Wings glint and flash like frozen flame,
Fluttering softly in the darkness,
Fiery light from a thousand fey,
Follows laughter full of mischief,
Fairy spirits strong and bright,
Living fragments of summer’s light,
Dance for joy and dance for love,
Shimmering under stars above.
The laughter echoed softly on the breeze, as the glittering motes of light fluttered between the branches. Among the emerald leaves of the canopy, the traces of ruby light would chase each other, trailing crimson sparks. Every so often, the tip of a luminous wing or the petals of a rose-woven dress would be visible for an instant, and gone the second after that.
Below the playing fairies, the pixies sat among the moss, on the numerous serpentine roots of the trees, or even on the toadstools that sprouted from the earth. The fairies above them were elegant, draped in diaphanous fabrics, with glittering crystalline wings. The summer pixies, by comparison, were relatively plain. Dressed in simple clothes woven from the fibers of leaves, they talked softly or gazed shyly at the ground. Each one of them had a single wing, similar to that of a dragonfly, folded against their back. Some had one on the right side, some on the left, some of them had striated edges like those of a leaf, or swirls of color. Some had spiraling marks or metallic glints, some were adorned with gem-like colors and some as simple as cut glass. Each wing was almost unique, and yet each of them had come in hopes of finding one that looked exactly like theirs.
Summer fairies were born as pixies from the buds of an enchanted flower, and grew with one wing only, unable to fly. Once every year, on the first day of summer, the pixies would gather in large groups, and search for another with a wing identical to theirs. If they found them, they would blush and stutter and hesitate, but their heart would leap for joy. A fateful kiss would bring them together and make them true fairies; a bonded pair that could chase each other through the canopy and dance under the stars.
In a nook in one of the roots, curled in a fetal position, one of the pixies watched the fairies laugh and play with sadness in his eyes. Sylven knew he would never join them, and his heart felt hollow as he cradled the torn edge of his wing.
It had been caught on thorns when he was much younger, and part of the edge had been torn away. If he had found his pair, he still could have flown with it, but the gash would stop that from ever happening. Without the edge of the wing, and with no swirls of color or leaf-vein patterns on its transparent surface, it was impossible to recognize. The scarring and the missing edge meant that even if there were another pixie that had an identical wing, he would never recognize them. The accident had happened so long ago that even he had no idea what his wing had once looked like.
With a sigh he curled up tighter, watching as a dark-haired pixie with glittering emerald eyes walked up to him. Errin was one of the oldest pixies, and all his brothers and sisters had already earned their wings. Sylven looked up at him, smiling weakly. His friend sighed, sitting on the edge of the root next to him.
“I still haven’t found her.”
“You will, next year. Don’t worry,” The marred pixie whispered, moving over to the rough bark next to his friend and sitting next to him.
“You say the same thing every year,” the dissapointed fae muttered sadly, bowing his head. Sylven reached for his friend’s hand with his own, clasping it in an attempt to comfort him.
“And I’ll say it every year, until you find her,” he answered softly. Errin smiled at him, his emerald eyes glinting.
“Did you... look?” he asked tentatively, fully aware that his friend had given up several years ago. The other pixie shook his head silently. Errin paused, hesitant.
“Sylven, can I… try something?”
The pixie with the broken wing gazed at his friend, frowning slightly. Something about Errin’s tone was almost nervous. He murmured a ‘yes’, and tried to ask what, but he was interrupted by a shy kiss.
Errin trembled slightly as he held Sylven close, deepening the kiss as his friend closed his eyes. Some part of him had expected to feel a burst of heat and light, waves of rippling magic as his other wing grew, but he never did.
Somehow the pounding of his own heart and the fluttering in his stomach were so much stronger than the fiery glow of the wings he would never have. He stroked Sylven’s cheek, breaking the kiss. His friend grinned, but then looked dismayed when he realized neither of them had become fairies.
“Why didn’t it… work?” he murmured, as Errin wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.
“I don’t think we have the same wings. I… don’t think you and I were meant to be bonded. But we are.”
Sylven smiled at him hesitantly, but he seemed worried.
“But you’ll never fly, Errin. You can’t become a fairy if you stay bonded to me. We’ll be like this forever.”
Errin kissed him on the forehead, murmuring gently.
“Then we’ll be like this forever, if you’ll let me stay with you. I don’t want to fly. Not if it means leaving you on the ground.”
Sylven laughed happily, kissing him again. Far under the canopy where the fairies shimmered and danced, the mismatched pair basked in the golden glow of a fire much stronger than the flicker of a fairy’s wings.
