Work Text:
Nana is not an early riser, nor is she a night owl. You’ve gotten used to her midday naps and early turn-ins since you first began visiting every spring when you were seven. At that time, your mother would stay with you and help Nana around the house. Lately, you’ve been visiting alone and extending your stay to make sure Nana has everything she needs before you return to your college life of stress and finals.
Shuffling about in the kitchen, you combine and mix Nana’s lemon honeysuckle pound cake recipe.You remember having it every morning when you came here as a kid. She’d wake extra early to prepare it for you and place three slices on your plate, despite your mother’s protests. You couldn’t eat all three slices, but always appreciated Nana’s tendency to want to make sure you leave her house ten pounds heavier.
After wiping your flour coated hands on your pink apron, you grab a tiny blue bowl and make your way out through the backdoor. Little Mimi, Nana’s puppy, follows behind you; he’s always scuffling around your ankles, whining for little treats he knows he can’t have too much of. You hear his little collar jaggle as you enter Nana’s garden and begin picking honeysuckle petals. Once you have a good amount for the syrup, you grab a couple of lemons as well.
A familiar melody greets you as you open the garden gate. Mimi’s already on his way inside, hopping through the pet flap at the bottom of the door. Without his collar’s irregular jiggle of metal on metal, you’re left alone with the angelic voice as company. The tune twirls around you, filling your chest with a familiar sense of comfort and warmth.
Placing the lemons into the bowl, you rest the dish on the edge of the wooden gate. Perhaps following a mysteriously familiar voice over the hills and into the meadows is not your sharpest idea, however, you can’t shake this sense of deja vu. The rhythm of the song, the pitch of the voice all sound too familiar to ignore. As you further distance between you and Nana’s house, you wonder if the voice knows you can hear them.
You climb up the last hill, the rising sun bleeds it’s peachy rays into the sky. The sight is entrancing, especially when paired with the enchanting voice. Rushing down the side with a shout and giggling, you almost feel like a seven year old all over again. The voice only continues it’s melody, drawing you into a meadow you’ve only thought you’ve seen in your dreams. The bushes of spirea flowers, and rivers of lavender with little shores of roses and tulips, you can almost definitely pin this moment to a dream you had when you were seven.
It was also the peak of dawn when you entered a meadow exactly as the one before you. A little boy, maybe only a few years older than you, sat on a moss covered tree stump, resting his cheeks in his small hands. Blonde hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, the boy sighed and sang a similar tune to the one you hear now. He looked upset, gazing at his feet but all you could think was where are his shoes?
Exhibiting the innocence of a child, you asked the boy if he was sad because he lost his shoes. His eyes widened when he saw you and he sat up straight in his seat. His lips all but trembled as you tilted your head at him. Thinking he was simply shy, you took off your shoes and placed them in front of him. They were all too small to fit him, but you were adamant that he at least try them one. As he tried to shove his feet into the small red shoes, your mother’s voice cut through the meadow. That’s all you could remember of the dream before waking up on Nana’s couch with your mother muttering under her breath and your Nana approaching you with more slices of honeysuckle cake.
Those red shoes dangle from a cherry blossom branch now, rapturing your heart as the realization that whatever vivid dream you thought you had, might not have been a dream at all. The wind blows through the loose strands of your pinned up hair and the skirt of your white day dress. You take a step closer, but ultimately jump back the moment you hear a quiet hiss. Looking down, you spot a white, glossy snake rolled up in the tall grass of the meadow. It hisses at you before slithering further towards the cherry blossom tree behind that tree stump you found that little boy sitting on all those years ago.
White snakes, scales that glossy, are the omen, signaling the presence of a nearby faery. Nana told you all about faeries when you visited, creating a web of worlds in which faeries and humans once co-existed. Usually each tale ended with two different versions, the one the humans tell themselves is the truth, and what really happened. The human’s tale usually focused on the faeries’ power being too toxic and harmful and thus, safety precautions needed to be taken. They believed the faeries needed to be “exterminated.”
The truth, however, lies in the fact that humans have a fickle tendency to take advantage of faery magic, capturing the innocent people to further their bidding under harsh and inhumane conditions. After a revolution, faeries secured the right to live a life separate from the humans without the threat of being hunted or killed. The magical beings have morphed into a myth now, and if it hadn’t been for Nana’s tales and omens, you would’ve believed it to be as such as well.
The voice, you sudden realize, has ceased. You aren’t sure when or how it stopped, but just that it did. Now, surrounded by the meadow and the swirling breeze of the early spring wind, you notice you’ve been watched this entire time.
Stand atop the tree stump, a man, blonde hair, brown eyes, pouty lips, stares down at you. He cocks a brow as your eyes meet and you need to swallow your scream as his crystal wings flutter when he jumps off the stump.
“Little red,” he says as a means of greeting.
You feel your face with the back of our hand, and noticing that from the heat on your cheeks alone, that you must be a little red.
“No, no,” he chuckles, before pointing to the shoes. “You gave me those, right? They’re little and red.”
A nickname. He has a nickname for you. All notions that whatever happened twenty years ago was a dream have disappeared. The boy, now matured, was- is real. His wings, the sparkle in his eyes, and the entrancing aroma of lilacs and pomegranate all point to the conclusion that he’s not merely a man, but a faery.
“It’s you,” you whisper, taking a step towards him. “You’re the voice?”
“The voice? I give you Little Red and you give me The Voice?”
The smirk on his face lets you know he’s only teasing, but you can’t deny that he does have a point. His name for you is cute and personalized, a detail you greatly appreciate. Fighting off a smile, you mutter an apology and scan his frame for a nickname that encompasses him in your eyes.
“Pretty,” you blurt.
“Huh?”
“Princy,” you quickly correct. When he furrows his brows, you explain, “You just remind me of a prince.”
He smirks, all confusion in his face shifting to an expression of smug grace. “I see,” he hums. Scanning your frame, he raises his brows and says, “oh, did I take you away from a task?”
You shake your head to answer his question, words caught in your throat that the realization that he intentionally sought you out this time. You’re not quite sure what he wants, but the look in his eyes reassures you that it’s nothing to be afraid of. “What’s your name, Princy?”
“Isn’t Princy good enough?”
You pause. “I’m (Y/N),” you smile, ignoring his question.
“Little Red suits you better.”
He makes his way over to you, wings twitching as he nears. You stay still, reflecting that same look of reassurance in your eyes to let him know you’re not a threat. He must believe that you have no intentions to harm him. He did seek you out to begin with, luring you to the same place you met all those years ago.
“You know what I am.” A statement of fact, not a question. He seems surprised by it though, as if he was prepared to explain himself. “Here for magic?”
You furrow your brows. “Here for you.” You know exactly how it sounds. And, though you’re firm on your stance, you can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. “Didn’t you call?”
“Why would you answer-”
“If you’re so suspicious of me, Princy, then why did you call me?”
He gulps. His eyes dance around your frame, as if registering something around it. “I thought your innocence had something to do with age,” he replies. “But, it seems to be your usual sentiment.”
You’re not entirely sure what he means by that but, based on Nana’s tales, you can somewhat make out a meaning. Choosing to ignore his observation, you say, “nice wings.”
“Want them?” You know he’s teasing, but you can’t ignore the dark bitterness behind his humor.
“I’m happy with what I have now.”
“That’s because you don’t know what you’re missing.”
You smirk. “Maybe,” you shrug. “Or maybe I’m not missing anything at all. Maybe you are.”
All hints of cockiness have left his face, only the image of pure grace staring back at you. Both barefoot, you stand within half an arms length reach of each other. Humming his tune back at him, slight off key and beat, you smile up at him.
A little smile plays on his face, right eye twitching as you hit a particularly pitchy note. Placing a hand over your mouth, he whispers, “never again.”
You laugh against his hand before gently nudging it off you. “How will I be able to call you then?”
“What would you need me for?” he chuckles. His usual hints of suspicion and defense do not accompany his question. He asks more out of confusion than doubt.
“Well, what’d you need me for now?”
He shrugs. “Reassurance.”
“Of..?”
“Trust.”
He does not hesitate in his answer, intensely holding your gaze. Your heart murmurs, hitching your breath at the word, the implications that follow it and the way he looks at you.
Swallowing thickly, you ask just above a whisper, “what will I do when I need the same?”
His hands dig into his pocket after a moment of silence. Pulling out a little copper dragonfly pendant, he cups it close to his lips and blows over it. The copper turns to glass, lined with gold. He brings the pendant to your lips, nodding at you to do the same. Blowing over the pendant, the clear glass reflects a rainbow between the gold lines.
“Give it a kiss when you need a friend,” he smiles. Glancing behind you, he sighs. “Nana’s waking; you better get back. See you around, Little Red.” He licks his lips, backpedaling towards the cherry blossom tree before his wings snap into action and he flies out of sight.
Twirling the rainbow dragonfly pendant in your hands, you catch a glimpse of a little Princy flying between through the meadow. You press the glass token to your heart with a little smile and make your way back to Nana’s.
Princy’s quiet tune accompanies you, filling your heart with trust. And as his tune fades, you clutch on the pendant and silently wish for the day you’d get lost with him and the meadows he calls you into.