Chapter Text
1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6…
With every tick of the clock, Wilbur counted another number.
7… 8… 9… 10… 1… 2…
Although, he had to keep starting over once he’d made it to ten. After all, what five-year-old boy can count higher than ten? Wilbur didn’t know of one, he knew that for sure.
6… 7… 8… 9…
Wilbur bit his lip, stopping counting before slowly raising his head and looking out the window at the night sky. If it wasn’t obvious, Wilbur couldn’t sleep. The boy had hidden himself inside the orphanage he resided in, refusing to go out and play with the other kids.
It was early summer, meaning the stupid foxglove flowers had bloomed.
Wilbur hated that flower.
It was pretty and once lured him close to see it, but very quickly he’d broken out in a rash and gotten a horrible fever. Wilbur could still taste the metallic taste of sickness on his tongue from that awful experience. He wasn’t going anywhere near it ever again. So, he’d stayed inside of the home.
Unfortunately, it also meant he was still wide awake as he hadn’t been able to run around with the other children.
With a groan, Wilbur plopped his head back down on the pillow, knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. His body itched to go outside, more than it did normally.
The orphan boy liked the night. He liked the moon and the stars and the chill in the air. But no matter how hard he’d beg, he’d be told to stay inside at night. That it was dangerous. What made it dangerous, he didn’t know. Regardless, Wilbur had been able to squash his yearning by playing outside during the day. Right now though, he wanted to be outside, and badly.
1… 2… 3…
Wilbur didn’t even make it to five before he sprung from his bed, landing silently, grabbing his shoes and coat, and darting out of the room like a killer was chasing him. He giggled excitedly, the sound echoing the halls he ran down before he made it to the exit and practically threw himself outside.
The weather wasn’t cold like Wilbur had hoped. It didn’t nip at his skin in any way and left Wilbur somewhat disappointed, yet he wasn’t even remotely upset now. He was outside and the moon was full and bright in the sky above him. Wilbur was the happiest he’d ever been.
As happy as the boy was though, it didn’t last long.
Had Wilbur been ever so slightly to the left, he would have been spared from everything, however, had he been more to the left, we wouldn’t have this story.
Wilbur’s foot caught on a rock, one of those ones that makes you trip and when you look back on it you question how you didn’t see it. Wilbur did not get the chance to look.
Because the moment Wilbur fell and regained his footing, he was scrambling away desperately, kicking up dirt and destroying the foxglove blossoms.
Of course, this would happen.
Wilbur refuses to go outside to avoid the foxglove blossoms, knowing he’d somehow interact with them, and that’s exactly what happened when he did go outside.
Wilbur began to cough and rub at his skin aggressively as he squeezed his eyes shut. The rash had already formed on his skin, and it burned terribly, making him whimper and stumble a little.
Suddenly a set of hands grasped him, not roughly, but firm and unyielding. When the person spoke, their mouth was next to Wilbur’s ear, blowing warmth against his cheek.
“Be still and quiet, little one. I can help you, but not if you make noise.”
Desperate for the pain to cease, Wilbur nodded quickly, his eyes still squeezed shut. They burned a little, making him tear up. Some pollen must have gotten in his eyes…
The figure hoisted Wilbur into their arms before beginning to walk, speaking softly and soothingly.
“Look at you… so sweet and innocent… Many children I see are often rude and coarse. And yet you’re as sweet as warm honey…”
She cooed over him. Wilbur was pretty sure it was a woman, he’d be very embarrassed to open his eyes and realize she was actually a he.
“The other kids are nice…”
Wilbur mumbled, his voice cracking a little as he tried to open his eyes. Everything was blurry and they still burned, so he closed them again.
“Not like you… I’ve seen them throw rocks at my birds… That’s not very nice. But I’ve seen you pet and play with them before.” She says, her voice bitter before referring to Wilbur, the sweetness returning. “I was so worried you’d end up like those kids… But I think your dad’s genes made you much more mindful of the world around you.”
Wilbur’s heart shot into his throat at her words, confusion filling his mind.
“M-my dad? What are you-”
Wilbur doesn’t get a chance to ask before being submerged in freezing cold water and then being moved so he was sat upright in the water so he could breathe. A few hacking coughs leave him before he realizes the burn had faded from his skin.
“Huh..?”
“Tilt your head up and open your eyes, it’s going to be uncomfortable, but we need to flush your eyes.”
The woman instructs in a soothing tone, and Wilbur obeys, opening his eyes to a blurry world and looking up. She begins to scoop water into her hand and then gently pour it into Wilbur’s eyes, making the boy squirm in discomfort. Soon though, the world becomes visible and Wilbur blinks hard a few times, looking around before looking to his savior.
“Better, little one?”
Her voice is soft and teasing, matching her appearance well. Her rich clothing is all a deep, dark purple with red undertones, reminding Wilbur of a precious stone, and her hair is a deep brown, gracefully falling down her back.
Wilbur slowly nods and she smiles, picking him up once more and holding him to his chest like how a mother would hold their baby.
“Look at you…”
She whispers, smiling fondly.
“So perfect and sweet… just like how I knew you’d be… And now I have you again…”
Wilbur blinks slowly.
“I… what do you mean, ma’am?”
She laughs softly, gently rubbing Wilbur’s cheek with her knuckles.
“My name is Kristin. And I’m your mother.”
She whispers, smiling softly like she’d just told him a secret.
The boy’s eyes widen. “I… what? You mean you’re gonna adopt me?” He asked, very confused by this turn of events.
“No. I mean you’re my baby. I birthed and nursed you and I was in love with you dreadfully.” She explains, pressing a kiss to Wilbur’s forehead. “But when I went to visit your father and left you alone, you were stolen from me.” She says, sounding irritated before smiling again. “But now I have you back! We can go home, eat honeycomb, you can meet your-”
Kristin pauses, looking into the trees before smiling. “It seems you don’t have to wait to meet your dad…”
Wilbur follows her gaze to see a blond man in the treeline, and with a quick glance between him and Kristin, Wilbur can easily believe they produced him.
“Hey, was getting some honeycomb when the crows came to me all frantic.” The man says gingerly, giving Kristin a quick peck on the lips when she carried Wilbur over to him. “Look at you… Oh you are everything your mother ever said you were.” He whispered, cupping Wilbur’s head with his free hand, the other was holding a sticky honeycomb that snagged Wilbur’s attention.
The two adults laughed softly at Wilbur’s focus being on the honeycomb instead of his dad, before they offered it to him.
“You’re welcome to try it, mate. Kristin says the food you eat probably isn’t very good.”
Wilbur furrows his brows at his dad’s words, but slowly reaches out and takes the honeycomb, taking a tentative bite. Soon his caution is gone as he cuddles into Kristin, munching on the honeycomb happily, not paying attention to the conversation the two adults are having.
“I want him home now, Phil. I’ve been waiting 5 stupid years to hold him again, I will not let those stupid villagers take him away like they did before.” Kristin says, her voice bitter as she holds Wilbur a little tighter.
“I never said you couldn’t bring him home tonight. I’ve been waiting to meet him just as long as you’ve been waiting to have him back.”
Phil replies as Kristin presses a kiss to Wilbur’s head. The boy finally looks up at them, having finished his honeycomb, feeling oddly warm and fuzzy with the food inside of him.
Now at this point, one would expect the story to end here. With the small boy being reunited with his parents and being taken home to be loved. However, this is only the prologue of a story being written by a college student. Things are never that simple, especially when the writer has been writing for nearly two hours with no breaks because that is how writing seems to go.
To put it simply, Wilbur does not get to go home with his parents. Instead, something causes them to be separated again. And that something, is the humans.
“Wilbur, hold still!”
The words are harsh and sting as if Wilbur had been slapped. He stops struggling and looks up at the orphanage owner who was looking down at him furiously as voices shout throughout the forest, searching for his parents… Calling them monsters. When the owner speaks, her voice is seething.
“Do you know how blatantly stupid you are, you brat? You disobeyed the rules of the establishment that cares for you. Gives you a place to sleep, the food on your plate, and the clothes on your back. And then, you are so stupid as to almost be kidnapped by the fae. You better hope you get a rich family to adopt you or you look pretty enough to marry someone rich, because otherwise you’ll be more worthless than a weed.”
Wilbur flinches back at her words before being roughly picked up and carried out of the woods, his eyes desperately searching for his parents in the trees but never finding them…