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Clarion should have known that for the nth time in her life, Tinkerbell was up to no good.
It started a few days ago when Mary arrived at her study, shifting her weight in a way that was wholly unlike her. Normally, the tinker fairy was direct, speaking her mind without hesitation. But now, she hesitated at the threshold, hands clasped tightly before her.
Clarion gripped her quill, studying her visitor with quiet curiosity. “Mary?”
Mary exhaled sharply. “I thought you should know…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I heard from the healing talents that Tinker Bell crossed the border.”
Clarion stilled. The quill in her grasp trembled for a fraction of a second before a single drop of ink bled onto the parchment, spreading like a stain of worry.
Mary was quick to reassure her. “She’s fine,” she said. “She wasn’t over there long. Nothing happened to her wings.”
Clarion let out a slow breath, steadying herself. Relief flickered through her, but it did little to quell the unease stirring beneath it. “Do you think this is something to worry about?”
“I’m sure she was just curious… You know how we tinkers get. ” Mary chuckles, rubbing her neck but Clarion can tell she doesn’t quite believe it.
Clarion offered a small, knowing smile, but her fingers remained lightly pressed against the parchment, as if steadying herself. “Yes,” she murmured. “Curious.”
“She’s been warned. I just hope that curiosity is sated. ” Mary sighed, crossing her arms over her chest,
Clarion exhaled quietly, setting her quill aside. "With Tinker Bell, I'm not certain it ever truly is."
Mary huffed a small chuckle, but it lacked its usual heart. “You’re right about that.” She paused, fingers drumming against her arm. “I just thought you should know.”
Clarion inclined her head in gratitude. “Thank you, Mary.”
Mary gave a short nod, then turned on her heel and made her way to the door. But before she stepped out, she glanced back. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
She returned a smile. “So will I.”
As the door clicked shut, the queen’s gaze flickered to the window. Beyond the Pixie Dust Tree, past the amber-streaked treetops laid the mysterious world that was the Winter Woods, unseen to most but a few. Beyond, Winter stretched in an endless expanse of whites, silvers and blues. Its mountains in the distance were beautiful and grounding in a way that made her chest ache. Sometimes she still felt them calling her.
Clarion closed her eyes for a brief moment, listening to the soft rustle of the wind. Beside her, the Pixie Dust Tree sprouted an inflorescence of jasmine. A small chuckle escaped her lips, and she reached out, lightly brushing her fingers against the flower’s silken petals. “Thank you,” she murmured, knowing the tree could hear her.
The subtle waft of the jasmine’s scent wrapped around her like a warm embrace, easing the weight pressing against her chest. But even as she let herself melt into the moment, a quiet certainty remained.
This wouldn’t be the end of it.
And as she predicted, it wasn’t.
Summer Glade had been so peaceful, another languid afternoon that made one want to lie by the riverbank with a glass of cool water or lemonade, perhaps even a bowl of fruit. The rivers sparkled like liquid crystal, their currents lazy and warm, winding through the landscape with a dreamlike serenity.
Fairies flitted about chatting animatedly amongst themselves, occasionally pausing to make small talk with their queen, which Clarion was always happy to entertain.
Sunflower sighed in awe at the rainbow made by the light fairies, clasping her hands to her chest. “How lovely, the colours are especially vibrant today.” She grinned, “Do you think we might be able to have a double rainbow today, my queen?”
Clarion chuckled at her enthusiasm. “There’s no harm in trying. If the conditions are right, we might have ourselves a treat.”
The minister brightens at that, clapping her hands to get the attention of the water and light fairies. “You heard the queen, let’s attempt to beautify Summer a little more today.” She announced. “Ever since Spring started showing off those cherry blossoms, Hyacinth has been unbearably smug. I think it’s time we remind him which season truly shines.”
Clarion sighed with an amused shake of her head. “It’s not a competition, Sunny.”
“Oh, I know,” Sunflower said airily, “but if I have to see Hyacinth’s smug face one more time, I just might lose it. He acts like a few pink petals make Spring the pinnacle of beauty.”
Clarion laughed, her golden glow flickering with warmth. With ministers like hers, everything always seemed to turn into a competition.
But at least the day had been going so well. The light fairies had outdone themselves with a second rainbow, and even Hyacinth, after reluctantly showing up at Sunflower’s invitation, had begrudgingly admitted that Summer looked acceptable today.
And just as Clarion let herself bask in the harmony and peace of it all, she really should have known that whenever it seemed that things were going a little too well, something was bound to go awry
Somehow the stars decided that peace in Pixie Hollow was apparently a fleeting concept, because said peace was quickly disrupted by the unmistakable sound of rattling wheels approaching at an alarming speed.
“Queen Clarion!”
Of course.
Tinkerbell. And she even heard Sunflower’s breath hitch in worry.
Sure enough, the tinker practically burst onto the scene, buzzing in excitement as she fluttered around the queen. “Your Majesty, there is something I have to show you!” She exclaimed, grinning like she had just invented pixie dust itself.
“What in the-” Clarion heard Sunflower mutter as the contraption came into view.
It was huge and monstrous, casting a shadow over the ground, its wheels rattling unsteadily against the uneven ground, sending into the air bursts of… snow?
And hovering in the snow, looking both thrilled and bewildered-
Clarion’s breath caught in her throat.
“I have a sister, Periwinkle!” Tinkerbell explains, as she flies circles around the new girl. She’s a winter fairy, we were born of the same laugh…”
She barely heard Tinkerbell’s excited rambling. Something about sisters, something about a discovery. None of it mattered. Even the company that trailed behind them remained unregistered in her mind as all she took in this girl’s pale skin, her snowy pixie cut that gleamed in the sunlight. Her eyes wide like daisies as she took in the sights and sounds around her, painfully oblivious to the danger she was in.
Suddenly all she saw, all she felt- The unnatural flush that spread across his face, his breaths growing shallower with every moment, the sheen of sweat glistening on his face, the way his hands trembled with the effort to hold onto her- but still, he pressed forward.
And she had been powerless.
Frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch as the warmth swallowed him whole. Her voice—cracked, desperate, begging him to turn back, leave her . But he hadn’t listened. He had looked at her, and then past her tears, as if the pain didn’t matter. As if the weight of her fear and guilt wasn’t enough to stop him.
And his heart. She had felt it under his ribs, like a frantic, uneven drumbeat.
Her world felt like it ended that day.
Tinker Bell stood before her, beaming as she gestured to the delicate winter fairy at her side, “We were hoping you could reverse Lord Milori’s rule.” She said, blissfully unaware of the way Clarion’s hands trembled, the way her breath came too fast, too sharp.
“Tinkerbell.” Clarion’s voice cut through the air like a shard of glass, and when Tinkerbell’s voice faded off, for once she was grateful for her ability to command attention. “What have you done?”
Tinkerbell blinked, confusion flickering across her face. “What?”
Clarion stepped forward, golden light rippling at her feet, her composure hanging by a thread. “You brought a winter fairy here. In summer. Have you lost your mind?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the warmth of the summer air like an unforgiving gust of winter wind.
Tinker Bell shrank slightly at the tone, and so did others as conversations around them died to a stop. She glanced at her friends before mustering a hesitant smile. “Your Majesty, it’s fine, she’s my sister, I just-”
In all her life, Clarion had never snapped at someone like this before. She had always prided herself on being composed, having full control of her emotions.
Where that control went at that moment was beyond her.
Her gaze snapped to the winter fairy, her earlier joy replaced with something like fear, watching her with a downcast head. How she had even made it this far seemed impossible.
“You dragged her into the warm seasons, into the hottest season in Pixie Hollow.” Her voice broke for a fraction of a second, but she caught it, clenching her fists as if she could crush the memory trying to surface. The heat that enveloped her all those years ago felt like relief, but she hated to think of how it devoured him, draining the strength from his veins, and stripping him of his flight. “She’s a winter fairy, Do you have any idea what happens to a Winter Fairy in the heat?” Clarion registered how her voice shook, growing more and more desperate with each syllable. “Take her back this instant. She won’t survive here.”
Tinker Bell frowned, glancing at Periwinkle. “But- She’s fine! Her wings are fine, see? We’re being careful, and-”
“Careful? ” Clarion’s voice rose, brittle and cold. Foreign to even her own ears. “You dare call this careful?” Her wings flared, golden dust trembling off her shoulders from the wind. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The consequences of your actions?”
Tinker Bell shrank back, brows furrowing. “But-”
“No!” Clarion’s voice cracked like thunder. “You do not get to argue! You do not get to stand here, grinning like this is some kind of game! You think the border is just some line in the snow you can cross whenever you please?”
Tinker Bell flinched, her face growing red and her wings gave a twitch. “But Queen Clarion, she’s my sister! Does that mean nothing?”
Clarion’s breath came short and sharp, her blue eyes burning as they locked onto the small tinker fairy before her. “You’re risking your sister’s life for an adventure?”
“It’s not like that!” She exclaims. “I just wanted to see her,” Tinkerbell insisted, desperation creeping into her voice. “I wanted us to be together.”
What few in Pixie Hollow knew was that there were lots of things their queen wanted too. Things that she gave up so others, like Tinkerbell, could live in the safe haven they called home. Things that she buried beneath duty, beneath the weight of her crown, beneath the unyielding truth that some things, or some loves, were never meant to be.
Sisters, separated by nature itself. It's tragic, but they were young. They had to learn that some things you just couldn’t force.
Summer Glade had fallen into a tense silence that was uncharacteristic of the normally relaxed season. The air that once filled with laughter and the faint scent of honey now hung thick with unease. Clarion felt the weight of it like it was pressing into her. She felt bad for disrupting the peace, but there were things she wouldn’t apologise for.
Milori would not suffer for nothing.
“The rule is mine, Tinkerbell, and it’s written in blood.” Her voice softened, but it gave no room for defiance. Let this be a reminder to everyone, to the ministers, to the watching fairies, to the very seasons themselves- that the border was not just a rule, but a law carved from loss and grief, upheld by sacrifice.
Something in Tinkerbell’s demeanor falters, but Clarion supposed that she only had herself to blame for going so easy on her all this time as she pushed further. “But Queen Clarion-”
“ Enough, Tinkerbell.” She snapped.
And with the way dark clouds loomed above, shielding away the once bright sunlight, it seemed like everyone knew it was the end of the discussion.
Sometime during the quarrel, other fairies had gathered, watching their queen snap for the first time, and distantly, Clarion wondered if Elvina ever had an outburst like that.
Clarion's gaze flickered toward Mary, when she even showed up Clarion didn’t know, standing among the crowd, her expression caught somewhere between guilt, disappointment, and something worse. Pity.
Clarion hated it.
She could hear the murmurs spreading, the hushed whispers of fairies who had never once seen their queen falter, who had only ever known her as the composed, unwavering leader she aimed to be.
And yet, here she stood, fractured in front of them all, and she knew that the secret she worked her whole life to keep— the fact that she had failed him— was spilling out before she could contain it.
“Take her back.” Clarion muttered loud enough for Tinkerbell to hear.
She turned sharply on her heel, wings fluttering as she moved past them all, leaving behind the gathering fairies, the looming storm, and the bitter taste of old memories rising like smoke in her throat.
“Tink…”
The voice was small, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tense silence like a blade.
Tinkerbell whirled around just in time to see Periwinkle sway, her skin flushed and her breaths shallow.
“Peri?” Tinkerbell’s disappointment evaporated, panic taking its place. She reached for her sister, but before she could so much as steady her, Periwinkle’s legs gave out.
A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd as she collapsed.
Clarion spun back around, her stomach dropping. For a heartbeat, all she saw was him again— Milori, struggling, breathless as he leaned over her bed.
“The ice! It’s melting.” Bobble said as she heard Clank’s pedalling quicken.
Stars,
Without hesitation, she moved. Faster than any fairy could react, her glow flared bright as she darted forward, cupping Periwinkle’s face in her hands. The girl’s face burned—too warm for a winter fairy, her cool skin feverish with the unbearable heat of summer. Sweat sheened across her brow and the view was all too familiar.
“My wings…” She croaked, “I can’t feel them.”
The queen felt something in her chest tighten, a suffocating grip that threatened to drag her under.
Not again.
She glanced at her back. Periwinkle’s wings, once full of intricate artistry, crumpled painfully, The gossamer edges curled inward, drooping like petals left too long in the sun, almost like they were wilting.
In the back of her mind she heard the drips Milori’s melting wings made against the floorboards and she knew it was too late for him. They haunt her like a broken record.
“Wrap her wings in ice.” She heard Tinkerbell say, bringing her back to the present.
The poor winter fairy’s eyes were glassy, flickering open just enough to bear into Clarion’s soul. Terror sat there in her gaze, raw and unguarded, wide with the silent, growing realization of what was happening to her.
Clarion forced herself to move, forced herself to breathe past the memories clawing at her, threatening to pull her under.
Drip. Drip.
No, Her wings weren’t melting. Not yet.
But they would if she didn’t act now.
“We need to bring her back to winter. Now.” Clarion scoops her up in her arms, her wings flaring out to stabilize them both. "Hold on," Clarion murmured, her voice low and urgent, though it barely registered in the chaos of the moment.
The only place that could heal Periwinkle now was where she belonged— In the cold, soothing embrace of Winter. Clarion’s wings beat hard against the tense air, the ground beneath her blurring into a swirl of colors as she took off with Periwinkle’s tired form cradled against her chest.
“I won’t fly again.” Periwinkle whispered so softly she almost didn’t hear it.
Clarion shook her head. “You will,” she said, silently praying to the stars for it to be true. “Everything will be fine.” Reaching into the starlight that flowed within her, she willed it to encase Periwinkle, hoping it would assuage her fear and offer security, even in the overwhelming heat of summer.
When they finally reached the border, the difference was palpable. The warmth of Summer seemed to retreat as the crisp chill of Winter welcomed her home, the line between the two seasons stark and unforgiving. The air grew colder, and she felt it—an icy breath that seemed to embrace Periwinkle like a lifeline.
Clarion let out a breath, her wings drooping from the strain, but there was no room for relief. Not yet. Periwinkle knelt in the snow, obviously finding the cold to be a relief. She pants, tensing as Clarion removed the leaves from her wings. The ice had long melted, leaving them in a pool of cold water. She searches her wings for damage as she hears boots squishing in the snow.
“Clarion.” Milori’s voice wafts through the winter air, a familiar sound. It sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, Clarion froze, caught between relief and the bitter weight of the past crashing into her all over again.
He went to her first, pulling her up to her feet by her shoulders, his hands warm against her skin despite the cold. Periwinkle, still kneeling in the snow, looked between them with wide eyes. “You can’t stay here.” He says, pushing her back on the bridge, until at least her wings were surrounded by the autumn air.
In the distance behind her, she heard voices shouting her name, but all she could do was stare up at him. He looked so beautiful, even with worry marring his features.
Milori’s gaze left her eyes as he glanced at the space behind her. There’s a tick in his jaw as he pulls his hands away from her, returning to Periwinkle’s side. She missed them immediately.
“Clarion.” She heard Redleaf call, as he pulled her into the safety of autumn.
She barely registered the pressure of his touch, too lost in the swirling turmoil inside her mind to respond immediately. She blinks, her vision blurring for a split second as Redleaf pulls her into the shelter of autumn's cooling winds, barely able to register Milori helping Periwinkle to her feet. The rush of air around her, the scent of crisp leaves and earth, was a sharp contrast to the cold of winter, but it didn’t calm her. Not really. Her heart was still lodged somewhere between the seasons, caught in the tug-of-war between everything she had built and everything she had lost.
Her wings trembled as a rush of emotions surged through her. She was acutely aware of the distance between herself and Milori now. His attention, his warmth, everything she once could rely on slipped away with every step back she takes.
“Periwinkle!” She heard Tinkerbell shout, her form streaking by in a flash of green. “Are you okay?”
Clarion watched as Tinkerbell’s frantic energy seemed to fill the space between them. The tiny tinker hovered by the border, her eyes wide with worry, scanning the young winter fairy’s face.
Periwinkle’s wings fluttered weakly but intact, her breath still shallow and uneven. She managed a weak, pained smile as she looked up at Tinkerbell. “I think so,” she whispered, her voice fragile, strained. “I’m fine.”
Clarion’s shoulders relaxed with relief, at least she had not failed another.
But she stood still, watching the scene unfold. Her wings fluttered softly, catching the cold breeze, but she felt nothing—just the oppressive weight of everything unresolved pressing down on her chest.
“Periwinkle...” Tinkerbell’s voice softened, and she knelt at the edge of the border, respecting the line that separated their seasons. The warmth of her hands contrasted with the chill of the air, a sharp reminder of how misplaced everything had become. “I’m so sorry.”
The apology hung in the air like a broken promise, but Periwinkle gave a small nod, signaling that she was, indeed, okay.
Tinkerbell hesitated, clearly torn, but then she shifted her focus to her queen, guilt flooding her gaze as she realized the full weight of what she had done. Her voice, when it came, was small, almost hesitant. "I... I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just... I thought if I could show you-"
“This is why we do not cross the border.” Milori spoke from the other side of the divide, his voice deep and filled with knowing. “The rule is there to protect you.” He looked to the sisters, “I know you didn’t mean harm. But intent cannot erase consequence.” His fingers barely brushed the damp edges of her wings before he pulled away.
Tinkerbell flinched, guilt darkening her features, but before she could speak, Milori shifted his attention, at last,to Clarion.
And Clarion felt it like a breath stolen from her lungs.
His eyes met hers, searching and reaching the way they used to, before the rules, before the years had settled like ice between them. She had spent so long pretending she was immune to it, to him, and yet here she was, standing in front of him, feeling the past unravel her.
“Thank you.” He said it so softly, so sincerely, that for a moment, Clarion forgot how to breathe.
It was unfair, the way gratitude sounded like something else in his voice—like longing, like an echo of everything they never got to have.
Her fingers curled at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. “You don’t need to thank me.”
Milori’s gaze softened, something breaking open behind his eyes. “I do.”
She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. She wasn’t his to look at anymore.
For a second the world reduced to this— the two of them at the border, just like old times. In another lifetime he would have brought his palm up to her neck to pull her in for a kiss, and her glow would bathe him in her warm light.
But that lifetime was centuries ago, and now they had an audience .
She turned away, wings tucking close to her back. “Take care of her.”
“Of course.” He said softly, “This won’t happen again.” and though the words were neutral, the meaning behind them wasn’t. This was goodbye. Again.
Clarion felt the sting of it, though she refused to let it show. Instead, she straightened her posture, her wings flexing behind her. “Very well,” she said, her tone carefully controlled.
Something flickered across his expression, hesitation, regret, something she couldn't afford to name. His cape billowed slightly in the wind. A reminder.
Clarion turned, and her wings give a flutter, bringing her into flight. Every move she made was precise. An illusion of control she no longer truly possessed. The cool autumn wind brushed against her arms, taunting, and it could never be cold enough. Still, all she felt was him. His gaze, burning into her back, heavier than the silence that stretched between them.
She knew her subjects were watching. The ministers, Tinkerbell, her friends, Periwinkle. She could feel their eyes boring into her, waiting for the queen they knew to emerge from this moment unscathed, unshaken.
But she was shaken.
She had spent centuries perfecting the art of composure, but nothing could steady her now. Not when the scent of pine still lingered in the air, or when her skin burned where he touched her, or when his name still sat at the base of her throat.
Still, she did not look back.
Even as her heart begged her to.