Fair Work for Fairy Folk

Annie was 21 and a waitress. She didn’t hate it. It was just a job. The kind of job you get when you finish high school, don’t have a plan, and need rent money. She had a lot of imagination, but not much follow-through. She thought about doing everything—studying literature, working with animals, writing a book, becoming a florist. But none of those ever moved past daydreams. They all required a kind of energy Annie wasn’t sure she had. So she waited tables and stayed afloat.

One late August night, she got home after a long shift. Her apartment was still hot from the day. She threw her bag on the chair, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto the bed. Physically drained, but her mind kept going. Thoughts like background noise she couldn’t shut off. After a while, she sat up, groaned, and made tea. Then tried again. Still awake. "I can't fall asleep!" she said out loud, like yelling might fix it.

So she reached for an old trick. A happy place. She had a few: a beach from a family trip when she was eight, a made-up concert where she sang like a pro, and, her favorite, Fairy Luna Land.

Fairy Luna Land was something she'd made up when she was seven. Named after Luna, the cat from Sailor Moon. It was a hidden island full of glowing flowers, soft grass, lavender, lakes with perfect skipping stones, hydrangeas big as umbrellas. There were gazebos. Waterfalls. A golden castle in the middle, just the right size for her. The sky was always pinkish and soft, like evening but not dark. Small fairies ran the place. They adored her. She was their queen.

In the fantasy, the land had once been under attack by an evil queen, but Annie had saved it. Now it was peaceful. The fairies brought her bread and flower tea every morning, spun her dresses out of vines or moonlight. They sang her name, wove her hair into crowns, and called her their protector.

That night, she slipped right back into it. Walked barefoot through the garden. Sat on her mossy throne. Listened to the waterfall hum. Everything just as she'd left it.

Then someone cleared their throat.

A figure stood in the middle of the path. Jeans. Plain t-shirt. Sneakers. Head of an owl.

“Who are you?” Annie asked.

“Mary,” said the owl-headed figure. “Your brain, basically.”

“Why do you have an owl head?”

“Symbolic. Also cool. Anyway, quick question… are these fairies... okay?”

“They’re perfect,” Annie said. “They’re magical. They love this life.”

Mary tilted her head. “Sure, but do they get breaks? Or, like, healthcare?”

“They're not real.”

“Exactly. So maybe ask yourself why you made up a bunch of tiny workers who serve you 24/7.”

Annie blinked. Then laughed. Not a big laugh, more like a nervous chuckle. “You’re ridiculous,” she told Mary. “Go away.”

She waved her hand like she could shoo her off with air. Then she turned and walked toward the waterfall. Let the mist hit her face. Dipped into the lake and floated on her back. When she sat in the gazebo, surrounded by blooming roses, she stretched out like she didn’t have a care in the world.

But five minutes in, Mary popped back up.

“This must be nice,” she said, “but do you have a currency? Where’s the water coming from? Do you need to pay for it? Is this castle rent-free?”

Annie groaned. “Oh my god, you again? Can’t you just let me vibe?”

She covered her ears. Tried humming to herself. Threw rose petals at Mary like they were tiny shields. None of it worked.

Mary just stood there, owl-faced and calm, like a weird little voice she couldn’t silence.

Then walked toward the waterfall. Tried to float in the lake. Took a nap in the gazebo. But Mary kept popping up. Every time.

“This must be nice,” she'd say, appearing out of nowhere, “but how does the economy work here?”

Annie tried ignoring her. She pretended not to hear her. She whistled while picking glowing fruit, did big dramatic stretches on her throne, even started fake fairy meetings just to act busy. Mary still stood nearby, patient and silent, like a statue with questions.

Then Annie got sarcastic. "Okay, sure, let's audit the fairies," she snapped. "Let me just pull up the bank statements from the moss tree vault."

Mary shrugged. "You're the one who made the vault."

Annie scoffed. Threw a pillow at her. Mary didn’t flinch.

She tried reasoning next. "They’re happy, Mary. That’s the point. This isn’t a job. It's their purpose. Their joy."

"And they told you that?"

Annie hesitated. Because no, they hadn’t. They just smiled a lot. They fluttered around and did the things Annie wanted without ever complaining. Was that good? Was that enough?

She tried one last thing: escape. She ran to the far edges of the land. The soft golden light turned cooler there. She crouched by a quiet pond, trying to recenter. Closed her eyes. Counted to ten.

Mary’s voice, soft but firm, came again: "But do they even want to be here?"

That cracked something.

Annie sat still for a long time. Then opened her eyes.

She realized she didn’t know the answer.

And that’s when she gave in.

So finally, she gave in.

She gathered the fairies. Gave a speech about freedom. Tried to explain money. Got stuck halfway through.

She left the dream. Sat up in bed. It was 2:30 in the morning. Opened her phone. Googled: “basics of economics”, "what is GDP?", "fair wages vs. salary", "how to run a cooperative."

This became her new pattern.

Every night she returned. Every night Mary waited. The fairies looked confused but curious. Annie taught them how to vote. Built a tiny union hall. Drew charts in the dirt. Debated if magic was a taxable service.

By week two, the fairies had formed committees. One opened a bakery. Another started a lending circle. Annie introduced progressive taxes. Mary nodded in approval.

She didn’t even notice how much she was learning. Budgeting. Interest. Profit margins. Supply chains. Stuff she’d never cared about before suddenly made sense. It didn’t feel like school. It felt like fixing something that had been broken for years without her knowing.

One morning, she sat up and realized she wanted to know more. Not just for the fairies. For herself. She wanted to understand the world—the one outside her imagination. Maybe even shape it a little.

So she signed up for an evening course in accounting and economics. It felt weird at first, walking into a classroom after so many years. But also right. Like she was showing up for herself for once.

On the first day, the teacher asked why she was there.

Annie paused. Then smiled. "It’s a really long story. But it started when I couldn’t sleep, and ended with unionized fairies."

The class laughed. The teacher raised an eyebrow. Annie just opened her notebook.

And somewhere, in a dream garden full of lavender and light, Mary the owl nodded. Maybe even smiled.