Twice a Changeling

Nayden was walking in the park all by herself that day, really it was evening. She’d been feeling restless the last few days, cooped up in the attic. Her wings felt heavy, though she wasn’t tired otherwise. 

This was common for her.

And so she’d decided to go out, just to the park, the closest one on the map.

It was still two hundred times her body length, the distance between.

The numbers would seem insensible, but it was a short walk for her, even for her size. Maybe only for her, if she took into account every other fairy she’d ever known.

Even in proportions, the size and weight of the average fairy was ill-equipped for simply walking, at least in the careful, stubborn way that gets a body from point A to point B.

Being tiny was still fun though. She was actually a pretty big fairy, at least Jerry had said so, though he was woefully inexperienced with other fairies outside of books. 

She hoped he wouldn’t be too worried for her, she’d left a note, but that was no assurance if he’d gone without his glasses, or was simply absent minded when visiting her room.

She wouldn’t even be able to say anything in the event that the note was simply unseen, she would have to watch him be worried or confused when she got home.

No matter. She needed to move and exist outside for a while, and he wasn’t likely to do more than pout if he even realized she’d left.

That is if she wasn’t sidetracked. Like by the brief curiosity of a leaf in her path. She picked it up with more fanfare than she could be proud of, as her skin started to crawl.

It was like a bee in a buttercup, though neither thing, the leaf nor beneath, was had in common.

Sweet little flowers, where the buzzing things sleep.

It was a baby.

A little baby fairy.

A little old for its size, and weak.

It was a changeling. She saw it in it’s type. Rejected by its host.

It was the right thing really. Maybe he was sickly also.

There’s nothing to be done for a child you don’t find dear.

It’s foolish to think that the things we make will be so simply loved by others. Her body shook with the evening’s breeze, a buzzing purr erupted in her bones, as she contemplated her predicament.

She dropped the leaf and stretched her wings, she didn’t know what to do. She tapped her foot, to the ground, feeling the dirt on her toes.

It was still sleeping, it might just be a mess if she brought it home. And it would only get colder, as the sky darkened to pitch. Nayden had never raised another fairy, she’d never even acquiesced to the advances of spring. She couldn’t even fly all that often, and she managed that.

She was cold. She picked up the leaf again, more crawling under it, and she picked up the baby. She’d been right by the weight of it, too small and frailer than any child ought to be.

Calm and steady, she walked back home.

...

Jerry had caught her while hunting for butterflies, at once proud and scared for the thing stuck in his net, as she didn’t move stunned by the incident.

She bit him without thinking, before he even realized what she was. It was only luck that he managed not to squash her accidentally. 

They were best friends after that.

It was totally unnecessary, but it forced him to expand his horizons from simple and frankly amateur lepidoptery, all the way into the collection of grimoires. He remembered when he understood her, he was still a child back then, a lonely one, and her voice was one of praise for every strange thing they did together.

Now with her voice depleted to a buzzing confusion, he knew he’d never quite understand her again.

She was too small, and he was too big.

But he could try to understand her in every other way.

She was shaking right now and buzzing like a hornets nest, he remembered colder nights when he’d hear her from across the room as a child, buzzing trying to warm up. The attic was usually very warm so he wasn’t sure what was up.

She was curled up in a way that he’d never seen before, and while he was worried, her bones were much too tiny to manipulate without hurting. He needed her to show him what was wrong.

He moved closer, to tap on her platform, just lightly, she might just be annoyed by him. A little cold was never too much for her before. Why should it be now?

He heard a chirp, but the soft rumble buzz of cold was still audible.

Jerry was curious, she wasn’t too concerned by him being in her attic. Instead she seemed distressed, but in a way she must’ve thought he could help with. 

He held out his hand, offering a perch and maybe a ride.

She accepted, pushing down on his palm before climbing on. She was holding something, comparative in size to a football, if she herself were human sized. It seemed odd, but it was nothing to set her on his shoulder before crawling down the attic steps.

He figured she was just cold up there, until he really looked at what she was holding. Jerry had had the ocular acuity of a rhino when they first met and really had no reason to think she’d be having a kid that year, so he was at least a bit flustered by it all.

He didn’t think she’d been with any other fairies since he caught her, let alone any that could’ve left her in the duff. 

He wanted to ask, but it had been years since his voice grew too deep to be understood, and his ears too big to hear her. He’d set her down on the kitchen table, along with a clean sheet of paper, and a short dish full of snapped pencil leads

He wrote down his questions, the ones that mattered, and then held out his hand for the baby. She shifted for a moment thinking about whether or not to hand the baby over. She did of course, she was the type who needed two hands to write.

He kept his hand in position, palms up, and guided, looking closer he could see that they weren’t even the same species. At least if his Grimoires were to be trusted. Nayden’s body was mostly dark, and she had fewer fingers, while the baby was biting his palm with much more intention. 

Hematophagy wasn’t unheard of in fairies, at least in the babies. So he was hardly worried.