The Fey

Chapter 1

Once, I cried blood tears.

It was on the same day it is today, same place. I had a nosebleed, and my head was tipped low as I wept.

I snatched another rigged obsidian. Hurtle into the endless, taunting ocean. Seawaves. It's a word I created. Doesn't it sound nice? 

Ridiculous. 

I release another earth-shattering scream.

Today's the day Grandma died. Death is a strange, strange thing. You aren't clear on when or why it's going to happen. It's just... there. An element. Like Time.

My mind goes back to that day. When I was 7. A decade ago.

I still remember her exact words, as clear as day.

Courts. Fey. Elements. Time.

I know it has something to do with Time. She mentioned him, and all of a sudden, seawater gurgled in her throat. Choked her until she couldn't breathe.

That sort of thing doesn't just happen out of nowhere.

It was the Fey. I'm sure of it. I believe her.

Many, many, people thought my Grandma was delirious. I never thought that. But, then again, they were also naively oblivious to the Fey. But that's why we lived in a humble cottage near a secluded beach in Hawaii. 

I scream again. I have no other family. I only ever had my Grandma. And today, August 13th, is just another reminder to what, no, who, I've lost. Because everything in the cottage reminds me of her.

Her paintings of glamorous views. Non-detailed but beautiful charcoal sketches of faces. Watercolors. Sets and sets full of everything an artist could dream for. And books.

Hundreds (or so it seems) of them, neatly shelved under her bed. I've never touched them since her death.

Don't get me wrong, this doesn't make me a mope. I only felt this depressing sag on August 13th.

I feel something rising out of me again and I yell it out. Yell until my voice is hoarse. Today's also my birthday. I don't celebrate it. I used to. Before.

I shake my head. My thoughts are all scrambled and depressing right now. I don't even know what to say. What to think. I still can't get rid of the last words she said before drowning on land.

Power fuels everyone.

I've been thinking about what exactly that means.

Human's have power?

Is it a secret message/code?

I have power?

Time had power, and that's how he came to exist?

Power lets people or F –. I can't put them in the same sentence. Power lets people live longer? How about Fey?

Faeries live by power? But no. Emotion.

Human emotions.

I hoist myself off the cluster of boulders I was sitting on, eyes stinging with salt. The woods. Yes, that's where I'm going. Where I can clear my mind and think.

I repeat. Human emotions. What a powerful element it is, right? To even make up a whole world. A land of mythical creatures with glamour. A British word. Are Fey British? Or maybe they are just people with masks. No. I don't know. Unless I see... I banish the thought immediately. No. 

I go back to a safe place, the question I've been contemplating for years now. I don't know why I even think about it, every hour on this day. 

Do the Fey even have hearts? If their power is from human emotions, would they feel that emotion?