Faerie Tales - A Series of Original Short Stories

Story One - In The Land of the Fae

A/N: Hey, all, been awhile! I haven't touched this account since I was in high school. But, I'm back, and (hopefully) better than ever! I never quit writing, but I did quit sharing my work up until the last few months. So, here's a few short stories from my original work and setting. I also post on AO3 now, as well as my Tumblr and Patreon accounts (MorganOlyvia on all).

There were many names for the land of the fae. The endless wood, the twilight forest, the realm of shadow and fate. The fairyland if you were particularly lacking in creativity. But, to most scholars, and to its denizens, it was known as Eliondel.
The land of Eliondel was an ever-changing forest, whose environment seemed to shift in the blink of an eye. One moment, a wanderer could be walking through a forest of pink cherry blossoms and giggling fairies, and the next, they were in a dark, desiccated forest of dead trees whistling in wind that hadn't been there a moment ago, stalked by barely-seen monsters who defied explanation, waiting for the moment their prey lets its guard down.
Reality in the forest was...malleable, at best. Inconsistent. But the one thing that could always be found was the Palace of the High Fae, though the person who sat upon its throne was rarely the same for longer than a few years. A land steeped in constant turmoil, bloodshed and betrayal was an everyday occurrence among the fae, whether a powerful high fae, or one of the weaker groups. Ruthless and vicious, even the lowest amongst their ranks could never be trusted.
Such was the subject of Illaloshal's concern as she watched a mortal woman enter the Palace of the High Fae. She watched from the sidelines, curious, as the woman shuffled into the front room of the building, back straight with a distinctly false air of confidence that marked her out almost as much as her conspicuously boring appearance.
She looked far older than the timelessly graceful beings that surrounded her. Her hair, frizzy and disarrayed from the tight braid she had styled it in, was a dull blond that contrasted starkly from the highly-maintained and brightly colored hair of the fae. Her eyes, smaller and plainer in their pale blue coloration than those around her, were wide with mixed fascination and fear as she took in the sights.
The palace was opulent, to be sure. It was crafted of white stone in such a way that it appeared to have risen seamlessly from the ground rather than having been built, and etched with millions of tiny runes that glowed the color of whomever currently ruled the castle –a pale purple today– in order to keep it anchored in one position in the realm. Within, the decor was an ever-changing array of flora and fauna, rising from the white stone floors, and colorful crystals, which bathed the interior in whatever color the palace had taken on at that moment. Today's colors were various shades of purple, growing primarily wisteria from the palace's various natural decorations, with accents of green willow branches. The palace's front room doubled as a ballroom, its long, opulent hallways filled with all sorts of fae.
Tables of pure white wood stood off to either side of the room, piled high with faerie food, perfectly cooked and smelling of temptation. Golden goblets of deep crimson liquid were clasped in the hands of most anyone in the room, continuously being sipped from, and yet, ever-full.
The mortal woman was...interesting. To her, at least. They weren't common here.
Fae of all shapes, sizes, and colors roamed around, mingling and dancing to music that arose from every corner of the room as though the orchestra of little winged creatures that floated towards its high ceiling were playing from everywhere at once. The more powerful were massive, slender creatures that towered over the rest of the room's inhabitants, brightly colored and conspicuous, seeming more to be made of foliage and the natural elements than touched by it as the weaker fae were.
Illa herself was accompanied by one of the high fae, a being of flowers and flame whose orange-red foliage seemed as though it should be aflame from the heat of the rest of their body. Their large, crimson-and-black eyes would occasionally flick to her, regardless of their current occupation, assessing her behavior whilst attending under his name. Though ordinarily stubborn and fiery, her tenuous position here had her behaving as passively as she could manage, keeping her wits about her wherever she went.
Illa was middling in power at best, but talented with the skills she did possess. She bore coral-red curly hair, touched by fire as opposed to made from it, with black branches growing from her temples and curling around the sides of her head that sprouted scarlet leaves and little pink flowers, paired with gold eyes, and copper-tan skin, all of which caused her to resemble a human far more than some of her fellow partygoers. Others similar to her possessed faint animalistic features, such as goats' legs and horns or scales like those of a fish, or, like her, plantlike ones, such as flowers growing through their hair or vines criss-crossing their skin. A lucky few had a mix of the two.
Faeries, little glimmering motes of colorful light with tiny, excited voices swarmed the woman as she entered, tugging at her clothing and hair as they giggled and mocked her. Larger fae, whose previous occupation had been dancing, drinking, eating, and chatting amongst themselves, turned their attention to the newcomer. One particularly mischievous trio, three ladies who bore teal blue skin dotted in iridescent scales across the sides of their faces and the joints that were exposed by loose, flowing silken gowns, approached her immediately. They giggled, offering out drinks, caressed her face, and toyed with her hair in clawed hands, smiling sharp-toothed smiles.
Illa slipped closer, intent on hearing whatever was said between the group. She slipped through the crowds, careful not to disturb or disrupt any particularly powerful fae (the ten-foot-tall green-skinned woman with octopus tentacles for hair and three pairs of eyes wasn't known for her kindness towards those who got in her way, after all). As she slowly slipped through the crowd, she heard whispers between a trio of high fae;
"D'you think she'll take it?" One asked.
"No, no, she's made it this far. She wants to make a proper deal." Another answered.
"Tsk. I wanted to eat her." The first again.
"That's the High Queen's right, you dolt," The third one added.
"Not if I kill her first."
Hisses of disagreement between the three could be heard. She didn't look up enough to see who had suggested the murder, thinking it best to keep her eavesdropping to herself. As amusing as it might be to report their conspirations to the Queen.
Eventually, she came close enough to observe the interaction properly. The ladies were mid-conversation with their prey, playfully teasing her and attempting to force a goblet into her hand, though her obvious discomfort and firm declinations of their physical contact seemed to have put a stop to the touching.
"I do not want your drink," The woman said firmly. "No, thank you."
Her words were slow and deliberate, ensuring she did not say anything the fae could misconstrue or misinterpret.
"Come now," One girl giggled. "It's lovely, you'll see. You'll never want another drink. Trust us, you know we can't lie,"
"I do not want your drink." She repeated, before pushing past the trio and continuing to walk towards the ivory throne at the back of the room.
"How rude," One of them muttered, the pleasant hum now gone from her voice and replaced with a vicious hiss.
As she walked, more fae approached her, attempting a variety of tricks.
"May I have your name, Miss?" One asked.
"No." She responded, voice still stern.
She was brave, Illa had to admit. Her discomfort and fear read plainly in her body language, but her voice was clear.
"Would you like to stay with us?" Another asked, her voice an eerie, haunting sound that filled the room with an odd haze.
"Dance with me?" A third offered out a hand, almost blocking her path.
She passed both with two firm "No"s.
Her walk to the ivory throne was long and filled with similar propositions from the fae, each one hoping to break down her inhibitions, force her to slip up, or offer her whatever she had come here seeking. Each was turned down with increasing exasperation.
The crowd of eager beings closed in more the closer she came to the throne, cutting off her exit and creeping in, growing more and more insistent as she continued to decline. Finally, as she came close enough to speak at the ivory throne, and to the being who sat upon it, she stopped. She continued to keep several feet of distance, but, as she stood there, gazing up at the High Queen, her tone was calm.
"I am here to make a deal,"
The being gazed down at her from her post, a mildly bemused expression on her face. The room sat in silence for a long moment as she judged the mortal's worth, head tilted slightly to the side.
The current High Queen was a woman of wisteria and willow, her skin made of bark and her eyes two glittery black jets. Her limbs were long and gnarled, arms disproportionately long, and hands bearing several extra fingers, each of which tipped with black claws and made up of several more joints than the average individual. Her lower half looked as though it had once been the body of a deer, slender and seemingly delicate, but it had long-since been overtaken with the same grayish bark that covered the rest of her body. Massive branches grew from her temples, shoulders, and back, bearing wisteria flowers and long willow tendrils that mingled with the inky black hair that flowed longer than the Queen was tall. And the Queen was tall, towering over even the high fae, despite her seated position on the throne, which, to accommodate her behooved bottom half, had turned itself into more of a platform than a chair.
She had been in possession of a name once, but it was commonplace to forsake one's name in favor of a series of titles when taking the throne. This was the Lady of Wisteria, the Venom Queen, and The Willow's Betrayer. The wife of the previous High King, whose power was solidified after his brutal murder at her hands.
And, currently, she was highly amused by the presumptuous nature of the little human that had come to speak with her.
"Small one," She spoke finally. Her voice filled the room. It was...oddly warm. And yet, there was an edge behind it, a false kindness. "Give me your name. You are to be commended. Truly. Not many survive the forest long enough to get here,"
"I," The woman repeated, slower now. "Am here. To make. A deal. I do not want to speak of any other subjects. You may not have my name, but you may call me..." She looked around for a moment. Her eyes landed on Illa's, then flicked to her leaf-tipped antlers. "Maple,"
Hums, hisses, and clicks filled the room from the crowd of onlookers, as though chastising the woman for her lack of engagement.
"Hmph." The High Queen sighed. "Alright, then. Maple. What do you desire?"
"My..." Her voice broke. "My daughter. She's ill. She...she's dying. She's just a little girl. I...I want you to...to save her. Please."
"And what do you have to offer?" The Queen's expression didn't change. No hint of sympathy or care was portrayed. Her voice even sounded slightly disinterested.
"I...we don't have much. I've got my grandmother's jewelry. It's expensive. I think. You faeries like shiny things, yeah? It's very shiny. Very pretty. Not steel, I swear. Made of silver."
The room rumbled with laughter, mocking and cruel. High fae snorted and cackled, while their lessers giggled and joked amongst themselves about the pathetic offering. For a long, painful moment, Illa watched the small shred of hope and what little confidence she had mustered drain from the woman's body. A pang of empathy stabbed her gut, yet she could do nothing to aid her.
"Maple, dearest. We don't take things in exchange for life," The Queen's voice silenced the crowd. "You'll have to sweeten your offer, darling. Or your little one is...well. She'll be dust beneath your boots before long,"
Tears began to stream down the woman's face. "Please. Please. She's my whole world. I can't...I can't...I...I'll do anything. Please." She sobbed.
Malicious glee glittered in the Queen's eyes, but her voice still carried that faux-gentleness. "Oh, darling, don't cry." She rose to her hooves and stepped down from her pedestal, approaching the woman. She knelt and cupped her face in her long, gnarled hands, forcing the mortal to meet her gaze. "I can help you,"
"P-please. I can't let her just..." Another sob cut her words short.
"Shh...hush now, darling," She murmured, her voice quieter, yet carrying no less. "I only need one thing,"
"A-anything,"
"You."
The room filled with quiet sounds of approval from the crowd, chirps and rustling.
"I...me?"
"Your life. Your servitude. If you wish for your daughter's health, you must obey my every command,"
"I...I understand."
"Your life for hers, you see. Is that amenable to you?"
"...Yes. I accept."
"Then it is done. Return home. Soon, this illness will be naught but a memory,"
"O-okay...Thank you, your majesty,"
"Go. See your family,"
The crowd parted, and the woman left, gathering her composure as she did so. Soon enough, the party resumed. Illa found her way back to the side of her benefactor for the evening as he approached the Queen.
"My lady," They addressed her. "Quite the generous deal you gave her,"
The Queen chuckled. "For now. Mortals are far more amusing when you hold their children's lives over their heads. How long do you think it will be until she trades it for her own freedom?"
The pair shared a laugh. Illa forced one from herself.
After that, her benefactor swept her onto the dancefloor. Drinks, food, and conversation were had, and yet, she couldn't quite get back into the swing of the event. The evening didn't feel much like one worth celebrating anymore.