Kuwentuhan

Faerie

*~~~~~ ~~~~~*

“

Sorry for your loss, Mary. We know he was someone special.” 

“Michael Seraph was a very kind man. Death can be a curse sometimes.”

“Hey, we’re here. Don’t shut yourself out, ‘kay? The door’s always open, you know.” 

Bittersweet music filled Mary Seraph’s ears tauntingly, mocking her sadness and sobs in the cold summer afternoon. She placed one hand on the coffin while rubbing her bloodshot eyes with the other, careful not to let tiny, almost unnoticeable drops of tears fall on the glass just like her mother, Ria, had warned.

Hundreds of visitors piled up by the door of her aunt’s house, mourning the hero of the island: Michael himself. Apparently, they had brought flowers with them, which would then be given to the Seraph Family.  

The brave, lifeless man in question was none other than Mary’s own uncle, who had been killed in a rally against the miners. Family and friends joined together, hope in hand, as they supported each other during this time of struggle, though Mary would hear nothing of it. She couldn’t accept her uncle’s death that easily. 

Why?

This was because Uncle Michael, dead and inside the glass coffin, had miraculously appeared before her own, naked eyes, wearing a metal armor and holding a sharp, pointed spear. He had a blank expression gracing his face, but she could see the determination in his brown orbs, as if he had vowed to protect their island much longer, and keep the greedy, cruel miners away for good. 

“H-He…he just grabbed the g-gun and then…” Lisa, Michael’s wife—now widowed—narrated, pausing to wipe the tears which were present in her eyes. Guests could feel the sadness being emitted from her body as they looked at the glass coffin once more, sympathy clear on each of their faces.     
When everyone had finally fetched their own handkerchiefs from their pockets, she said, “E-Everything just s-seemed to be a blur, and then my h-husband released his very l-last breath. H-He was…d-dead.” 

Mary’s tears threatened to fall upon hearing Aunt Lisa’s heartbroken voice, her mind playing the traumatizing scene over and over again.

She could imagine her uncle laying there on the pavement, blood visible somewhere between his neck and jaw, his body limp and unmoving. She curled her hand into a fist tightly until it became pale and white, begging her brain to stop thinking of such thoughts.

Their island, however inviting and jolly it was, carried a dark and enchanted curse, which was both beautiful and deadly. 
        
Faeries could be found all over the hills, valleys, trees, and mountains, playing their tricks on townsfolk and the elderly. These faeries were not the kindhearted creatures you would see in the movies or hear about during wonderful bedtime stories.

The faeries present on Neráida Island were both charming and vicious, their looks ready to deceive any normal (and unfortunate) human being into doing their awful bidding. They would get what they want at a particularly fast rate, unconcerned by the fact that someone might get hurt—or even die—in the process. 

After the rally against the miners, however, something weird happened.

The remains of Uncle Michael’s soul had been transported to the King of the Faeries himself, who officially appointed Michael Seraph as his right hand man. Mary knew all of this because she heard his deep, concentrated voice echo inside her system, telling her about his fate and journey in the afterlife. It was, of course, owned by Uncle Michael, calm and collected.