hold me 𐦍 yeonbin

036 ᯓᡣ𐭩

At sunrise after an indiscernible amount of days have passed, the doors open again to the never ending flow of people. This time, the groups are smaller. More humans are cut off at the door by the humans with wired ears in charge of controlling the flow.

The first several crowds are made up of human children. Yeonjun does not care for them, so he sits in the grass facing the stump until the first spout of acid chases him into the air. He has to stay moving if he wants to stay in control of his mind and body.

Throughout the day, the packs of similar aged humans grow larger in size and smaller in number, until Yeonjun cannot tell if the humans are children or adults. Many of them hold paper and writing tools. Some of them attempt to draw Yeonjun and his enclosure.

A bright, neon colored paper with a picture of Yeonjun’s wings displayed on one side falls out of a human’s arm when they pull out their phone.

Avalon’s Hall Field Trip Guide

He flies down to the lowest part of his enclosure, close enough that he can read the smaller texts underneath. 

Sunday, June 20, Avalon’s Hall will be closed to the public to allow students of all ages—

A human picks up the paper and Yeonjun scowls. Then, in an unpredictable act of curiosity driven kindness, the human presses the paper to the glass in front of Yeonjun.

“Is this what you were looking at?” the human asks.

They have a high, melodic voice that mimics the sound of a siren. The human has long brown hair that fades into pink at the end, like that of a mermaid, tied behind their head. When they smile their lips curl up at the end like a fairy’s. They have a human heartbeat despite the similarities, with the same mundane wonder and shock that all the humans here possess. 

A trap. If he nears the edge to read, the acid will send him away.

He rationalizes that the acid will catch him anyways, and he wants to know what the paper says about him.

Yeonjun lands toe-first on the ground and lowers himself gently while tucking his wings back as he nears the glass. The human smiles wide, beckoning other humans closer and pointing at Yeonjun.

“I think it wants to read the flyer!” the human says.

“Pixies can’t read.”

“Excuse me,” the siren-like human waves at one of the wired humans, “can pixies read?”

The wired human shakes their head and looks bored.

So many lies. Humans know nothing.

Yeonjun presses his hands to the glass between himself and what the siren-like human called a flyer. It does not have wings, and it fell without issue. It does not fly, no matter what they call it.

Sunday, June 20, Avalon’s Hall will be closed to the public to allow students of all ages and fields of study to observe humanity's first ever live pixie exhibit! Come witness her play in a recreation of her natural habitat at the Avalon’s Hall Butterfly Exhibit, located at the Hawthorn Zoo and Animal Empire.

At the bottom, in small letters, barely readable, it continues: Due to capacity adjustments, all butterflies have been temporarily removed from Avalon’s Hall. No butterflies were harmed in the creation of this exhibit.

Yeonjun looks at the ground, above him, all around for a cloud of acid that will inevitably force him back to the center. Until it comes, Yeonjun reads as quickly as he can.

Flash photography is encouraged! You can share your first pixie encounter on social media using the hashtag #avalonshallpixieexpirience, or visit our website to submit your captures!