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Silver kicks his legs under his desk as he glues a square of packaging into his scrapbook. Father says it's good to keep records of your life and experiences for future reference.
They visited a festival last night, market stalls selling all sorts of delicious foods. Silver would never let an opportunity to slip by to eat something other than Father's cooking.
Father made them dress up though, and that was the uncomfortable bit.
Silver likes his festival clothes. They're soft and airy, weightless on his body. They're all sorts of pretty colours, decorated in ways that cause magpies to flock to him and plead for one little shiny thing.
Though, Silver prefers the dresses where the patterns are printed on rather than the scratchier fabric of ones embedded with sparkly things and sequins.
Lately, he's not so fond of wearing them.
They're still as gorgeous as ever, it just feels wrong to wear them.
They're not his clothes. They're faerie clothes, clothes belonging to the Fae of Briar Valley.
Back when he thought Lilia was his biological father, he had no problem with wearing them. It was only natural his father's culture was his too.
But as a human - as someone merely adopted, not even of these lands - what right does he have to wear their clothes anymore?
Silver presses down the packaging carefully. The sweets were tasty. He'll need to remember the name.
He's just finished prepping the next piece to be glued when he hears tweeting on his sill.
He leans back, propping his chair up only on its back legs.
"Well hello little birdie," he sings back, "what brings you to visit me?"
The bird bobs around, looking this way and that, before flying further into the room.
Silver outstretches a finger for it rest on, talons naturally wrapping around him. He gives a gentle stroke, appreciating its downy feathers.
"I don't think I've seen you before," he murmurs, "are you friends with my friends? In which case, I'm honoured."
He tilts his head. "Would you like to get aquainted?"
The bird chirps and glides down to his desk, pecking the decorative baubles he's amassed. Silver snatches the glue before it can peck into it, capping it.
The birdie looks back up at him, and then flies back to the sill, looking back at him pointedly.
"Alright," Silver says, standing and shoving the glue into a pocket, "I'll come with you."
Without any more ado, he runs out of the house.
---
The birdie takes him into the forest, cheerfully playing some mixed form of hide and seek and tag. Silver chases, eyes up on the birdie that calls for him in the treetops.
"Birdie!" He sings, side of his hand pressed to his forehead as he scans the trees for its whistle. "I'll find you!"
He walks through the grassy undergrowth, bluebells brushing against his feet.
There's a sniffling. The quiet sound of crying.
Silver snaps out of his playful search-for-bird mode to listen out for the source of the stifled sobs.
He quietly approaches the thick oak in front of him, pressing his hands against the rough bark as he tilts his head around the side of it.
There's a child crying. They sit on the other edge of the clearing, legs tucked close into their body and arms wrapped around themselves, their long green hair tumbling down their shoulders.
Something glints near Silver's feet.
He bends down, delicately retrieving what seems to be a silver locket.
It's open, the heart split to show the picture it holds within.
It's a picture of a family.
The woman beams, green scales framing her face, dark green hair tied up. 2 children stand either side of her, half hugging her as she rests a hand on each shoulder.
The children too have scales scattered over their face, hair varying shades of green, the boy with a lighter tan skin tone compared to the girl.
Pointed ears poke out of their thick curls of hair, pupils slit.
Faeries.
The photo is incomplete, a jagged rip through the other adult in the photo, arms cradling a toddler. Both their faces are missing.
Silver scans the clearing for that little slip of paper, no bigger than a pea.
Slowly and methodically he walks up and across the grass. It's soft beneath his feet, almost soundless, the child still crying not so far from him.
The child has light green hair, skin tone similar to the shade of the woman. It's not far fetched to think maybe this is their locket, that maybe they're crying because of their ruined picture.
Eventually, Silver finds it. A tiny slip of white right between the crying child's feet.
He bends down, picks it up delicately. The crying child's breath hitches.
He takes a seat in front of them, folds his dress underneath himself as he pulls his glue stick out of his dress pocket.
Carefully, he glues the edge of the ripped piece and presses it back into the locket, pressing over the rip to hope it holds.
He releases his thumb, and the full picture is unveiled.
The man has glasses with chains attached, eyes curved as he smiles. His brown hair is wavy rather than the rest of his family's curly hair, tied in a low ponytail that rests over his shoulder.
He holds his youngest in his arms, their face scrunched up in a delighted giggle, green hair done up in ribboned pigtails. The toddler is the spitting image of their mother, the only differences being the rounded ears and smooth, scaleless face.
He shuts the locket.
"Is this yours?" He asks quietly, holding the chain up in question.
The child barely looks up before hurriedly shaking their head. Their green hair shifts and shakes, exposing round ears.
"It's very pretty," Silver says, settling back onto his thighs. "Is it your family?"
The child flicks their gaze up properly, their pupils slitted and gaze falling onto Silver, then sliding innocuously across to the side of his face.
They realise something, jumping up and snatching their locket from his hands and backing up against the tree they were crying against.
"W-What's a human like you doing here?" He sneers, voice still hiccuping, tear tracks glassy on his cheeks.
Silver ignores the human comment. He picks up the hem of his dress and holds it out. "Are you okay? You can wipe your tears on my dress if you need."
The boy looks flabbergasted, sniffles pausing for a second.
"What is w-wrong with you!?" He shouts, voice still thick with tears. "I have a handkerchief!"
Pointedly, he reaches a hand into his breast pocket and pulls out a silk green handkerchief and blows his nose. Silver waits until he puts the handkerchief back, eyes red and tears brimming in his eyeline, cheeks splotchy. He looks terrible.
"Are you okay?"
The boy rubs at his cheeks. "No."
"Want some help?"
The boy looks away. "It's nothing. You shouldn't be here."
He glances down at his hand and pauses.
He carefully clicks the locket open, and in less than a moment, fresh tears flush down his cheeks.
He snaps it shut.
"... Thank you for fixing my necklace," he murmurs, bundling it into his dress pocket.
"It was nothing."
Silver watches the boy with thinly veiled interest. He thought he was the only kid living here for miles. He looks the same age as him too, it would be nice if they could become friends.
Maybe he's lost.
"Are you lost?"
"Lost??" The boy recoils. "You're the one who's lost!"
"I haven't seen any fae around here before."
"I'm not a - " The boy starts, defensive. His eyes widen. "A fae? You think I'm a fae?"
"Yes?" Silver says with a cadence of curiosity. "Are you not?"
"No one else seems to think I am," he says bitterly, slowly sinking back down to the ground.
Silver looks at him. Sure, he doesn't seem like the average faerie, but Father always said not to judge.
"Why not?"
"Are you stupid!?" He exclaims, and Silver frowns. He's about to say that's not very nice to say at all when the boy pulls at his ears.
"Does this look fae at all to you!??"
"No."
"See!" The boy looks triumphant, before something broken hearted flitters over his face. "See."
"But your eyes are like a faerie," Silver tries, trying to cheer him up. "And your teeth are pointy too."
"It's not enough."
The boy curls back up into himself, hair shielding his expression as he murmurs quietly.
"It's never enough. Never for anybody."
They sit like that in silence, breeze rustling the treetops.
"My dad," the boy starts, like the words are being pulled through his teeth, " is human. My mum isn't. She's a faerie."
Silver hums, soft enough to show he's listening but not enough to disturb.
The boy slides the nail of his index finger against his thumbnail in a self-soothing gesture on top of his knees. He glances up at Silver through his curtain of hair.
"No one likes my dad very much."
Another shy glance up to Silver.
"I like him. I know I shouldn't."
Silver represses the urge to ask questions, letting the faerie boy talk at his own pace.
"I don't need to tell you. I'm sure you're aware of the crimes you've committed against this country."
His fingernails make little clicking noises where they interlock.
"It's shameful," the boy says, suddenly emotional. "It's disgusting that I have the audacity to love him. Humans have done so much wrong to this country, but I love my dad so much."
Tears bloom in his eyes, and the boy sniffles, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his cardigan.
"Everyone hates him. The people who don't hate him look at me like some pitiful little creature. My grandpa can't stand him. I look nothing like my dad except for my stupid ears -"
The boy hides his face even further into his legs, ashamed of his own appearance -
" - but everyone knows he's my dad, that I'm not really a faerie, and I hate it!"
The boy's voice has thickened, and when he raises his head it's clear he's started crying again, cheeks sheening with a waterfall of tears, fangs desperately trying to keep his bottom lip from wobbling. His lips are already scabbed over.
"It's like - what are you doing? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You should denounce him already! But - but I can't!"
Silver outstretches his dress as tissue, but the boy sneers at him as best he can and takes his handkerchief out again.
He calms down slightly after blowing his nose, looking so incredibly tired.
"I can't bring myself to be ashamed of him," he admits, exhausted. "He's good and kind and he loves us so much." He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. "I can't."
The boy sniffles fill the air, and Silver tries to speak.
"I'm kind of the same," he says, and the boy looks up at him, curious and wary.
"No one thinks I should be with my dad either. He's a faerie."
The boy looks up at him with wide eyes, tears pooling up in his green-gold eyes but not falling.
"I get the same kind of feeling but the other way round. I used to think he was my real dad. And then I found out he wasn't. And now everything feels so wrong."
He fiddles with his dress, looks the faerie in the eye.
"I wonder what I'm doing here. In this country. Where humans have caused so much pain. I never used to notice it as a kid, but Father took me to the festival yesterday and I wore my special clothes, and the way people would look at me just a little too long just made me feel so uncomfortable, like you're a human, but you're wearing our clothes, do you feel no shame?"
Even though it's the only thing I've ever known. I don't mean to. I just have nothing else.
Silver shakes his head, embarrassed to be saying such selfish things. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I'm sorry."
"No," the boy says, voice scratchy but recovering, "it's okay."
Silver stands, reaching a hand out. "Wanna play?" He asks instead, and the boy looks up at him.
He gets his first good look at him, eyes that just naturally seem that wide, long dark lashes, slightly aquiline nose.
He takes his hand, helping him stand.
"My name is - " He doesn't get to finish his sentence before the boy shoves at his shoulders.
"What are you doing!?" The boy exclaims.
Silver looks at him blankly.
The boy huffs and puts his hands on his hips. He's shorter than him, and his cheeks are red, so he doesn't make the most menacing figure.
"Your dad's a faerie and he didn't even teach you not to give one your name!?"
"... He did say that. But he also said to be polite."
The boy groans. Silver thinks he's being a bit dramatic.
"My name is Sebek," Sebek says, flicking his hair. "Sebek Zigvolt. Remember it."
Silver tilts his head. "Stephen Zigvolt?"
"Sebek!"
Silver feels a smile pull at his mouth. "Okay, Sebek. Let's play tag?"
---
"You need to remember what your dad tells you more."
"In my defence," Silver says, "my dad's a faerie. I don't know why he expects me to fear them. They all seem so nice when I talk to them."
Sebek's leading him back the faerie circle he unwittingly stepped into. He wasn't exactly looking at the ground when he stepped into the ring of bluebells by accident. He hopes the birdie isn't too mad at him.
"You clearly haven't met enough!"
"I met you," Silver says. "You're plenty nice, and you didn't even meet Father beforehand."
Sebek flushes. "You don't know what you're talking about! Fae can be nasty."
"I guess I've just been lucky then."
They reach the circle of bluebells, and Silver looks back at Sebek.
"See you same time tomorrow, then?"
Sebek nods. "See you."
"It's been nice getting to know you, Sebek," Silver says, one foot already in the circle. He turns back, having realised he's forgotten something.
"Oh, by the way, my name is Silver -"
Sebek pulls a distressed face, rapidly gesturing at his neck with his hand in a clear stopstopstopstop- gesture, but it's far too late.
Silver's back in the human side of the forest, a thin thread in his chest pulling taut with the crisp crackle of lightning.
The little birdie chirps at him, fluttering around him worriedly. Silver cups his hands and coaxes it closer, only to suddenly slump to the ground.
"Birdie," he murmurs, the tiny thing cheeping wildly as his silver hair shields them from the world, "next time my father praises me for being such a polite boy, remind me to tell him that's not such a good thing."