Broken Child

by Metala Kahame

After a tragic accident befalls Timmy when left in Cosmo's care, he starts to doubt his abilities as a god father. As Timmy's condition worsens he resolves to do all he can to make his godchild better. Meanwhile Wanda's growing attachment to Timmy is starting to raise some suspicions that she has forgotten the number one rule of godparenting; don't get too attached!

57. Chapter 57 Seeds of doubt

Chapter 57; Seeds of Doubt

— Piper's Pov—

Piper released a breath of relief, wiping her brow. Edmund was awake, though he was still a little delirious. Aelar's magic had calmed him and dulled the aches of his core bad memory. This had halted the spread of the Saprotide, but the situation was far from over. Relief warred with determination as she steeled herself for the next steps. She would need to cleanse his insides to make sure it did not reemerge and reconstruct the infected areas.

She'd have to scan his body and see which parts of the fruit beneath his skin looked discolored, and then inject those areas with Snow Berry juice directly. First, however, they needed to do a transfusion to replenish the 'blood' that had been lost and reattach Edmund's wing, which Aelar was currently repairing as he sat beside his Kinder.

His hands were trembling as he combed his fingers through Edmund's feathery hair, trying to soothe the child. Poor Edmund was confused as to what had happened to him, and why his wing was no longer attached to his body. The tragic torn limb laid across Aelar's lap as he used his free hand to repair the damages wrought to it. Over and over again, Aelar reassured poor Edmund that he'd get it back on him soon, and that—because he suffered so much, that he was going to design a very lovely new body for him soon; one that gave him free use of his hands.

Aelar's seemed almost more fragile than poor Edmund. He was shaky, and his voice, even as he cooed to his Kinder in reassurance, did not mask his agitation. She glanced at him, a flicker of concern crossing her face, hoping he did not break down, not before Edmund was fully stable. Unfortunately Kinders were strongly tied to their Fey-Parent, so she had no choice but to allow the unreliable Aelar to work on him. Alas, if he screwed up, she'd be the one getting saddled with the blame.

"Don't you worry about a thing. You'll be fine. That little boo-boo is going to get all patched up," Aelar whispered, leaning in to kiss Edmund's cheek. "You'll be alright, and when you're all better, I'll make you a feast of all your favorites…."

The boy's hazy eyes were half-lidded, his face sweaty, and his lips and cheeks pale. Usually, the talk of a feast would have him jumping up and down with excitement. It hurt her to see him like this—normally, Edmund's energy filled every room he entered, and his mischief kept everyone on their toes. She wasn't the sentimental type who fawned over the Kinders, but she did favor their three little troublemakers, finding them a welcome change from the saccharinely sweet norm.

"It…hurts…." Edmund whimpered pitifully. "I haven't hurt like this since I was…human….my hands…."

"Shhh….it's ok, it's ok…" Aelar started shaking a little more when the boy dissolved into a mess of hiccups and tears. "Don't cry, don't cry…."

Kinders rarely cried; at least the ones living in Queen Mab's Circle. They were filled with only happy thoughts. They were protected from all forms of sadness, with every want and need fulfilled. Kinders lived pampered, adored existences, and magic kept them in a constant state of contentment, preventing them from suffering from dissatisfaction with their roles as eternal, adorable children who would never grow beyond what they were.

It was because of this very nature that, a crying Kinder, was considered a very troubling sight—a huge failure on the Fey-Parent's part, that usually produced scorn from the fellow villagers as well as censor.

….Of course, no one would fault Aelar for this. They'd blame her.

"I know, kiddo. It hurts, but it'll stop soon. Here…." She fetched some Soothing Syrup from the medicine cabinet, the gummy-bear tasting medicine they had given Timmy several doses of. She lifted the Kinder gently and gave him a swig of the potent painkiller. Edmund licked his lips, and she cracked a smile. Even in this state, that boy loved the taste of sweets. "I'm going to see if they've got the berries ready for transfusion. Keep him calm and comfortable in the meantime and make sure the wing is ready to be reattached by the time I get back."

Aelar grunted in response, not looking at her. She didn't let it bother her. Their judgment had stopped stinging centuries ago. Instead of feeling bad, she channeled those feelings into determination to prove her worth.

She knew half the village was divided about their feelings toward her. If she weren't Dulice Sweet's daughter, she wouldn't have been permitted to join this Ring. Hell, she wouldn't even be in this Circle. If Jorgen had not insisted on using her as the doctor for children going through the Magical Filter Cycle, Mab wouldn't have allowed her to reside in her territory.

The reason she was here was not because Mab valued her medical abilities; it was because it was through her that they could still occasionally nab human children. If she were to go elsewhere, Jorgen would simply take the child to whatever Ring she was in. For no other reason did she live here in Bailena Leanbhanna Draiochta, a Ring meant only for Queen Mab's selected chosen ones. She knew that if her skills were to slip, or if Jorgen were to decide on a different doctor, few would be sad to see her leave.

She didn't mind, though.

She never needed many friends to be happy, and Nova was enough companionship for her. He let her vent and act childish, even though she was much older then he was, and he never tried to preach to her. He allowed her to be herself with no lectures, or scolding or pushes to improve her 'vices,'. Nova never held the past over her head, even when he had been told all the details, merely accepting that during the Mana Wars, things had been done that ought not to have been and that, all Fey and fairies and Anti-fairies alike had profited from the deeds committed in those days and the blame for the human lives lost, should be equally shouldered.

Anyway, she enjoyed her work, and that was far more important to her than how popular she was in the community. Even if they liked to doubt her, the results of her work showed her skill.

She exited the treatment room and decided to walk to the 'juicing room' to give Aelar more time to fix the wing, and the villagers more time to press the Snow Berries.

This room had seen a lot of use during the war; but these days, it went relatively untouched. Kinders did not face many opportunities for injury in their village; even if kidnappers came, they preferred to take the Kinder unharmed.

Mostly, all a Kinder suffered were skinned knees caused by tripping over tree roots or from rough play—like the time Theo, Kieran, Michael, and Walter pretended to be knights and began playing sword fights with tree branches. Injuries that required a transfusion were incredibly rare, and when they did happen, they were usually the result of inexcusable carelessness.

Like bringing a Kinderkin with massive strength into the same room as a Kinder and then failing to pay attention.

Her earlier self-recrimination turned outward—toward irritation at Lilixia, who had blurted out her mother's situation, diverting attention away from Lilithree in the first place. Did that overly emotional ditz not have the ability to think a single rational thought when she got upset? But Lilixia had always been like that: cry and cry until someone else solved the problem for her. She didn't know how else to handle things.

Her parents had raised their own daughter as if she herself were one of their precious, pampered Kinders. That was why Lilixia was a useless adult.

Still, she couldn't help but worry about poor Lilithree. Rosehip had taken the Kinderkin to the reinforced basement room that Glimmer and Gizmo had finished fortifying. Rosehip could be counted on for kindness, but as for those other two…. No doubt Gizmo had made biting verbal remarks, and Glimmer, depending on her mood, might have injured her.

Normally, any injury to a child was prohibited in Queen Mab's circle, but a Kinderkin as advanced as Lilithree wouldn't be seen as a child in Mab's eyes. The laws that protected the innocent children didn't apply to 'abominations.'

She just hoped for Lilithree's sake that this accident wouldn't lead to any drastic decisions about what to do with her...after all, she had not meant to hurt Edmund.

She had a soft spot for Kinderkins—something not human, not truly Kinder, nor Companion—a strange mishmash that didn't really belong anywhere. They didn't even have proper souls; they left behind Wisps, like the non-human Companions did. And the ones beyond the third generation… sometimes not even that much.

In Queen Mab's Circle, Kinderkin were viewed as mockeries of human children, twisting something the Fey adored into something unrecognizable. Queen Mab called them abominations, and claimed, even the cute ones, as grotesque.

In her own opinion—one she knew better than to voice—Kinderkin were far more genuine than Kinders, who were so tamed they were no fun at all. Most of the Kinders in Queen Mab's circle were nothing but sweetness and sugar, clingy little things that followed their Fey-parents like baby chicks—helpless and hopeless without nurturing.

She had grown up surrounded by Kinders like that. As a child, she was confused about how they never did the things she did: throw tantrums, sneak treats, disobey rules, cry, or get mad. They were always positive, smiling, cuddly beings soaking up her mother's love and attention. She had felt like an outsider in her own home, constantly wondering why she couldn't be like them. That feeling of inadequacy had followed her for years.

She understood now. Her mother had shielded them from all the sad and bad thoughts, erasing those feelings and replacing them with happy ones. But as a child, it made her think something was wrong with her for not being as happy and sweet as they were. It wasn't until much later that she realized the truth: they weren't naturally that way. They had been made that way, molded to fit what her mother wanted them to be. That realization had been both a relief and a source of frustration—because it felt like the reason her mother had loved the Kinders more than her was simply because, unlike those human kids who could be made obedient by consuming her body fluids, she couldn't be controlled.

Kinderkin couldn't be controlled either, which perhaps explained her fondness for them. They had to hope they ended up with someone who could love and appreciate them as they were or learn to live without affection.

To be honest, she used to feel sorry for the Kinders...but after what had happened to her mother, she had stopped feeling sorry for their lack of freewill.

If keeping them obedient and docile stopped them from growing up and becoming dangerous—like Mary Alice—then so be it. Let them be pets lacking the will to bite their owner's hand.

She entered the 'Juicing Room.' It was one of the few rooms she had not decorated to suit her aesthetics. This was a room only put to use when a tragedy unfolded, so she left it somber. The grey walls and black floor intentionally highlighted the stains of the fruit, and medical charts and posters on the walls detailed the anatomy of Kinders, each one specific to a type of Fey Fruit—a constant reminder to the Fey, who easily got distracted, of the critical task at hand.

This might have been fruit juice to them, but it was blood for their Kinders—a vital essence they had to continue to consume for the rest of their lives or else...they'd perish. That was how humans who ate the fruit used to be confined to their realm, because their survival depended on the Fey-Fruit...but of course, now with the barrier in place, anything that became part of their world, was unable to pass through it without being destroyed-and that included the Kinders.

There were several moderate-sized juicers positioned on the floor, each with a big bowl placed before it. Clusters of Fey sat around each juicer with baskets full of Snow Berries, feeding the fruit into the machines.

To her surprise, Weeping-Willow-Wanda was among them and was doing a moderately good job of keeping her wits about her. She'd expected her to go into hysterics, as she often did in stressful situations. Perhaps the seriousness of Edmund's condition had forced her to hold herself together, or perhaps she only lost control like that when Timmy was concerned.

"Okay, everyone! We're doing good! Halfway there!" Bea cheered on the group from where she sat on the floor beside Wanda.

Fey weren't used to manual labor, but they couldn't use magic without ruining the transfusion. The Kinders couldn't help either; their extreme sensitivity to emotional distress would make this task too difficult for them to endure. Even minor exposure to something upsetting could throw their delicate balance into chaos, leading to a variety of illnesses that drained their vitality and threatened to unravel their tenuous connection to magic.

The magic holding a Kinder's body together was extremely vulnerable in ways that many of the Fey who chose to become Fey-Parents rarely acknowledged. It was a delicate process with very high stakes, and she, as the doctor, often shouldered the blame for their own mistakes and carelessness.

She glanced around the room but did not find Aletha among them, though no doubt she was somewhere else, working on juicing the berries. Aletha was very duty-bound and would definitely not be slacking off right now. If she wasn't in this room with the others, it meant only one thing: she had likely gone on one of her tirades and had gotten reprimanded instead of being agreed with. Whenever this happened, she'd hide away like a sulking child for a few days, keeping her partner, Silk-Blossom, hostage with her for company.

Frankly, it was a relief. She wasn't intimidated by Aletha, but she really did not want to put up with any of her nonsensical behavior right now. When it came to Fey-Parents, Aletha had been even worse than the careless Aelar. Jacobe would still be alive if not for Aletha's complete disregard for all the rules and instructions for raising a Kinder.

A Kinder had no chance of surviving if you weren't willing to lie to them.

"…You're making a mess!" Oona was shoving Ivy off of her. Most of the groups were working diligently, but there was one juicer that seemed to have made more of a mess than it had made any juice.

"Aw, Honey-toes, maybe I won't be makin' such a mess if you help me…"

She rolled her eyes, glad not to be stuck in a room with Ivy, and felt sorry for Oona, who, along with Cheche, Linetta, and Pippa, looked dismayed at how Ivy had made his way into their group.

All four of those girls had been Changeseeds and were handling the task of manually juicing the berries well, while the Fey, who had neither been Changeseed nor Changeling, struggled with not using magic. Half seemed amused by the novelty while the other half griped about how cumbersome it was—with both sides agreeing that 'being a human with no magic must be so hard!'

Gin was here too, one of the few times she had seen him outside of the Enchanted Toadstool. He was giving instructions to those who were struggling, used to manual tasks as he insisted on making all of his cocktails by hand. There were other Fey like him who enjoyed doing their hobbies without magic, like Thistledust and Melika—but it was considered an 'eccentricity' among Fey.

None of them ever seemed to consider that, if something ever occurred and they lost the use of their magic, they'd end up being helpless. During the Mana War, such fears were not just hypothetical but a constant reality. She recalled vividly how many Fey, caught unprepared, found themselves utterly defenseless when their magic faltered under enemy assaults. The memory of those harrowing times had driven her to rely less on magic for everyday tasks, a habit she retained even now.

"Oh, Piper! We've got a batch of juice ready for you! The next one's almost done!" Bea spotted her and gave her a thumbs-up, as peppy as ever, speaking with overdone enthusiasm to motivate the group. Honestly, she usually hated Bea's type, but she did not hate Bea. She liked the girl, or rather, she felt a sense of empathy for her.

The Fey rushed to help human children they felt were in abusive homes but apparently ignored their own suffering children.

"Thanks." She looked around, hoping no one would bring up her mother. She could feel the weight of their pity, but no one dared say anything, even though several looked as if they were just waiting for someone else to be the first to speak. Siofra cleared her throat, giving the group a pointed stare.

"Not the time, idiots! Wait till Edmund's better."

She smirked. Siofra's sharp tongue could be grating, but sometimes it was useful. Siofra liked to quarrel and would always take the side of the most unpopular opinion, and this often had the result of Siofra arguing in her favor.

"Wanda was a great help this whole time!" Bea switched the focus to the Godmother, the oddity in the room. Wanda's pale, shaky demeanor suggested she'd rather be anywhere else, but she seemed determined to be useful. Dazzle wrapped an arm around her supportively, rubbing Wanda's back.

"The smell and sight of the juice made her a little nauseous…"

"Yay, I totally get that," Gizmo said with a laugh, though her tone danced the line between playful and insensitive. "Remember, Dazzle? You couldn't eat Fey Fruit for two hundred years after becoming a Fey because you felt like you were eating a Kinder!"

"Urp…!" Wanda almost lost it.

She cringed. Poor Nova would have quite a time trying to talk down Wanda and convince her of making Timmy a Kinder after this revelation. Bea puffed her cheeks in frustration, likely knowing that Nova was going to have a bad enough time dealing with Wanda later without anyone making it worse.

"Wanda, don't mind her. Gizmo's a bully," Bea said.

"Kinders aren't the same as the fruit," she added, shooting Gizmo a look who only giggled in response, thinking she had been playful rather than hateful in her remarks. "Admittedly their body's composition is changed, but it allows them to live for thousands of years and makes them more resistant to physical harm and immune to all human diseases…except for the common cold, apparently nothing can cure or prevent that."

"…But…they are fruit on the inside?" Wanda's voice trembled as she spoke, her words barely audible. Her mind seemed to be reeling from the discovery, struggling to reconcile the revelation with her understanding of what it meant to be a Kinder. "Their...literal...fruit," she

"So?" She shrugged. "Is that really so bad? I mean…have you ever picked up a medical textbook and looked at what they're normally made from? I think having fruit on the inside is a lot less gross than all that gore and viscera. Anyway…human blood is poisonous to Fey. If that wasn't changed, it'd be pretty hard to treat them if they ever got hurt."

She knew she was downplaying things and could understand very well why Wanda had been thrown for a loop by the discovery, but she was hoping to make the situation a little easier for Nova to handle by explaining things rationally.

Bea quickly redirected the topic, knowing that any more focus on what Kinders were made from, in a room full of crushed fruit and its juice, would not do Wanda's nerves any good. "It's a discovery that even some Fey have a hard time adapting too; but you did very good holding yourself together, and it was awesome how you and Siofra both shut Althea up when she started her usual tirade."

"She was holding up Edmund's treatment with her hysteria," Siofra muttered. "If anything happens to him, Theo will need more than emergency care."

Her lips tightened. She had already suspected something had happened when she hadn't spotted Althea in the room with the rest of them. "I'm not surprised that she'd take this opportunity to hurl more accusations, but I don't need someone defending me. People with common sense will know who I am; those without it will believe Althea."

"I wasn't defending you," Siofra snapped. "I just told the truth. Althea claimed you brought Lilithree in to intentionally hurt a Kinder, so you'd have an excuse to remove their heart-soul. It's no secret that I enjoy a good quarrel, but accusing someone of soul-slaying crosses the line."

"Are you serious?" She was honestly speechless, for the first time in a long while a remark had actually...stung. First Bubbles came to her assuming she'd try such a treatment and now-this? It was one thing with Bubbles-she was insane-but Althea, that was different can of worms. She had no excuse. "She'd really go that far?"

"That's exactly what she claimed," Thistledust sighed.

"Screw her daddy issues! She has no right to turn her resentment for him on me. I'm nothing like him!She's that…leech's daughter far more than I am! Bloodsucking bitch!"

"We hear you, really," Dazzle said, oozing with annoying sympathy. "We all know you're not a soul-slayer."

Gin nodded. "Aye, the lass had no right. Such accusations are too severe ta be throwin' at anyone who ain't guilty o' 'em."

"Let's not do this now," She silenced everyone with a frustrated wave of her hands and then held them out for a container of sparkling snow-berry juice. "I need to get back to Edmund."

Bea handed her one of the bowls overflowing with sweet smelling sparkling white juice the same density as pure cream. "I'll bring the next batch, okay? Let's grab a drink later."

"Me pub's always there when ye be needin' it."

She nodded. "Thanks. I'm going to be needing some of the hard stuff after this mess."

She took the bowl and focused solely on getting back to Edmund, pushing all other thoughts aside. The noise of the room faded as she left, her mind already shifting to the task ahead. Edmund's recovery was all that mattered now, and she wouldn't let anything distract her from ensuring it, not even Aletha's accusations, which had dropped to a level of offense that was inexcusable.

Unfortunately, one last slap in the face awaited her when she returned to the treatment room: an unwelcome sight that made her pulse quicken with both anger and frustration. Lilixia was there, wet-eyed and clinging to Aelar as he tended to Edmund. Instead of aiding him, she seemed to be receiving more comfort than she gave, dividing Aelar's attention from the critical task that required his undivided focus.

Lilixia squeaked when she entered, looking at her like a spooked mouse.

"Out," She said firmly as she set the bowl on the counter with a soft clink, its contents shimmering in the dim light—the delicate liquid that could save Edmund's life. Without waiting for a response, she briskly sanitized her hands, and prepped the transfusion equipment.

She turned toward the bowl, her fingers steady as she prepared the snow berry juice for the transfusion. She carefully poured the liquid into a sterile container, the glittery white juice swirling gently as it filled the vial. She examined the contents for impurities, her gaze sharp, and then connected the vial to the transfusion line with practiced hands. Once secure, she glanced at Edmund, already in position for the procedure. He was awake, but docile, perhaps too weak to make a fuss, or still too dazed from the injury to think straight.

"Be ready, Aelar," She instructed as she grabbed the needle and adjusted the transfusion line, her focus narrowing on her patient. "Once he's stabilized, you'll need to reattach his wing."

Aelar glanced at the limp wing lying to the side, his face strained as he nodded, then turned to look concerned at Lilixia, who clung to his back, trembling.

"P-Piper... I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. The news was so shocking, and—"

"The medical room is no place for this," She interrupted coldly, her voice cutting through the tension. She unwrapped a sterile cloth with quick, efficient motions, placing it carefully under Edmund's neck. Her jaw tightened as she prepared for the delicate part of the transfusion, feeling the small body jolt as she inserted the needle.

"Shhh….Kiddo, stay still." She comforted him as she carefully adjusted the needle into place, her fingers brushing Edmund's skin with precision as she made the necessary adjustments. The transfusion began slowly, the juice from the snow berries flowing into his neck.

"Piper, she's trying to apologize," Aelar protested, squaring his shoulders as he stepped closer, his voice faltering, though he stood firm. "Besides, you were at fault for accusing her of knowing—"

"Fine," She replied sharply, securing the needle. She carefully adjusted the transfusion line, watching the liquid flow steadily into Edmund's body. "It was my fault, and Lilixia is blameless. I should have known her parents wouldn't tell her about my mother. They'd never risk upsetting her delicate sensibilities—delicate little lily that she is."

"P-Piper…" Lilixia sobbed, wiping at her eyes, her voice breaking.

"You're not a Kinder, Lilixia," She snapped, glancing up with a brief, disdainful look before refocusing on the transfusion. Her eyes narrowed as she checked the progress of the liquid, the pale glow of the snow berry juice now slowly coursing through Edmund's veins. "Even if you keep yourself at that age, you're not frozen in childhood. You need to grow up someday."

"Piper, don't be mean," Aelar said, his tone more pleading than stern. Lilixia only cried harder, as if hoping her tears would somehow fix the situation. That was always her strategy: cry, apologize, and look pitiful enough to make anyone who didn't forgive her seem cruel.

"Fine," She said sweetly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, Lilixia. How about we visit the stream we used to play at as kids and make up over a nice little picnic?"

Lilixia froze mid-sob, her face draining of all color as if her words had physically struck her. She clutched her chest, doubling over, her breath hitching in a ragged gasp that threatened to turn into retching. Aelar cast her a reproachful look, his expression a mix of disappointment and frustration, as if trying to decide whether to speak or remain silent in the tense, heavy air of the room.

Choosing silence, he patted Edmund's remaining wing and promised to return shortly before escorting Lilixia out of the room.

She didn't watch them leave. She adjusted the needle carefully, ensuring it wouldn't shift, then smoothed Edmund's hair from his damp forehead. His small round body looked impossibly fragile under the medical lights, and her chest tightened with guilt and determination.

"Is... Aunty Lilixia sick?" Edmund asked weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She just remembered something unpleasant about that stream," She replied, her voice softening as she adjusted the flow of the transfusion. The color was already beginning to return to Edmund's cheeks.

"Aww, Aunty Piper, you were being mean, weren't you?" Edmund smiled faintly. "But when they get so worked up, it's kind of funny—like when Walter gets all huffy if you copy the way he talks."

She chuckled softly; Kinders really saw the worlds through such a simple lens. "Yeah, I used to pick on her and make her cry all the time when we were kids. We spent a lot of time by that stream."

"What stream?" Edmund's eyelids drooped, but curiosity kept him clinging to wakefulness.

"The one you Kinders aren't allowed to go near," she replied, adjusting the blanket around him and tucking it snugly around his short, plump frame.

"Aww… why can't we?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"But it's the one you're getting." She held her hand in front of his eyes, casting a light sleeping spell.

"Meanie…" Edmund mumbled with a playful pout before his breathing slowed, and he fell into a peaceful doze.

She sat back with a sigh, glancing at the limp wing beside her and then at Edmund's peaceful face.

"Rest up, kid," she murmured. "We've got a long way to go."

She stood, rubbing the tension from her neck, and began organizing the tools for the next phase of his recovery. As the steady rhythm of the transfusion filled the room, she let herself exhale fully for the first time in hours.

Later would be the time to focus on her own personal battles; now was the time to focus on her patient.

— Wanda's POV—

Berries being squished—the smell, the sight—all brought home the reality that Kinders were fruits on the inside. Little living fruits. The thought churned her stomach and sent a shiver down her spine, the weight of it settling heavily on her mind, refusing to be ignored.

"Are you okay? You're looking very sick." Bea gently touched her arm.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the words caught in her throat as a wave of nausea swept over her. She felt bile rise in her throat and clamped a hand over her mouth, only to pull it away from her lips with a slight cry as she ended up tasting a faint sweetness from some of the juice that was staining her hands.

Not juice—Kinder blood.

"Oh, Gizmo, look what you did," Bea pouted, while the Fey in question just laughed with an innocent, 'Who, me? Like, what did I, like, do?'

"Oh, hang in there, sweetheart." Dazzle put an arm around her, her voice gentle but tinged with unease as if she secretly felt the way she did. "It's... a lot to process, I know," she added, her words slow and deliberate, like someone carefully choosing what to say. Her hands too were stained with berry juice... with blood... "I know what you're feeling right now, really. When I first found out, I had to journey to Queen Li Ban's Circle and use the medicated springs and wells there to fix my nerves. In time, though, I realized that it's not what's on the inside that counts, but the outside—oh, wait... umm... that did not come out quite right..."

"Haha, oh Dazzle!" Bea nudged the blonde Fey and peered into her face with a sympathetic smile. "What Dazzle was trying to say is, what they're made of does not matter; they're still children. It's not like what you'd see in those sci-fi body-snatcher movies or anything where they got taken over by fruit or some outside parasite or anything—their bodies were just changed so that they can survive in this world."

"We do not do it for no reason. You see, if humans don't eat the fruit and stay here too long, they will become ill with Fey-Sickness," Melika explained, her soft eyes resting on her. "Males will turn into flower shrubs, and women into trees. In that state, they are trapped between life and oblivion. If one eats the Fey-fruit, they are spared that fate, and they can live."

"We know it seems cruel." A female Fey she did not know the name of, admitted. "But those who undergo arborification have their souls eroded away by the powerful magic of our world."

"It is our world itself that will change them. No human can live in Fey world without eventually losing their humanity. We can't control that; but we can control how," Thistledust explained to her, rolling some berries around in his hand reflectively. "To be honest, I had wanted to keep Walter human….but then, after two years he began to display symptoms of Fey sickness, and I realized, changing the inside of his body into fruit was the far lesser evil than allowing his soul to be devoured by this world."

So…most of them felt the same way as her; they understood the horror of what they were doing except….they had chosen to justify their actions.

"It's one of those things that seem like a big deal at first, but it's really not. At first, it shocks you—it's unsettling to think of someone as being made of fruit on the inside—but after a while, you start to see them as the same as before. I'll admit though—" Siofra let loose a rueful laugh. "When my Theo first fell down and skinned his knees and my husband and I saw him bleeding Coramelon juice, we went a little nuts."

"A little?" a male Fey she did not know the name of called out, laughing. "Well, I'll be! The two o' ya went on a downright rampage, like a herd of wild bulls chasin' after a tumbleweed in a dust storm!" He tossed a few berries into his mouth. "I dunno how many of 'em there cocktails the two o' ya drowned before calmin' down."

She gagged, watching in repulsion as he chewed. "How can you eat them... knowing the Kinders are made of the same stuff?"

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't be goin' all riled up about it, honey-eyes." The Fey man shot her a cocky grin. His brow arched just so as he eyed her in a way that would make Juandissimo's advances seem subtle. "Let me put it plain for ya—if ya raised a baby calf from the moment it was born, reckon you could bring yourself to chow down on it?"

"Well, no, I mean—I know some people can raise farm animals and then—but I personally couldn't..." She fumbled a response, not knowing where he was going with this. "And don't call me Honey-eyes!"

"I'll call ya what I dang well please, but now, answer me this—ya fine with chowin' down on a good ol' burger?" he pressed, while several Fey in the room told him to shut up or scolded him. It seemed this guy, apparently named Ivy, was used to being lectured and brushed it off unaffected. "Ya eat steak, meatballs, beef enchiladas, all sorts o' things made from cows, don'tcha?"

"Well, yes, but I did not raise them! What does this have to do with anything, anyway?"

"Jus' makin' my point, honey-eyes." Ivy looked smug as he opened a locket around his neck, revealing a Kinder—a little girl with cow-like ears and spots, wearing a little western dress and cowboy hat. "I raised my little Kinder Liana fer centuries 'til she passed on peacefully at a ripe ol' age. She was my precious, one-of-a-kind girl—can't even fathom raisin' another Kinder like her; she sure as heck ain't somethin' you can compare to a Mangbow sproutin' up all willy-nilly in the forest."

"Ivy is a real creeper." Bea rolled her eyes and shot the aforementioned man a dirty look. "Don't mind him."

"He's just trying to make a point that Kinders, if you want to think of them as fruits, are in no way the same as a fruit growing in the forest, but he's doing a bad job of it," Melika shot the man a disgusted look. "Also, for all his talk of cows, he's a real pig."

"Aw, honey-buns, you're breakin' my heart."

"And your piggishness is making my arteries clog."

"The Fey fruit in the forest..." Thistledust mumbled, speaking to her even as he shot Ivy a reproachful look. "They're not sentient. Our Kinders are."

Her eyes swept over the bowls of crushed Snow-berries, the juice staining the floor in sticky streaks, and the discarded fruits—either deemed unworthy upon closer inspection or casually snacked on and tossed aside. Edmund, and probably several other Kinders in the village, was made of that same fruit….they were snow berries—merely with a different…human-like peel.

"Putting aside everything else." She swallowed hard, her thoughts spiraling as she considered the weight of what "everything else" truly meant—fear, guilt, confusion, and the strange moral lines she hadn't yet reconciled. "Doesn't it disturb you to... turn those children into—the same as something you—eat?" Her voice wavered, carrying the weight of an unspoken fear. She thought of the countless times she'd hesitated to accept the Fey's ways, the clash of her own values with theirs leaving her with an ever-growing unease. It wasn't just the idea itself that unsettled her; it was the moral compromise it seemed to demand of her, the strange sensation of being complicit in a culture she didn't fully understand.

"A Fey fruit has no emotions or thoughts. It's fine to eat them or do whatever else to them, but a Kinder, even if they're fruit on the inside, they have thoughts, feelings, can feel pain and comfort," Thistledust explained matter-of-factly. "I think that distinction makes all the difference between normal Fey Fruit and Kinders. Fey fruit is just that—fruit, a resource without thoughts or feelings. Kinders, though, are alive in a way that matters; they think, feel, and experience the world around them."

"Yeah, like, no one here would look at a Kinder and think, like, they look tasty." Gizmo popped a berry into her mouth and savored it for show. "That would be, like, taking the term, they look sweet enough to eat, to like, a whole new and disturbing level."

"A snow berry is really just a snow berry to us," Bea explained to her gently. "When I look at Edmund, I don't see a berry—I see a boy. I'll admit, I've never been a fairy, so I can't understand your perspective fully, but to me, a Fey fruit and a Kinder aren't the same thing at all."

"I was a fairy." Dazzle picked up a snow berry, turning it over in her fingers. "When I first looked at Fey fruit being baked into pies, or being made into jelly, I was thinking 'oh gosh, they're eating the inside of Kinders!' but it's not really the same. A Kinder isn't exactly the same as fruit on the inside—they have their organs and stuff. As for the parts that are the same, well..." Dazzle, as if to prove a point, put the berry into her mouth and swallowed. "You adapt to it after a while. I hate to agree with anything Ivy says, but eating Fey-Fruit isn't even as bad as eating a burger because animals are thinking, feeling things, and the fruit isn't."

"Just like keepin' a pet calf while still enjoying a big old hunk of steak, just as I said. Thank you for your support, Honey-Pie."

"Bleh." Dazzle stuck her tongue out at Ivy.

"Just sayin'. Anyway, what are you gettin' so worked up for? You've been here putting those berries through the juicer, knowin' this whole time that the Kinders are made of the same stuff, weren't ya?"

"...They're needed for a blood transfusion... to save that poor boy." She stared numbly at the bowl of snow berries sitting beside her. How many had she mechanically put in the juicer by now, even knowing what she did?

"So, in what you're trying to say, that Kinders and these fruits are the same—then, hypothetically speaking, if your godchild needed a new kidney, you'd be fine with rippin' it out of 'nother kid to save his life?"

"What!? Of course not!"

"But you're squishing those berries, weren't ya, 'cause they're needed for a transfusion."

"But those aren't a kid! They're just... berries..."

"And, here we have it folks, we've come full circle, haven't we?" Ivy let loose a whoop of victory that no one else shared in. "Kinders aren't the same as Fey-fruit, just two things with a similar body composition. Heck, now what was it Piper said once that the human body is 60% water? When your sippin' on tea or downing a glass of water, are you shrinkin' in horror about drinking something your Timmy is 60% made up of, or is it just plain ol' water to you?"

"Ivy, that's enough." Bea pressed her lips together, and several Fey started shouting at him again, but nothing wiped that satisfied smirk off his lips. She wasn't even focusing on him or the rest of them anymore.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the rapid beats echoing in her ears. Her face flushed with anger, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson. The muscles in her body tensed, causing her shoulders to rise and her fists to clench tightly.

In her mind, a whirlwind of thoughts and conflicting emotions swirled. Confusion battled with frustration. Her thoughts felt scattered, like puzzle pieces that refused to fit together.

Having so much to say and yet unable to find the words to do so, her eyes welled up with tears, a mix of anger, sadness, frustration, and helplessness. She blinked them away, not wanting to show her vulnerability, and tried to place another berry into the juicer, only for her shaking hands to drop it back into the basket.

"…You've done well, but I think you're at your limit. You are just going to end up making yourself unfit to perform your Timmy's treatment if you keep this up. Come with me." Thistledust grabbed her hand and pulled her up.

"I'm fine!" She protested. "I-I really don't need the relaxation room…." She couldn't stand to be shut back up in there again. The idea of being left alone with her thoughts right now was just too much to bear.

"I'm not taking you there."

"Thistle…." Bea started shaking her head, but was ignored as Thistledust escorted her from the room. The nauseous sight and smell of the snow berries no longer assaulted her senses, but she had a feeling that her mental state would continue to be aggravated by them for much longer.

The hallway they stepped into was not the same hallway she had entered the 'juicing room' from, and she looked around herself uneasily.

Where that hallway had been long and covered in mint green wallpaper with a wrapped-candy print, this hallway wasn't long. It was short, with pink and white striped paper, and three doors, all of which had a name plaque. A cake-shaped plaque read 'Piper,' a traditional plaque read 'Nova,' and the third door read 'Recovery Room.'

In disbelief and hope, she turned to look at Thistledust, who nodded.

"I'm taking you back to your godchild. You've endured enough, and your help with everything is appreciated. I know you still have a way to go before you can understand and accept our methods and our culture, but I appreciate your effort in trying and in assisting with Edmund's care despite your reservations."

"Thank you…" She could almost cry in gratitude as she gripped the handle of the Recovery Room. The relief that she was moments away from being reunited with Timmy almost took away the sting of horror at the realization that the room she and Timmy were staying in was positioned right in between Nova and Piper's bedrooms.

…if the need were to eventually arise, sneaking out of the clinic with Timmy would be even more difficult than she had anticipated…

— Nova POV—

"Art thou comfortable?" Walter asked, as he wrapped a blanket around Timmy, who was shivering after having gotten out of the hot spring. For as long as his energy levels were so low, his body could not produce its own heat, leaving the poor thing in a constant chilled state that persisted despite heavy pajamas and blankets.

Hector allowed the boy to lean against his large furry body, propping him up in a half sitting/laying position, while Billy laid across Timmy's legs, as though to give him extra warmth, and Maria laid curled up on the boy's belly purring away. Frederic had draped his body over the boy's shoulders, like a scarf, and Ginnie and the three baby Appapuffs had snuggled up close to him.

Clara had crawled up into the branches of a tree, tucking herself away into the leaves and flowers. He hoped that the sight of them together, all cozy, would entice her to come down and join them, but he wasn't expecting such a miracle. His poor Clara…he hoped that one day he'd find a method to heal her heart, but for now, all he could do was try to gently coax her, and do his utmost to prevent Timmy from ending up the way she had.

"Very." Timmy confirmed. "Thanks! And I'll be even warmer when the fire gets started. How's it coming, Grandpa?"

"While the challenge exceeded expectations, I am quite tenacious when getting what I want, so I assure you, I will have a roaring campfire worthy of our camping-trip in due time." He insisted, trying to disguise his mounting frustration with his lack of progress in the undertaking. When Timmy had shared how his last lesson in Squirrely Scouts, before his father forced him out, involved learning to start a fire using only sticks, he had impulsively promised to show him how it was done.

He was frankly regretting it, but he was too stubborn to go back on his word and to admit he could no longer do something he had done countless times before to amuse Jullian and amaze Julia.

It would seem that lighting a fire without magic or even a lighter was not akin to riding a bike. He had completely lost the knack for it, and it was making his hand, injured from having made contact with human blood, ache fiercely.

He knew Timmy would not hold it against him were he to give up, but he wanted to please him. Would Timmy grin and clap his hands together the way Jullian had? Or maybe he might gasp and stare in wide-eyed amazement, staring transfixed by the flames like his Julia?

Alas, it had been so long since he'd started one by hand that as of now, the only look on Timmy's face was one of patient kindness mixed with traces of boredom, along with more than a little pity. Walter was trying not to giggle at his repeated failures, but he knew Thistledust could have done this in an instant. Watching him struggle seemed to amuse Walter in a lighthearted way, bringing out a rare, playful side in the usually polite boy. Meanwhile, Timmy would give him an encouraging look in order to cheer him on, whenever he glanced his way, making it absolutely impossible to give up.

"Aha!" He proclaimed as the fire finally sprang to life after rubbing the sticks together so long that his hands felt numb and were likely blistered. "I have fulfilled my claim that I am able to do this!"

"You did it!" Timmy clapped his hands together and laughed, bearing a striking resemblance to Jullian. It almost made his heart skip a beat and for a moment he had actually seen his little Jullian, with his pale, freckled cheeks, curly blond hair and sky-blue eyes…sitting so close, all he had to do was reach out….and he could save his boy…..

"Uncle Nova, the fire will falter if thou dost not take care to feed it." Walter snapped him out of it, leaning forward to carefully stack small twigs and dry leaves over the flickering flames.

"Oh, yes, of course! After such considerable exertion, allowing the flame to extinguish prematurely would be quite the wasted effort." He felt his cheeks redden and chided himself. Timmy was not Jullian, nor was he Julia. The boy's soul was a new born, so him being either of their reincarnation was therefore impossible, alas….Timmy reminded him so much of those two beloved children that he could not help himself, but make the comparisons.

"Thou must build it up slowly," Walter explained, his tone patient but somewhat amused. "The fire behoveth fuel to keep burning, yet if thou dost smother it with aught too heavy or damp, it shall go out."

"Thistledust has fostered in Walter a burgeoning expertise in outdoor pursuits," he observed playfully, noting the boy's construction of a teepee-shaped framework over the kindling. As the flames grew stronger and steadier, their warm glow lit up their surroundings, casting dancing shadows on the trees.

Timmy leaned forward, taking care not to dislodge the Companions nestled around him, all of whom stirred upon the lighting of the fire and were watching the flames appreciatively, for they knew it would help their sickly friend feel more comfortable. "Wow! So that's how you do it by hand! It's so cool how it starts so small and then grows bigger and bigger!"

"How did thy father make fires when ye were in the scouts?" Walter asked curiously.

"He'd get some logs, pour gasoline on them, and light a match."

Walter's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, those poor lads in thy troop... they shall learn naught with such teaching. Nay, this poor instruction, it sounds most perilous..."

"Gasoline is extremely volatile," He said, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew better than to insult Timmy's parents too overtly. The boy, innocent and foolishly devoted, clung to the idea of loving his parents despite their neglect. "Your father's approach to teaching fire-starting presents a safety hazard to the children involved. The volatility of the fumes presents an ignition risk independent of contact with the wood. Is he unfamiliar with the phenomenon of flash fires?"

"I mentioned that to him, but he said the 'flash' just makes the fire start faster," Timmy replied, shrugging, as though reasoning with his father was a hopeless endeavor. "He called it a 'shortcut for real men.'"

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if physically restraining his frustration. "Shortcut for…? Oh, Sweet Mab! That is not just moronic; it's criminally reckless! Is your father oblivious to the risk that such a shortcut poses, potentially leading to hospitalization or even more dire consequences?"

Timmy fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, toying with the edge of his blanket as though he were the one being reprimanded. "I mean… yeah, I guess. But he always says stuff like, 'Real men don't worry about little things like safety.'"

He softened his tone. "Timmy, concern for safety is not equivalent to undue worry. It is called responsibility. Strength is defined not by recklessness, but by the responsibility of protecting those around oneself. A fire, improperly started, isn't just a shortcut; it's a disaster waiting to happen. I implore you to vow that you will never attempt to replicate your father's dangerous actions. Fire offers enjoyment only when treated with the appropriate respect and caution.

"I promise," Timmy said earnestly. "I already knew what my Dad was doing was a bad idea..."

"That's a good boy." He smiled approvingly. "The proper initiation of a fire, as demonstrated, can be likened to the casting of a magic spell." He gestured toward the gently roaring flames. "Patience, focus, and the proper ingredients are all necessary. Accelerating the process with gasoline creates an unpredictable and typically disastrous outcome, much like trying to wield magic beyond one's control.

Timmy nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, Dad's way is faster, but you're right—it's better to do it the safer way. Once, Dad started a forest fire. It would've ended up being a disaster if I hadn't wished for Cosmo and Wanda to put it out before it spread past our campsite."

"I do hope no one was hurt at the time!"

"No, everyone in my dad's troop is a fast runner; I guess that is the one wilderness survival skill we learned from him—well, more because of him—" Timmy laughed a little, as if he had told a joke, and then, fidgeting once no one laughed, turned his attention back to the campfire. "Anyway, it's kinda cool to watch a tiny spark grow into a campfire instead of just seeing it go—whoosh!"

"Exactly." He was now glad he had stuck to the tiresome task of starting it by hand, rather than using a quick method like magic—in order to press upon the boy that the safety that came with patience was infinitely better than the danger that came with a 'cheat method' like gasoline.

Honestly, he was both grateful and surprised that Timmy and his scout troop hadn't gone 'whoosh,' themselves with an incompetent buffoon like Mr. Turner leading them. "The value of a campfire lies not solely in its outcome, but also in the careful method of its creation. It is imperative that campers avoid any actions that could endanger the local wildlife."

"That is Thistledust's foremost rule: when thou art outdoors, think of thyself as nature's houseguest! He ever said it be about respecting each tree, creature, and stone, as though they belonged to one thou loved," Walter recited proudly. "'Tis a pity that Thistledust could not teach thy scout troop."

"Yeah." Timmy chuckled. "They'd probably learn more from him in a day than they'd learn from my dad in… well, actually, I don't think they've ever learned anything from my dad…except how to run away from various disasters."

The joke wasn't funny the second time either, more sad than anything, but the child's life had given him a sort of cynical-humor that he couldn't be faulted for. It was a defense mechanism Jullian had employed too; finding the humor in things that weren't the least bit funny.

Walter smiled, tossing another stick into the fire. "I shall teach ye all the knowledge I possess, that perchance one day ye may return and teach them the proper way."

"Yeah… if Dad ever lets me join back up…"

He smiled warmly, ruffling Timmy's hair before settling down close to the two boys. The poor boy's foolish father did not deserve such a fine child.

"Well, then, let it be known that the most critical rule regarding campfires is this: when a group of three or more people assemble around a campfire in the evening…" He leaned forward, his green eyes glinting mischievously in the firelight as he grinned at them. "At least one scary story must be told."

Eagerly, the two boys leaned forward in anticipation. The look on Timmy's face, in particular, reminded him of Jullian. Jullian had adored his scary stories, because he said that they made his own life not so scary by comparison.

Maybe he'd tell Timmy one of his dear lost boy's favorites….

"Now then, my dear boys, sit close and brace yourselves for one of Fey worlds most traditional tales!"

He poked the fire, his movements deliberate as the flickering flames cast long, shifting shadows on his sharp features. The warm glow illuminated his furrowed brow and intense eyes, adding an air of solemnity to the scene. Behind him, the trees stretched into darkness, the faint rustle of leaves and distant calls of night creatures providing a haunting backdrop. The fire cracked and hissed, tiny embers spiraling upwards. His change in demeanor added an air of gravity, pulling his audience closer into the tale before it even began. Timmy and Walter exchanged thrilled looks, scooting closer to the fire, listening with undivided attention. The Companions cuddling up close to Timmy looked entertained, though the three baby Appapuffs made squeaks of protest and darted behind Timmy's back—encountering Lilithree had been enough horror to last a lifetime for those little ones. Rather than go after them, Ginnie took this chance to nestle herself into Timmy's arms, letting herself be held like a teddy bear, similar to the way he cuddled with her for comfort before his treatments.

Timmy now resembled Julia in a poignant way; she had a deep love for stuffed animals, often wishing for so many that her bed overflowed with them, leaving barely enough space for herself. Yet, despite the lack of room, Julia insisted on sleeping amidst the plush menagerie, claiming their presence made her feel safe and loved. Her bond with those toys reflected a need for comfort and a tender connection that Timmy seemed to echo now, surrounded by his own cluster of loyal companions. Of course, Julia had hated scary stories, unlike Timmy, whose entire face shone with anticipation.

"This story happened a long time ago, back before the barrier was put in place and the Fey and Human realms were still connected," he began, his voice low and almost hypnotic. "The barrier is not just a physical divide; it marked the end of an era of shared magic, alliances, love and, unfortunately, betrayals. This is a story of one such betrayal—the tragedy that can unfold when a Fey allows their hearts to be stolen by innocence, by sweetness, by… love. Such entanglements often lead to a lesson that echoes through generations, one of warning and woe. Such was the tragic tale of Seriluna, the Kelravine."

Walter, familiar with all the traditional Fey stories, no doubt had heard this one before and raised his brow at this particular choice, realizing that the campfire tale had motive aside from just offering entertainment.

"Long ago, Seriluna, a member of the Morgens, a type of water-Fey, inhabited a beautiful lake deep within one of the forests that lay on the boundary between the human and Fey realms."

"The Morgens?" Timmy questioned curiously, his explanation of 'water-Fey' clearly not having been enough information for him.

"You may have noticed that some fairies have pointed ears, whilst others have normal ones, right?" he asked, his tone inviting curiosity.

"I suppose I always noticed, but I never really thought about why," Timmy admitted, a slight furrow in his brow. "Like Binky—that's Jorgen's assistant—he has pointy ears. I guess I just figured, I dunno, that he was half-elf or something. No one ever brought it up, so I never thought to ask about it."

He shuddered violently. "No, fairies and elves detest each other and would never even fathom being in a relationship, and even if that were not so, the truth is that we Fey—and likewise fairies and anti-fairies—cannot mate with other magical species. Strangely enough, we are able to produce offspring with human partners, which is something other magical species are unable to do."

"So… a fairy and an elf cannot have a kid, but a human and a fairy can, but an elf and a human cannot…" Timmy allowed himself to process this information and then asked the predictable, "Why?"

"I do not know, dear child. Frankly, no one really does. Trust me, much effort has been put into finding the answer to that question, but it eludes us still."

"Hmm, okay… so why do some fairies have pointy ears?"

"To simplify things, you can compare it to how humans have different nationalities. Nature Fairies like your godmother and I make up the vast majority, but there are many variants. Sadly, most of them went extinct during the Mana War."

"There be three kinds of Water-Fey alone: the Morgens, the Asrai, and the Kelpies." Walter added helpfully. "The Morgens are famed for their beguiling beauty and their enchanted waters. The Asrai, however, are elusive and fragile beings, who doth prefer to dwell beneath the waves."

"Bliss, if you recall her, is a member of the Asrai tribe," he added helpfully, but was unsure if the boy would recall her face from the many other new people he had met. "She's Rachel's Fey-mother, that's the Kinder that looks like a little lamb that you played with at the waterfall."

"Ah." Timmy nodded in recognition. "So, she's a water-Fey then? I would have thought that Kasumi, the water-girl would be more likely to be the Kinder of a water fairy!"

"Mist, Kasumi's Fey-Parent, is of the Kelpies—nay, a former member. He betrayed them, and Queen Mab, in her mercy, did bid him to dwell within our Ring. Thou seest, Kelpies are oft feared. Ere the barrier was raised, they would beguile humans, leading them to drown, or stir terrible storms to sink ships. Mist, however, did save a pair of human sisters stranded upon such a vessel, driven by a rare compassion for a Kelpie that did outweigh his fear of the wrath to come. The sisters, both frail and delicate, did cling to one another in desperation as the storm did rage about them. Mist, moved by their steadfast bond and innocent cries, did defy the ways of his kin and rescue them. His heroism was met with scorn and wrath by his people, who deemed his act a betrayal of their kind, and thus, he was cast into exile."

"But Queen Mab adores those who'd sacrificed themselves for the wellbeing of human children and our Mist is a well-loved member of our Circle, even though he does strongly exhibit the well-known vice of hedonism that the Kelpies are infamous for." He added with a good-natured chuckle; Mist's hedonistic tendencies were a good-natured jab most villagers in the circle made about the fellow, but the truth was with infinite magic and time at their disposal most Fey were hedonistic by nature, they just did not revel in it with as much unabashed shamelessness as Mist tended to do. "I'll teach you all about the different types of Fey sometime, but for now, let's continue with the story."

"Right." Timmy flashed them an apologetic look for interrupting with his questions, but they just smiled back—Walter enjoying Timmy's enthusiasm, and he himself happy to see the boy so curious and willing to learn about their world. He was also aware that Timmy's ADHD, which made him easily distracted and prone to interrupting with various questions, could often lead him to ramble off onto different topics. This trait, while occasionally diverting the conversation, reflected his vibrant curiosity and eagerness to engage with the world around him. This habit, though sometimes inconvenient, only deepened his appreciation for the boy's boundless energy and desire to understand.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Long ago, Seriluna, a member of the Morgens, a type of water-fairy, inhabited a beautiful lake deep within one of the forests that lay on the boundary between the human and Fey realms. Her river brought life to the forest, filling it with a natural bounty that she gave freely. She was gentle, kind, and curious about the world beyond her waters, but as a Morgen, she was unable to leave the river."

"Why?" Timmy asked and then glanced guiltily at the two of them for interrupting again.

"Morgens live not merely in water; they are water itself." Walter explained. "Their bodies and spirits are bound to the rivers they dwell in. Imagine it as having a stationary body that cannot be moved—for to leave the water would be to unravel a part of their very being. It defines not only where they dwell, but who they are. Every ripple in the river doth echo their emotions, and every change in its course doth affect their essence. This bond makes them most powerful, yet also most vulnerable. It shapes how they engage with the world, for they must rely on others to experience that which lies beyond their watery bounds."

"Ooooh." Timmy almost looked like he was about to ask 'why' again, but he stopped him by swiftly continuing. Not because he didn't want to answer, but because Timmy was behaving so much like Jullian had when he first heard this story that it was almost too painful.

"Seriluna was terribly lonely, and because of how deeply people feared her forest for its reputation of humans going missing in it, stolen away by the Fey, she despaired of ever finding someone willing to regale her with tales of the outside world. That's when she met him."

"Who?"

"A boy," He replied, his voice tinged with sorrow. "A little human boy who had wandered into the forest and gotten lost. His name was Elias. No older than nine years, he stumbled upon her river, his face streaked with tears. Seriluna, soft-hearted as she was, took pity on him. She sang to him, soothed him, gave him sweet fruits to eat and sparkling water to drink. She helped guide him back to his home, as her water flowed through the roots of all the trees and she could see wherever her water was—mapping the way safely back home for the boy. Elias, a motherless child, often sought out Seriluna, venturing back into the forest and following the path she had mapped out for him. Over time, she grew to adore him like a mother would her child, and he returned her affections. For years, Elias would visit her, sitting by the river's edge, listening to her songs, laughing as she made the water dance in playful shapes. She loved him with all her heart, and he promised her he would always be as a son to her."

Timmy smiled, probably linking Elias and Seriluna to himself and Wanda, but he knew he wouldn't want to be doing that for much longer, not once the story reached its second half.

"But time," He said softly, "has a way of changing mortals. Elias grew older, and though he still visited Seriluna, his innocence began to wane. He no longer laughed as easily. He began to ask her questions about the magic of her river, about the power she held over the water. At first, Seriluna thought nothing of it—he was curious, after all. But she didn't see the greed growing in his heart."

Timmy frowned, realizing the path the story was taking. The crackling fire reflected in his troubled eyes, and the air seemed to grow heavier with tension. "What did he do?"

His voice dropped to a whisper, forcing the two boys to lean in. "Elias betrayed her. One day, he returned to her river not with the love of a son, but with a heart filled with greed. He spun a heart-rending tale about a woman he claimed to love, saying she was dying of a dreadful illness. He convinced Seriluna to let him bottle some of her miraculous water, which due to it's magic would save this woman's life. Seriluna, thinking she had made a small sacrifice for Elias's beloved, was content. Tragically, no such lover existed. It was just a ruse to prove the water's effectiveness. Once Elias showed people the water's power, he, as the only one who knew its source, found many eager buyers."

"She didn't keep giving it to him, did she?"

"Oh yes, she did," Nova replied grimly. "Elias told her lies—about how greedy kings and merchants, seeing how the water cured his lover, began threatening his and her lives if he did not procure it. Seriluna, unable to bear the thought of Elias being hurt, continued to give, and he continued to take until her river ran dry. As the last drops vanished, so did Elias, abandoning the muddy remains of the woman who had thought herself a mother to him. Poor Seriluna's heart was completely broken."

Timmy gasped, hugging Ginnie close, tears sparking in his eyes. Frederic, also reacting to Timmy's distress, gave the boy's cheek a lick, and Hector nuzzled his arm with his fluffy head. "That's horrible! How could he have done that to her?"

"Seriluna must have wondered the same thing," He nodded solemnly, his gaze distant, recalling pains of his own. "Trust, when misplaced, can lead to betrayals that echo through lifetimes," he added, the weight of the lesson lingering heavily in the air.

"What happened to poor Seriluna?"

"Her sorrow turned to rage, and her rage twisted her into something monstrous. The grief transformed her into the Kelravine, a creature of the mire. Her once-beautiful form became a nightmare. Arms that had held Elias with tender mother-love grew long and sinewy, her fingers sharp as daggers. Her voice, which had sung sweet lullabies, turned into mournful wails that echoed through the swamp. But worst of all were her eyes—two glowing orbs of green fire, filled with eternal grief and hatred for Elias, the one who betrayed her."

Walter, knowing the story, stayed quiet but leaned in anxiously for the next part of the tale—the scary part. Timmy asked in a nervous whisper, "What does she do to those who wander into her swamp?"

Nova leaned closer to the fire, his voice a harsh whisper. "She waits, hidden beneath the muddy water, her mournful cries luring travelers to the edge. Those who hear her weeping think it's a child, lost and in need of help. But the moment they lean over the water to look… she strikes. Her arms lash out, pulling them under. She doesn't drown them outright—no, that would be too kind. She whispers to them, filling their minds with their worst regrets, their deepest fears, until they can barely remember who they are. When she's done, she leaves them trapped in the mire, their faces staring blankly from the mud, their souls bound to her swamp forever."

Timmy shivered, pulling his blanket tighter. "Is it...possible to escape?"

"Few do. Those who manage to flee are marked by her—haunted by her voice, her touch, her sorrow. They are drawn back to the swamp, again and again, until she claims them completely. The Kelravine doesn't like to let her prey go."

The fire crackled, and a sudden breeze sent leaves and flower petals swirling around them, bringing them back from the horrors of the story to their peaceful camp. Walter had a grin, but Timmy was fuming.

"That Elias was a jerk! Did he not care about her at all? I could never do something like that to Wanda."

"Ah, Timmy," he murmured, his voice as smooth as silk. "Such a pure and noble heart. You remind me of someone I once knew—someone who cared just as deeply, who loved just as purely. But…" He sighed, his expression darkening. "Adulthood is a thief, little one. It steals that purity, that clarity, and twists it into something unrecognizable. Elias… he wasn't always like this. Once, he too loved Seriluna with all his heart."

Timmy frowned, shrinking back slightly. "Then what happened to him?"

"The poison," He whispered, leaning in as though sharing a grave secret. "The poison of adulthood. It's a slow, creeping thing. It doesn't strike all at once. No, it waits—patiently—until even the strongest hearts are worn down. No matter how pure, sweet and innocent the child, adulthood changes them into someone else. Into someone who'd thoughtless throw away childhood treasures…and people…as though they were meaningless."

Timmy's face paled. "I don't want to be like that—ever!"

He studied him for a moment, as though weighing his words carefully. Then he smiled faintly, a bittersweet expression. "Perhaps… perhaps there is hope for you, Timmy. But it will not be easy. The poison is everywhere, and resisting it takes great strength. You must be vigilant. You must guard your heart at all costs."

Timmy's eyes widened with determination. "Tell me how! Please, I'll do anything!"

"First," he said, his voice low and persuasive, "you must never lose your sense of wonder. Wonder is the light in your heart, Timmy—the part of you that sees magic in the world. Most humans let it fade. They stop looking at the stars, stop imagining what could be, stop believing in things greater than themselves. Once that wonder is gone…" He paused, letting the weight of his words hang. "The poison takes root."

Timmy swallowed hard, his small hands clenching. "I'll keep my wonder! I promise!"

He nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, second…" He leaned forward, his golden gaze locking with Timmy's. "Keep your heart small. Let too many people in, and they will only hurt you. They will contaminate you with their own various poisons. They will influence your thoughts, behaviors, and try to enforce change upon you. The more you love, the more doors you open for the poison to creep in. Cherish those who truly matter, but be cautious. A heart shattered by too many betrayals is impossible to mend."

Timmy hesitated, his brows knitting together. "But… isn't it good to care about people? Isn't closing yourself off to them…a bad thing?"

"It is good to care, Timmy and I'm not saying to close off your heart, only to be aware of who you let in. Care too much, allow too many inside and you leave yourself vulnerable."

Timmy bit his lip, nodding slowly. "Okay… I'll try to be careful."

"Third," He continued, his tone growing more serious, "beware of ambition. Humans think ambition is strength, but it is the poison's greatest ally. It whispers lies—tells you that you need more, that you must prove yourself, that you must climb higher. Resist it, Timmy. Contentment is your shield. A greedy heart is an empty one. Live by the mantra that it is better to be poor in pocket than poor in character."

Timmy's expression grew uncertain. "But… isn't it okay to want to do better? To succeed?"

"Better, yes. The pursuit of challenges is commendable, provided one's intentions are virtuous. Regarding the concept of success, how is it defined within human society? A lucrative position and significant influence? The desirability of such outcomes notwithstanding, how did the person come to obtain such things? Was it through honest hard work or simply by exploiting the system, having it handed to them undeserved, or by hurting others? How do they behave once they reach that point? While remaining impervious to the corrupting influence of money and power is laudable, few can honestly attest to such resilience, despite what their self-deception may tell them. They exhibit disdain towards individuals in lower-level positions, behaving with an air of superiority and entitlement, and resorting to outbursts when faced with setbacks. To be frank, we of the Fey would find a kind and virtuous waitress or janitor far more appealing than a spoiled and petulant success, who acts as though a person's value is equivalent to the amount of money in their bank account."

"Uncle Nova…" Walter crossed his arms, giving him a look, and he blushed, clearing his throat.

"Sorry; I think I may have gotten carried away." He apologized. "You see, my Jullian had worked numerous minimum wage jobs—he was poor, but hardworking, kind and earnest…he was happy. However, people kept calling him a failure, shaming him and looking at him like he was lesser than the rest of them. They treated his daughter as though she should be ashamed of whom her father was- and so…he ended up going back to the toxic family of criminals he had escaped from, not because of poverty, but because the people around him had poisoned him shame, when he truly had nothing to be ashamed of and…he did things that lead him onto a dark path. You see, ambition has a way of taking everything from you—your joy, your kindness, your very soul. Do not let it consume you."

Timmy nodded hesitantly, looking at him with a kind sympathy, as if he wished there was something he could have done for him and for Jullian, alas that wasn't possible. Even if the boy were to travel back in the time, the world had already been re-sat by the Fairy Council and the Jullian he'd encounter would not be his Jullian-a complete different soul would be in that body. Where his Jullian's soul was...he had no idea. He could only hope that it had been placed in one of the children he had managed to save...

"I'll… I'll remember that. I'll try to do my best, but I won't put it above being a good person...Wanda would want that too."

"Good." He gently stroked the boy's bangs in appreciation for his kind thoughts. "Now, fourth, guard your promises. Humans break theirs so easily, thinking nothing of it. But every broken promise chips away at your heart, making it easier for the poison to seep in. Keep your word, Timmy, no matter how hard it becomes."

Timmy straightened, his determination returning. "I always keep my promises! I won't ever break them!"

He smiled faintly. "And you must continue to do so. Finally..." He paused, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Remember this, Timmy: the world is cruel to those who stay kind but hold onto your kindness and your principals and never let go. People will try to tell you that growing up means hardening your heart, becoming like them. But if you do that..." His expression grew somber. "You lose everything that makes you who you are."

Timmy's voice trembled as he replied, "But… won't people continue to hurt me if I don't toughen up?"

"Perhaps. But is it not better to be hurt and remain true to yourself than to hurt others and taint your soul? Once your soul is tainted, you wouldn't feel any guilt in betraying someone you love, just like Elias. You don't want that, correct?"

Timmy nodded fervently. "I won't let it happen! I'll do everything you say!"

He leaned back, his gaze flickering with satisfaction. "You are brave, Timmy. Braver than most. But..." His voice softened, carrying a chilling edge. "Remember, even with all these precautions, the poison is clever. It waits for your weakest moments. When you feel lost, when the world seems darkest—that is when it will strike."

Timmy shivered, clutching Ginnie tighter to his chest, as though trying to shield himself from the weight of his words. "I won't let it win. I promise."

Jullian had said all the same things, made the same promises, and yet...

"You are strong, Timmy," he murmured, his voice as gentle as a lullaby. "Alas, even the strongest hearts have their limits, especially when they've already endured so much."

Timmy was looking spooked, but he tried to speak with a mixture that was a combination of determination, bravado, and denial. Properly scared, just as intended, about whom his future self might become. "I won't let my heart falter! There's no way I'm going to let poison into my heart and turn me into someone like Elias! I'm already used to enduring things. I won't let it change me!"

His expression remained calm, as he looked upon the boy, mournfully. It was not that he wanted to cause him torment, but if one had too much confidence that they'd grow well—if they believed in themselves too much—-they wouldn't notice the signs of the adult-poison seeping in. That was what happened to his Jullian.

Planting the seeds of fear and self-doubt about the poison would have the boy mindful of it, and it could help him notice it if the poison began to spread in him—so that it could be cleared out before it could take root.

"Oh, Uncle Nova, scare not poor Timmy so," Walter scolded, but flashed him a knowing look from over Timmy's shoulder; the boy was smart and knew why he had chosen the story he had, and his motives for doing what he was now. No doubt, he found it a bit mean, but Walter trusted in his skill and knowledge and counted on him to do what he felt was in Timmy's best interest.

"Remember what we spoke of before? Strength isn't always about enduring, little one. Sometimes, it's about knowing when to step away from the pain. To choose a path where kindness is not punished and the world is not so cruel." He let the words hang, his tone carrying the faintest lilt of suggestion.

"What kind of place is that?" Timmy asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but his expression showed that he knew what he was hinting at.

His smile deepened. "There is a place where the poison of adulthood cannot touch you—where hearts remain unbroken, and wonder is celebrated, not lost. A place where the cruel whispers of the world fall silent, and all is… safe." He paused, watching Timmy's wide-eyed expression. "I think you might have an idea already of where that place is."

Timmy blinked, realizing the choice he was alluding to. "…I…"

He rested a hand lightly on Timmy's head, messing with his hair fondly. "No need to rush," he said softly. "You have quite a while yet before a decision on the matter is due. But remember, Timmy, what I said about how simply enduring the world's cruelty ends up breaking a person rather than making them strong? Sadly… while you can control your own actions, you can't control the actions of others…. Those who are poisoned can't stand the sight of the unsullied and will try to bring them down to their level or just be rid of them altogether. You can fight, and perhaps you may win… but, little one, there is no shame in turning your back on a world that will never understand you."

"I wouldst not worry so much, dearest Timmy. Jimmy and his comrades turned out well, without the adult poison having tainted them, so thou needst not fear. But if thou art afeard, we shall keep a watch for thee and aid thee if we see any signs."

"W-will you?"

"Of course we will." He reassured. "Trust in my advice and guidance, and you will have no reason to fear the adult poison. I will guide you onto the best path. Just put your trust in me."

Timmy smiled fragilely, uncertainty and hope warring in his gaze. Then, lowering his eyes, curling into the warmth of his blanket, he quietly mumbled, his young, vulnerable heart both comforted and unsettled by the subtle invitation to leave behind his humanity. He snuggled up a little closer to him and rested his head against his arm. "Thank you… Grandpa… I promise I'll do whatever it takes to never become the sort of person who would hurt Wanda…."

"I won't let that happen." He put an arm around the boy affectionately, looking down at him fondly as the vulnerable child snuggled closer to him, contented and reassured by his promise—and for a few moments, closed his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of pretending that it was his little Julian tucked safely under his arm. He let out a soft sigh, a bittersweet comfort washing over him. "I promise, I'll keep you safe and pure—I won't allow the poison to get to you…."

'Jullian….I'll save this boy who is so much like you…so much like your daughter; I'll give him the safety and happiness I failed to give the two of you.'

—Cosmo's POV—

'Some time alone… some time to think.' The words echoed in his mind, heavy with the weight of desperation and exhaustion. It wasn't just time he needed; it was clarity, a reprieve from the storm raging inside him, the endless loop of self-recrimination. Even the silence felt oppressive, pressing against him like an unseen force, demanding answers he didn't have. He poofed into Timmy's bedroom; it was dark, the clone already in bed, and downstairs he could hear the television on. It was the news, so Mr. and Mrs. Turner were home. Vicky wasn't here anymore…. that was good. Even if it was only a clone and not the real Timmy, he did not want even a clone of his godson to have to suffer at her hands.

Why had he come here? Surely there had been better places where he could have slinked off to be alone for a little while. But he had come here, the place he least wanted to be—a place that would forevermore serve as a reminder of his failures. The failure to protect Timmy when it mattered most, the failure to pay attention, and the failure to be the godfather Timmy truly needed. Each moment he spent here brought back flashes of his mistakes, the helpless, frightened look in Timmy's eyes, and the crushing realization that he might never be able to make things right.

His head hurt.

He rarely got headaches, let alone migraines, but tonight was different. Of course, it was different. Everything was different now.

He had tried to act normal—smiling, joking, pretending nothing had changed—hoping in vain that by doing so, it would make everything go back to how it was. But it wouldn't, would it? Things would never be how they were…but that had been the situation for a while, hadn't it, long before the accident...

Timmy…he wanted him to be how he was before. A selfish but kind, reckless but adventurous, impulsive, outspoken, cheerful, sometimes bratty, but loving child.

—He hated that doormat; that cautious, sniffling, fragile, and overly sensitive crybaby who seemed ready to fall apart if you used the wrong tone of voice with him!

The pain throbbed behind his eyes now, an incessant reminder of how sick he felt—not just physically, but in his very essence.

Thoughts like this weren't him. He was supposed to just be the fun, goofy one—the one who knew exactly which games would light up a child's face, who transformed every mundane moment into an adventure. He was the one who spent hours playing silly games, creating all kinds of wild mayhem, and making silly jokes that left kids clutching their sides with laughter. His role had always been to indulge a child's wish for play and irresponsibility, to make their world brighter and more carefree. He was the one who always made sure their godkids were having the most out of their childhood, enjoying themselves.

….Timmy did not even try to enjoy himself anymore.

He just wanted comfort. Constant reassurance. Indulgent coddling. He wanted all Wanda had to give. …And did not seek anything from him at all.

He sighed and turned his gaze to the bed. The boy lying there wasn't Timmy. Not really. It was Timmy's clone, a magical construct made to keep anyone from noticing he was missing. The clone slept, its chest rising and falling with mechanical precision. Sweat dotted its brow, and it released whimpers and moans as it imitated having a nightmare.

Timmy almost always had nightmares these days-sometimes they were so bad that Wanda and him had to sleep in shifts just in case the night terrors got too bad.

...It was...exhausting. Being Timmy's godparents used to be fun...but now it felt...like a job.

At least this clone wasn't really suffering a nightmare...it was just pretending to...and sometimes he wondered if maybe Timmy wasn't just faking things, at least a little bit, just to get extra attention from Wanda.

Jorgen's clone was well-made, much better than Poof's attempt had been, but magic clones, even if they looked spot on, were never really the same as the real person. They took two or three of the strongest traits and then flanderized them, making those few traits their entire personality. Normally, a magic-clone was not recommended for long use because of how badly one's social reputation would suffer, but…. In Timmy's case…how much worse could the bullying get from what it already was? He sighed, looking down at the clone who was sweating and grinding his teeth—it would seem that even Timmy's clone was not spared the nightmares.

"Well, I can relate to that," he remarked dryly. Every time he drifted off for a much-needed nap, he relived the accident.

He knew he was being inattentive to his family right now. His son needed him. His wife was in such a difficult spot-his mother was distressed and his poor brother was getting caught up in things he probably did not want to be forced into. He was being terribly selfish and yet…his thoughts were awry. He needed quiet, time to think, and yet when he got it, it became too much for him to handle.

Every time he allowed himself to think, he relived the accident. Timmy's accident. The terrible moment played on a loop, each repetition more vivid than the last. He cursed himself over and over, unable to fathom how he could possibly have allowed such a thing to happen—such a needless tragedy! Something so easily preventable! And yet—!

He had been too stupid. Too resentful. Angry at Timmy for favoring Wanda, for not heeding his 'advice' to distance himself from her, just a little—from finding Wanda's bookmark stuck between those pages! He had slammed the book he had been trying to study for the trivia questions for the quiz game at the fairy festival, so quickly that he had startled Timmy-and had made up a lie on the spot about being tired-but how was he to react when finding the Mothers-day bookmark Timmy had made for her stuck between pages detailing how to perform such...taboos.

He did not know why she was reading those pages, but if she was thinking of doing such things, then Timmy was to blame.

….So, in order to satisfy his bitterness, he had put all his focus on practicing for the Big TBT, and ignored his god son, never even thinking—! Never paying any attention to his surroundings! To what might happen—! And then…

Timmy's little surprise cry snapped him out of it….

….And his little godson was dead; broken apart….blood….that vacant gaze, the half-way expression of surprise as he died too quickly to even realize what had happened…. All because he did not pay attention.

Almost every time he slept—recriminations for his carelessness, for his stupidity—lecturing, stern, sharp disappointment for allowing such a stupid tragedy to happen. He had no excuses to make….he could only take the remonstrations dished out to him; in sleep, he was helpless to do anything more than wallow in guilt.

When awake, he had the defense of 'acting normal,' and trying to brush things off as he tried to be his usual self for his family, but….he felt like he was in a battle of tug-o-war with himself, and frankly, he felt as if he were about to be pulled apart.

….He was Cosmo, the fun, goofy one—situations like this were not meant for him.

His eyes trailed over the clone. Timmy…..when he had gone to bed that night, he had been lazily curled up on his side, just sleepily watching him practice for the Big TBT from within his fishbowl, giggling a little whenever he missed the target and the blast ricocheted off the side of the fishbowl and made him a gold-fish-stick.

….He had fallen asleep with a rare peaceful expression…the expression he wore as he woke up convulsing was anything but peaceful and—

'…Why did you...hurt me….!?'

He shuddered; the look Timmy had given him was as if he were some kind of monster. He tried to explain that he was sorry….that he was reviving him….that he was going to be okay, but….Timmy was so afraid…..afraid of him.

….Yes, Jorgen had explained to him that being revived hurt a lot, and that it was very common for a godchild, whose mind was still murky from death, to mistake the painful revival magic as their godparent hurting them, but…. The question and the expression of hurt and betrayal Timmy had worn when he had asked it, cut deep, so, so deep because….it was his fault that Timmy died.

If he had only paid attention…..!

How many other things had he missed because he did not pay enough attention? Would he have been able to stop his plucky, stout-hearted godson from becoming this fragile and overly dependent version of himself if he had paid attention? Well... he was paying attention now. He certainly noticed the scratches on the clone's arm, peeking through the raised sleeve of his pajama top. They were deep. Some seemed to have been made with his fingernails, but others... too thin, too straight—not deep enough for a razor but... scissors?

His stomach twisted. The bullying Timmy was enduring was certainly bad enough—and he could see some kids ending up like that—but not his Timmy.

Timmy had once been so resilient, so full of energy and life. He had been the kind of kid who could stumble into a room, trip over his own feet, and still make everyone laugh with a clever quip. No matter how many times life knocked him down, he always found a way to bounce back—whether it was with a determined grin or an audacious plan to make things better. That spark, that tenacity, seemed like it could weather anything. But now...that boy was gone, replaced by a fragile-doll, that felt like it would break if you played with it too roughly.

He hated himself for even thinking it, but sometimes he wondered if Wanda was enabling this weak version of Timmy. The constant coddling, the unwavering support—it was what Timmy needed, yes, but was it also keeping him from healing? From finding his own strength again? He didn't know. He only knew that he felt utterly powerless, and he hated how different everything had become—not just between him and Timmy but himself and Wanda too.

He remembered a time when he and Wanda had worked in perfect harmony. They had been a team, balancing each other out, complementing each other's strengths and weaknesses. Now, it felt like they were on separate paths. Wanda was pouring all her energy into Timmy, while he was… what?

He was supposed to be the fun one, the carefree one, the one who brought joy and laughter. But how could he do that when he couldn't even find joy within himself?

He hated how Wanda's entire focus was on Timmy now, but he did not blame her for it.

Wanda, naturally was probably worried about the changes in Timmy—she had studied to be an A-class godparent, after all, and all that learning about kids in such dire circumstances had gotten her paranoid. They were C-class godparents… they never had to worry about… that.

Their kids were safe from that.

Timmy was in no danger of that.

Those marks on the clone's arm were just… because it was a clone. Only three flanderized traits, not at all like the real person. Timmy would… never hurt himself…

Or worse.

Besides, Wanda would have told him if there was something so dire happening. Of course, she was likely worried it might happen and didn't want to worry him without any proof, so she said nothing. That had to be it. She trusted him. Didn't she? She would definitely tell him if Timmy was… But the doubts crept in, uninvited and relentless.

He thought of Wanda's recent behavior, how everything had shifted that one night. It had been during a routine fairy godparent meeting. They had left Poof with his mother because Timmy was saying he had a lot of homework and needed to focus on it—which had been weird, but Timmy had been a little weird lately—not as weird as now—but… anyway, Wanda and he had gone to the meeting, and everything had been routine until the break. He'd headed for the buffet table as usual, expecting Wanda to follow. But she'd gone to check on Timmy instead, and she never came back to the meeting. Since that night, she'd been glued to Timmy, her every action orbiting around him.

Timmy, too, had changed. He had become so… needy, so unbearably affectionate towards Wanda. He watched them together, feeling like an outsider looking in. It wasn't jealousy—at least, he didn't think it was. It was more a sense of displacement, a nagging feeling that something was wrong and he couldn't fix it, which left him fumbling in his interactions with Wanda and Timmy. He found himself hesitating, second-guessing every decision, unsure if his attempts to help were actually making things worse. And those scratches on the clone… what if… what if the real Timmy was hurting himself? What if that was why Wanda had become his security blanket, wrapping herself around him securely, protectively? What if—the worst had happened, and she didn't trust him enough to share it with him?

"Stop it," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You're being paranoid. Wanda would never keep something like that from me. Right? Also… Timmy would never, ever do that… he's selfish but not that selfish… he'd… never hurt us like that… right?"

But the doubt refused to leave. His eyes burned with unshed tears as the thoughts spiraled out of control. Was he truly failing as a godfather? Falling short of what Timmy needed? Letting him down when it mattered most? He'd always been the fun one, the silly one, the one who made Timmy laugh. But what good was laughter when he'd let Timmy…

He choked on a sob, his face buried in his hands. He couldn't stop seeing it—the accident, the aftermath, the lifelessness in Timmy's body before the magic had brought him back. It was his fault. All of it. He was the reason Timmy had died. And now, even with magic keeping Timmy alive, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was failing him. Failing Wanda. Failing everyone.

He wanted to believe things would get better. That he could fix this. But in the dim light of the room, with the clone sleeping fitfully and the scratches glaring back at him, it felt impossible.

...Especially if Wanda did not trust him to help her. He thought back to her recent behavior—the way her glances lingered on Timmy, filled with a protectiveness that now seemed exclusionary. He remembered how she had begun to quietly step in during situations where he might have been the one to act, her silence speaking volumes. Was it her way of shielding Timmy from his inadequacies? Or was it that she had begun to believe he couldn't handle the responsibility anymore? Each memory compounded his doubts, weighing him down with the unbearable question: had he already lost her faith, and if so, could he ever regain it?