pixie directly for a donation? I winced at the thought… not for mere shame, but because I was an Anti-Fairy. He likely wouldn't believe my needs were real.

It was late evening in local time, I think. I hesitated, debating the pros and cons of calling on the Head Pixie in the morning… but a light in the upper room of the manor was on and yellow. I wasn't accustomed to pixie etiquette, but the shades would have been down if he didn't want to be bothered. Wouldn't they?

With my low rank, it wouldn't be proper to speak to him directly, so I circled the village twice until I was certain I knew which of the nearby cabins Sanderson lived in. I could pick up on his imprint in the energy field as plainly as a hissing serpent. He always sounds more like fingernails curling into his own palms than the scratch of quills on parchment, or the rustle of paper, or the dribbling ink that one typically associates with pixies. Somehow, even his imprint glitters with the knowledge that he's the eldest. He is stubborn.

The door was wood, so I knocked on one of the glass windows instead until Sanderson, looking groggy, poked out his head. Sanderson was young, only 30,000 years at the absolute most - and possibly not even that - and I winced… wondering if I was about to get him in trouble over breaking some sort of curfew. Pixies, as far as I knew, could be huge sticklers about every little rule.

"Anti-Cosmo? I didn't notice any spilled salt around here. Also, I didn't think you Anti-Fairies had to knock to be invited in."

"Oh, no, no… That's not why I'm here," I said, withdrawing from the window pane. "Actually, your village is marvellously devoid of stinky magic. Credit where credit is due; I can see why the High Count likes visiting your boss so much. I'm glad I found you, Sanderson… You're exactly the drake I was looking for. Did I wake you? I'm so terribly sorry if I did."

"I've been carving soap sculptures."

He said it in a flat way, leaving me unsure whether he was disgusted with my interruption or couldn't care any less. My eye twitched around my monocle. "Really? I've carved some very lovely sculptures in my day, you know… One of these days, you'll have to show me your talent with a knife."

He blinked impatiently up at me. "Did you need something?"

"Ah, yes. Is the Head Pixie available to see me tonight? I know it's late, but I had a question about my schooling… Only, of course, if he's free."

Sanderson checked the stars overhead, scrunching up his little nose. "Not that late," he decided. He stepped outside the cabin in his slippers and grey bathrobe, pulling the door shut behind him. "Although I have to warn you, he did have a dinner guest… who became a dessert guest… and then a soda guest. I don't know yet if she's gone home. Wait by the door until I check."

I nodded, tailing the young pixie along the walking path to the manor's wide front steps. Rice the undersized cù sith lay quietly by the door, resting his chin beside his paws. As we came close, he raised his head. He didn't say anything, but pushed himself into a sitting position and started to wag his tail. I think he was waiting to see if I'd give him a treat. I checked my pockets, but I don't often carry trash or food. I gave him the most apologetic look I could muster. The canine rolled his eyes and lay his head down again. Meanwhile, Sanderson raised his fist… then stopped. He turned back to me.

"Wait a sec. What can I knock on that won't give you a migraine?"

"Oh." I'd never had a Seelie Courter ask me that before. "Well, door knockers of metal, brass, or wood work quite well. Slapping the palm is fine too. Gloves also block the ripple. It only hurts if you use a bare knuckle. Or if I'm standing on something white; white conducts bad luck."

Rice laughed darkly, still wagging his tail. "You're gonna upset the boss, strudel. You sure about this?"

"Um…" I shot a look at Sanderson. He must have sensed it, because he turned back again and fixed me with a blank and steady look.

"I'm allowed to knock. Once."

"Only if he's not busy," I said, warily flapping my wings. Then I pointed at the tall, thin window beside the door. "Here. You can tap on that."

Sanderson gave it several hearty knocks. He drew back. Rice yawned. We waited for about three seconds before a twinkle in the air and a ping! brought forth a little floating scroll. It unrolled itself like a lashing tongue, displaying two tall, bold words in deep black ink.

Go away.

"Yeah," said Rice, kicking at a stubborn itch behind one of his ears. "I thought he might send one of those down here… Don't take it personal. He kicked me out too. No one likes a wandblock."

"What?" I wasn't familiar with that term. I stared at him, utterly blank. Rice looked confused and stalled his itching. But Sanderson just laughed a single, bitter "Ha" and started down the stairs again. He made a motion with his hand for me to follow.

"If he's too busy to find out what I want, he's way too busy to be mad I let an Anti-Fairy hang around here. I gave him the chance to make decisions for me and he didn't take it. So. Yeah. I can put you up in the tekti if you want to stay the night. Just don't hex anything and we'll get along fine."

"I would never," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "You know, your village is surprisingly void of stinky magic despite its youthful residents and large population." There wasn't anything around for me to disperse. I may as well be stirring a spoon through empty air instead of a delicious vanilla pudding bowl.

Sanderson glanced back at me. "I wasn't sure if that mattered to demon summoners. In school, they told us homeostasis specialists can call demons down from Plane 16 anywhere- not just at the thin points in the planes. That's you, isn't it? I've seen your coat."

"That would be foolish," I say, too tired to argue the finer points of summoning ethics with him. "There's no stinky magic around here for the umbrae to eat. They'd turn against me instead. My kind are their favorite snack."

We didn't talk any further after that.

But everything worked out. I spent the night in the guest house. To my shock, Sanderson led me straight to a room that was actually intended for Anti-Fairy visitors. It didn't have an array tree, but a long wooden bar had been installed across the ceiling to fit multiple of our kind roosting together. I stared at it, hardly believing what I saw, and turned back quizzically to Sanderson.

"Does the Head Pixie receive Anti-Fairy visitors often?"

"The High Count sometimes… and Anti-Florensa, and Anti-Phillip. Plus Anti-Stacey." He counted each one on his fingers.

"Oh." My mother hadn't mentioned any Pixie Village visits when last we'd spoken. "Well… Thank you, Mr. Sanderson. This should do nicely." Not only did I have a solid place to roost from, but thick curtains would guarantee total darkness while I slept and there was even a kitchenette complete with a tea kettle that I could use in case I needed it. I even had my own en suite washroom. In fact, this place was nicer than our roosting room back at Carl Poofypants. When I was there, I still had to tote my shower caddy to and from the showers down the hall. Hm. I needed to invite myself to Pixie World more often.

Sanderson nodded. "Do you need a wake-up call, sir?"

"Erm… I'd better not. Honestly, I likely won't fall asleep for hours. If things don't work out, I'll take my lumps… but I admire your Pixie hospitality."

He saluted before turning to leave, fanning away a yawn. The guest house wasn't very big, but it did have three separate rooms for sleeping in and a central room for everyone to gather. Though my curiosity itched at me, my tired wings demanded rest. One flaw in the Head Pixie's room design was that, not being a proper array, there was no way I could see to climb up to the roosting branch if your wings gave out. Or, you know… if you were one of the tens of thousands of Anti-Fairies who couldn't take flight directly from the ground. Not wanting to push my luck, I decided to take to my roost sooner rather than later. I shuffled about for a good hold, stretched my arms, and soon thereafter fell asleep.

The following day, I found the Head Pixie serving breakfast for his underlings in an outdoor pavilion, not terribly far from the guest house where I'd slept. Sanderson had, apparently, already informed him of my arrival, because he didn't seem at all surprised to see me. I leaned far to my left, keeping away from the sizzling smell of the breakfast meats, and waited for him to address me first. He stalled me out for several minutes, but I held firm. Finally, he asked me what I wanted. What could possibly be so important, it was worth spending the night? (He still held his breakfast plate.)

"I'm applying for the godparenting track at school. I daresay you and I have enjoyed a few chance encounters, and… I wanted to ask if I could possibly receive your handwritten letter of recommendation for that sort of program. After all, you're an ambassador… A head of state, even. Your name would look fantastic on my resume."

Suddenly, I had all the Head Pixie's attention. "You? Godparenting? Yes. Absolutely yes. Anti-Cosmo, your timing couldn't be any more perfect. You wouldn't believe who I had over for dinner last night."

"Who?" I asked. Who could I possibly be familiar with? It wouldn't be the High Count, Prince Eastkal, or even Jorgen. I'd seen them all leaving migration and I don't see how they could have outpaced me to the village. I scraped my mind in search of faces who might be notable and familiar, but the only ones who came to mind were the Council Robes and Adelinda von Strangle. Were they relevant here?

"Iris Needlebark. She's the leading force behind adding the Unwinged Angels to the godparenting roster." The Head Pixie's plate of eggs and bacon went on the pavilion table, where the pixies present greedily devoured the scraps. He led me away, his lavender eyes glinting more brightly than I'd ever seen them before. "I didn't know how to help her when she came last night seeking my marketing advice; she's having a hard time swaying experienced Fairies to sign up for her division, you know. Not much is known about the Angels and far too many people are reluctant to start additional training. Listen. I'll write you a stunning letter of recommendation for the program… if you'll put in a good word for Iris and the Angels when networking opportunities arise. Sound fair?"

"I, um… I don't know who Iris is. I'm not exactly comfortable with lying that I know her."

The Head Pixie waved this fact off with a dismissive hand, his wings kicking up their beats. "It's not lying. She's the best. Iris is diligent. Very professional. Maybe to a fault. Hard worker. Honestly invested in this godparenting stuff for the chance to improve the lives of poor, miserable youth… It's never been about the money for her. Believe me, I can say that. If she was after money, she wouldn't have turned me down when I tried to court her. I'm very desirable. By the way, her toxic trait is that she roots for the Centipedes in saucerbee and their roster totally sucks. Other than that, she's pretty dazzled."

"You're interested in courting her?" I asked, pulling back. "Oh. I thought you were a…"

The Head Pixie turned to look at me again, stone-faced. "Be very careful in considering how you want to end that sentence, Anti-Cosmo."

"I… grew anxious when my mother suddenly extended flirtations towards you at Cedarcross. I had no idea that option was in the cards. I've often wondered if you secretly court Anti-Fairies." I hesitated. Then, wincing, "Your father and his partner once implied you might swing that way. Of course, I was only eight years old back when I met them, so that may be outdated information…"

"My father's who?" The Head Pixie looked at me, confused for several seconds. Then his face cleared up. "Oh. You mean Emery's mother. Yeah, I never met her. My dad doesn't talk about it. As for the rumour that I'm a cream puff…" The Head Pixie grew briefly cross-eyed. Thoughtful. He scratched behind his neck. "I'm definitely not into Anti-Fairies. When I was younger, I was tempted to run off and live among the Refracts. My milkmother was a Refract and I've always admired their culture. After talking to Anti-Bryndin, it turns out there's a word for what I want, and it's a courgette. But that's more of an Anti-Fairy thing, and that's where those cream puff rumours come from."

I hesitated. I longed to ask for clarification on why my mother had prodded him, speaking of his relationship with Anti-Bryndin… but it wasn't my place. I glanced away. The Head Pixie watched me, his eyes lingering on my face. Somehow, he must have sensed my thoughts.

"What's up?"

My face shrivelled as though I'd peppered it with icy kisses. "I didn't mean to pry."

"Gumdrops, Anti-Cosmo" (I snapped up my head, not used to such a dirty word upon a high-ranking individual's lips). The Head Pixie kept his hands on his waist, looking me up and down. "You recently came into your adult wings, right? Around 160,000 years? I was 154k when I got mine, and I would have killed to ask someone the questions my juvenile mind was sleeping on. Your father's gone to smoke, your older brother ran off, and Anti-Bryndin's been stressed out of his mind dealing with political stuff, so it wouldn't surprise me if his step-son has been overlooked. I literally talk to the same people everyday. While you're all the way out here anyway, you may as well just speak your mind. I might not have the best advice, but I've been around the cloudlands and Earthside too. I might surprise you."

I… hesitated, floating there with my fists clenched by my sides. With every passing wingbeat, my anxiety flared a little higher. The Head Pixie kept waiting. He didn't rush me. He didn't grow bored and change the subject. I opened and closed my hands a few times… then finally crossed my arms and looked at him again. "Well, um- My grandnana had a civil Fairy partner before the war. I tried asking her about him at migration… I've started having feelings… but… she told me Rhoswen syndrome is too dangerous to play around with, and that 'costumed play' with Anti-Fairies would be the best way to live my life. But I… want to do my own research on that. Do you have any perspective on it, from the Seelie side of things? Or perhaps you could direct me to where her partner lives now, so I might ask questions of him?"

The Head Pixie lifted his brows at me. "Oh. Let me think… This is tricky, you know. My foster parents were a cross-Court couple, but one's a Refract and the other a tomte. You know, a Fairy who can't use magic. They lived peaceably together, but since tomtes will die if they mate physically, they weren't touching. Well, he did get his eggs drawn once for Ilisa, but that's different. Rhoswen syndrome was never a concern. Anyway, no one cares. Hey. You remember my cù sith, Rice?"

I blinked. "Yes, I saw him on your doorstep last night."

"He used to be an ishigaq. He likes Anti-Fairies. But when his crush rejected him, he married her Fairy counterpart instead. It never filled the void for him and eventually he planned to end his own life… only, at the last minute, he changed his mind and voluntarily swapped souls with a cù sith instead."

"But… what?"

"I know you Anti-Fairies don't think about fairy dogs the same way we do, but trust me- it was a big deal. On our side of the border, we believe that if you die in a cù sith's body, you won't go to Plane 23. Rice hasn't figured out what he wants to do with his life yet, but he might swap souls again one of these days." Flickering breath. "I say this because… his parents didn't accept his interest in Anti-Fairies and tried to squash it out of him. Marrying a damsel he didn't love never worked out for him, so if you're in love with someone else, even cross-Court… I think you should look into it. My foster parents are still together, and they're 700,000 years old. They just moved to Plane 12 to start a new life."

"Plane 12?" I repeated, gawking back at him. Um. Um? I pointed one finger to the sky. "You mean… up there? In the Hush World?"

The Head Pixie nodded, completely unbothered by my stare. "Yeah. They live in a quaint community and nobody bothers them. Especially Anti-Fairies- you guys don't go there. I can't promise that your friends or family would accept you if you tried asking out a Fairy or Refract, but you'll never know if you don't try." He shrugged then, keeping his hands on his waist. "Of course, we Seelie take a huge penalty in our magical abilities if we try living life while suppressing secret desires… so I'm biassed. But still."

"I'll consider it," I told him honestly. "I fantasise equally of Fairies and Anti-Fairies, damsels and drakes, wealth and wildness, high magic and low amounts, so it's been nothing short of a confusing adulthood for me. I feel like I fantasise of everyone while feeling nothing at all down there. But I have this friend at school who confided in me, saying she's only been drawn towards Anti-Fairies her entire life and that she'd love to spend more time with me. It's made me wonder if a relationship might spark from it, which is… puzzling, because I don't know what will happen next. Um… Oh, never mind. I shouldn't ask this. But, um… Er…"

The Head Pixie no longer sounded quite as comfortable and self-assured in the energy field, but did his best to maintain a blank face anyway. "Yes…?"

I stared back at him, then shook my head. "I shouldn't…"

"Okay. Don't. I'm not your boss."

"Wait. Um… This friend of mine, she's a common fairy. They, er, come into heat once every 500 years. Is it true that damsels in her subspecies… can only mate once or maybe twice per cycle? Because… um…" I tried making vague gestures to indicate that area down below, flushing horribly while I did. Oh, my mother would have pulled my ears or whacked my tail end for my improper tongue, but the Head Pixie stayed calm and unfazed through it all.

"That's right. All Seelie damsels tear apart down there after mating. It's not a bloody process. Sort of like ripping off a broken toenail: painful, but these days, you'll live. Their physical bodies are largely unaffected, but it's ridiculously draining on their magic levels. Only yellow magic will keep them alive, and it's more difficult for the Seelie to maintain that during mating than you might think. Many would die if it weren't for modern Eros technology- the Triplets use their arrows to forcibly strike them with a burst of extra magic when they need it most."

"Oh yes, that's right… Fertilization colour doesn't matter on our side. At least, I don't think it does; we can't produce colour unless we're under the honey-lock. I hadn't thought of that."

The Head Pixie raised his brows at me again, this time higher. "Remember: we aren't like you. It's not very common for the Seelie to pair physically. It has to be special."

"It's special for us too," I said, a little stung.

"No, no," said the Head Pixie, shaking his hands back and forth at his chest. "That's not what I meant." He frowned for a second, tugging on the soft lip of his hat. Then he turned a circle. One finger pressed to his lips. He scanned the village, clearly looking for something, though I hadn't the foggiest what it was. I waited, puzzled, as he drifted away. What peculiar creatures pixies were. They're almost extinct, you know. We didn't even touch on them in school. And I pitied the poor man as he faced away from me, looking around the cabins of his little village. I didn't know much about his species, but I could only imagine how difficult it must be to raise so many young. And they were all his nephews? I had a hard enough time with Lohai after Liloei dumped her daughter in my lap. I can't even fathom how I would feel if Anti-Robin dropped one of their offspring in my lap, let alone two or three or four. Or dozens.

Where DO pixies come from? I flicked my gaze curiously around the area, watching two little pixies lie on their stomachs in the scratchy purple grass while counting rocks nearby. They couldn't be Emery's children, because Emery is a common fairy with subtle signs of crossbred heritage in her wings. Nymphs always take their father's species. But I was there in the Eros Nest when Fergus Whimsifinado was under study, and I was there when Anti-Bryndin left to attend his coronation. Fergus replaced his brother as Head, didn't he? The one who fathered his nephews in the first place?

I stared quietly for a moment at those two little pixies as a cold, dark feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. "Oh… Before his death, the Eros Triplets must have withdrawn the old Head's eggs… and in order to preserve the Pixie race, they must be bringing them to life. They really can all be his nephews."

The Head Pixie finally floated back to me, this time with his hands in a triangle and two fingers pushed into his lips instead of one. "Anti-Cosmo," he greeted bluntly. "Do you know what a yidreamu is?"

"Yes, I've seen one." He gawked at me, his eyes actually bulging, and I scrambled to correct myself. "No, no! There was a fire! Do you remember Snowball the dragon? Before I met you in Faeheim, I was searching houses to confirm if the residents had gotten out before the flames consumed them. I didn't really… mean to peek."

"Okay," he said, but still looked like he needed a moment to collect his scattered thoughts. I could hear tiny bells of embarrassment ringing in the energy field. "Um. Wow. Uh, that's… Don't do that if my building ever catches fire. Just let it burn. I don't want you looking. Okay. Tell me what you know."

"Erm…" I scratched my cheek, trying to think back to the classes I had taken in school. "The yidreamu is a household mating location… I don't… really understand the significance of it, to you. Personally."

"'A household mating location,'" the Head Pixie repeated. He stared at me, arms now folded, and the smallest smile began to prick the corner of his lips. "Nice. Maybe you've got a bit of pixie deep down inside you. I've never heard anyone describe a freaking yidreamu in such a business-like way. It sounds so dull and boring when you say it like that."

I shrugged. The Head seemed to be regaining his confidence in the face of my inexperience, and he knitted his fingers as he spoke again.

"The yidreamu's a little more than just a room for mating. It's got other jobs. The Seelie race has always been biassed towards kisses, cuddling, and sharing magic as opposed to physically pairing up. I mean, why choose the activity that creates pain over the activities that don't? A Seelie couple would spend their entire lives together, relishing in the joy of one another, until the damsel drew close to the senescent stage of life. Mating would always end a damsel's life back then, so it was often reserved until the end of a partnership. She might choose to reproduce with her husband at a special time so she could leave a piece of her behind." He made an up and down motion to indicate himself. "I'm a pretty old fart, but if you poofed an ancient Seelie couple into present day, they'd take one look at my pixies and think I'm insane for raising them while I'm still young. Remember: our lifespans used to be two million years back then, not one."

"That's why you used to take changelings," I remembered. "Fathers couldn't nurse their babies, so you switched them with parents of another race who could."

"That's partly why, yes. But that was way back in the early days. Then the Eros Family came along and fixed that, and suddenly we saw this huge population boom as damsels were no longer dying when they mate. Still, the yidreamu culture lived on. Once upon a time, when damsels could only mate once, it was a big ceremonial thing and the yidreamu was a special place for it. Mating was special and not meant to happen in the usual sleeping bed. The proper translated term for yidreamu is 'affection site.' Today, it's plenty common to use a yidreamu for a night of cuddles or sharing magic even if there's no intention of mating. Physical pairing is a little more common these days than it used to be, but I know a lot of couples who still delay the actual act for a long time and content themselves with sharing magic through their marriage. It's especially common in the older traditional families. You know, like the Westers, the Fernfires, the von Strangles, the Sparklefields, or mine… except for when it wasn't." He looked away, frowning, with a knuckle pressed against his teeth. "Wait. Am I being repetitive? They probably taught this in your school."

"No, I like hearing the basics from you. I wasn't allowed to take Fairy mating classes."

"Ah, gotcha. Anyway, my point is… if you want to court a Fairy dame, then court a Fairy dame. But don't approach it the way you would if she were one of your kind. Fairy memories are weird. We're pretty forgetful as a species, but if we kiss you, you can be smoofing sure we won't forget exactly where it went down. Especially early in the relationship." He tilted his head, the little star on the end of his cap jingling. "Just keep that in mind before you get too handsy. Show affection someplace nice and she'll want to keep coming back. Don't be weird and kiss at the grocery store or in an old shed or you'll be stuck circling back around to it. And if you want something long-term to come out of this, then you'd better build a yidreamu. Traditionally it's the partner with the smaller lift who builds it, so…" He stopped then, surveying my crown. "… Yikes. Start clipping coupons, maybe."

I reached up to graze my black crown with my fingertips, my face flushing dark with cold. I did have a pathetic lift, barely two finger widths above my head, but did he really have to say it? "Th-thank you for the advice… That's all I need to know, really."

The Head Pixie raised a hand to keep me from backing away, I suppose because he felt that wasn't, in fact, 'all I needed to know, really.' "Hey. Be confident this 'friend' of yours knows what she's getting into beforehand. As awkward as it is, I might suggest she speak with a doctor before she tries anything too far. When I was in school, they always told us mating is physically impossible cross-Court, but I've no idea if that's still the case in the modern world."

"It, um… is," I said, scratching my arm. I stared at his shoes, watching the starlight gleam against their shiny black toes. "I haven't really, you know… seen the anatomy of a Seelie damsel outside school health classes, but I know it wouldn't fit with mine. She and I may not even go that far, contenting ourselves instead with cuddles and magic sharing… but I appreciate the advice nonetheless. I don't think I could live with myself if I… if she… If anything happened, I mean. I care for her, you know? And I shouldn't want to be responsible if she turned to dust because of my impulsive nature as a young and tactile creature."

"Oh, same," he said, waving his hand. "Don't spread it around, but I eyeball more damsels than I like to let my father or the media believe I do. I actually have considered long-term companionship. I just don't experience the mating urge when the supposed season hits. Hitting yellow magic level isn't easy, and I already had one scare from the Eros Triplets informing me I didn't show up on their screens. Since I don't value that level of intimacy anyway, I can't really justify to myself the pain a damsel would have to put herself through for my potential 'pleasure.' And if she died because she didn't hit yellow or show up on the Eros screens, I don't think I could live with that on my conscience. Literally. I would never forgive myself for that."

"Oh," I said, a little puzzled. Was… that a real thing? To not experience mating urges despite being born with a heat cycle? Were all Fairies like this? That didn't sound quite right… because if it were that easy to ignore a mating urge, I should think there would be many Anti-Fairies who dodged the pull of the honey-lock without problem. I was always on the lookout for a new partner, even if they merely entertained my fantasies and we never actually touched. I faded in and out of my urges as my feelings of friendship towards that potential person ebbed and flowed, but truthfully… I couldn't so much as fathom my own existence if I never felt those urges at all. Um. How does that even work? Does someone without those urges simply walk the world, treating everyone around them as though they are cousins or siblings who are off the romantic market?

I can understand postponing mating for a certain person. But to live entirely without those urges? That can't possibly be a thing. I know Anti-Lance stated that he saw all romantic gestures as if they were sociosexual, because he didn't experience any romantic pulls, but we're Anti-Fairies. We get affected by the honey-lock. Fairies don't. Fairies have to have urges or their species would die. And ours along with it.

The truth occurred to me a second later. Ah. Pixies don't like emotions. The poor man's advances had been rejected so many times, he simply pretended he felt nothing so as not to embarrass himself in front of me! A swell of pity rose in my chest. I resolved (silently) to send a dame his way if I ever met an older Seelie dame who might be interested. He'd like me to set him up, I think. It showed initiative.

"You might be able to get one of those injection pens for a magical boost," the Head Pixie was saying when I zoned back into the conversation. "You don't want to take the risk of her not showing up on the Eros control room screens and dying from lack of magic in your arms. It would be a lot more awkward to tell the doctor that compared to asking for assistance in the first place."

I nodded, tapping my fingers against my cheek. My face remained flushed, wings twitching, but he'd provided me far more useful information than my grandnana. I told him so and he made the Fairy salute with his hands- one across his chest, one lifted.

"Yeah; that's because I'm the best. Questions deserve answers; research should always be rewarded. Hope it works out for you, dude. Your mom's betting on the wrong centaur if she thinks I'd start an affair with one of the High Count's wives, really… but I respect the smoke out of her. She's a goddess in the grappling ring. Oh. I should answer your original question."

"My-?"

"Yes, I am trying to align the stars in a way that lets me court Iris Needlebark. We've gone out to a few lunches and even a party, but my gyne freckles are a turn-off. Her brother and father were gynes and she lost them both in fights. She's reluctant to commit." He glanced over at me, brows raised. Very knowingly. Very carefully, his eyes glinting, he pressed his glasses higher up his nose with two fingers. "What was it you came here for, again? You need a letter of recommendation for the godparenting program?"

I smiled like a sea serpent back at him, doing my utmost to look both like a dignified gentledrake and an innocent child. "I'd like one, yes. You know, I might even run across Dm. Needlebark when I apply for the godparent track. With a nice enough letter, I think I'll remember to put in a very good word about how positively you received a disadvantaged anti-fairy child like me. You're a very kind man."

"You bet your blitzing wings I am. Come into my office. Wait. Kitchen first, because I want snacks." He floated back towards the manor, gesturing with his twitching fingers for me to follow. I did. "Okay. The first thing you need to know about rec letters is that every organisation wanting one is looking for a very specific trait or two that fits their brand image and paints you in a great light. So, let's talk and do a little research. If we figure that out, writing the letter will be a snap. I've got leftover soda we can split if that's your thing."

"No, thank you… I still have to fly tonight and I'm a solo traveller. I'd rather be sober. Do you have oatmeal?"

"Do I have oatmeal?" the Head Pixie repeated, sounding incredulous. "I always have oatmeal. You're now my favourite houseguest. Let's go eat."

He led me inside the manor, which of course I'd never visited before. How quaint this little Pixie Village was, and how very… angular. Every little carving, every wall, had been designed with perfect right angles in mind. The energy flowed through it, unobstructed, and I couldn't detect an ounce of stinky magic buildup. The floor was dark. No whiteness I would have to cross. I lingered in the entryway for a moment, flicking my ears.

"You had an Anti-Fairy design this place," I guessed.

"Close. A Zodii architect."

"Oh?"

"China Mayfleet."

"My old art teacher! Good smoke, that was some time ago… I don't see her so much anymore." I followed the Head Pixie, walking on foot so as not to bash my wide wings into anything unexpected in the hall. But when we passed a small table holding a vase of bright blue flowers, I stopped. Wait.

Flowers? Inside his home? First thing in the morning?

I turned and stared hard at the glassy vase. The Head Pixie glanced back, then leaned on the wall to watch me. I tilted my head back and forth a few times, fingering the flower petals. They were real, living flowers. How peculiar. I looked at him. "Back in the Spring of the Silver Silk, I placed a curse on you that prevents flowers from lasting more than one night under your roof. I believe we confirmed said curse was still active this past migration. Did you find the counter-spell?"

"No. I just started keeping commelinas in my house because they die in like, one day anyway, so it's not a waste. I'm giving them a home."

"Why do you bother replacing them?"

The older pixie looked at me, caught off guard despite his practised pixie patience. I could tell. "Because it means I win. Here." He took one of the blue flowers from the vase and handed it to me. "For you."

My face prickled. I ducked my head. Okay. Maybe it was a little weird that he liked to give me flowers when we met. I understood where Anti-Lance was coming from, and particularly when I couldn't see any other adults in the village- just the man and dozens upon dozens of underage pixies, all of whom relied on him for food and shelter. But H.P., you know… never tried anything on with me. Even when he saw me staring longingly at the cloudships down by the village docks and asked me if I wanted to go for a skim - ("Yes! Oh, absolutely yes… I've always wanted to sail; I think I might buy a ship of my own one of these days") - and he insisted that I strap myself in a flight vest with a bungee cord chained to the railing… See, that's the thing. That's what makes him so tender. Even in that situation, tied to his cloudship, more or less at his total mercy… I always felt like I could leave of my own free will.

And somehow… I admired the Head Pixie for his little flower routine. He's exasperating. Considering how much time he spends on his big business ventures, not to mention the pixies he's raising, I can't imagine how he keeps tabs on every little part of this village… right down to ensuring the flowers were replaced early in the morning, before he stepped outside. "Your attention to detail is impeccable," I remarked, twirling the commelina in my hand.

"Thanks. I'm imprisoned by obsessive compulsions, severe hyperfixations, and crippling executive dysfunction."

Releasing the flower, I followed him to the kitchen so he could feed me snacks. In total, I spent four hours catching up with him about his life and discussing school, our counterparts, my brother, and the godparenting program in general. We took our cloudship trip after that and I ran up and down the vessel, peering over the guardrail from every angle and dragging my bungee cord behind me. When the winds were smooth, he even let me steer. He practically hovered over me, watching every movement I made with the wheel, but I had a fascinating time.

It's the best letter of recommendation I ever got, I'm sure.