One

I grew up hearing the stories of the faerie people--a race so enchantingly beautiful and so dangerously powerful that us humans couldn't help but whisper about them when our minds began to wander. Some speak of them as children of the Gods; some think them products of the Devil himself, sent to scorn and punish humans on His behalf. But whichever version of the tale one believes, there is no denying one thing: they are powerful, and to be a human tangled up in faerie business is the greatest misfortune. 

Time in my village is measured in summers, and in my 22 summers I've been fortunate enough to avoid such horrors. No one quite knows where the fae live, but most suspect they walk among us disguised as humans, their elfin features covered by a charm of perception. To offend, hurt, or even kill a faerie, whether with intention or not, well, that is how one ends up tangled in faerie business, and not even the greatest human warrior--not even all the greatest warriors in all the villages--can save a newly found ward from their fate. 

In truth, it's best to avoid people in these days of tribulation, and if it's absolutely necessary to interact, then I keep my head down. It's how I've managed to stay without trouble in my 22 summers. 

"Reyna, come here and put the parchment away, please!" 

My hand involuntarily closes around the most recently inked page, causing my skin to be decorated with charcoal black kisses. Blowing on the page so as not to cause anymore damage, I carefully place it in the drawer of my night table on top of its many companion pages, followed by the almost empty inkpot and the quill. 

"Reyna!" Father beckons. 

"I'm coming!" I shout, though our home is small and he should have no trouble hearing my voice. 

When I step out of my bedroom and into the small little kitchen, the scent of a fire meets my nose. How I had not noticed it before is a mystery, but my father should know better. 

"Why is there a fire?" I demand, crossing the short distance from my doorway and into the gathering room, which also functions as my father's living quarters. 

"Because I am cold, darling, and I don't wish to spend the rest of the few days I have left with a chill." As if to punctuate both his sentiment and my guilt, a hideous cough racks his lungs. As I hurry to bring him his water cup, I can't help but pass a comment about the price of firewood in the village, although it's not to make him feel remorse for staring this fire, even though he went against our rule of only setting fire for cooking and when it frosts. 

Knowing what I'm prodding at, he scowls as he drinks the water and his coughs subside. "The woods are forbidden," he rasps. It's a useless argument, one that we have often. 

"If I could get out there, we needn't ration our wood. You could have fires sunup to sunup and never be cold again." 

"We will not discuss this tired subject again, Reyna," he says. I open my mouth again to argue, but with one sharp comment he halts my impassioned argument. "If you wouldn't spend so many coins on parchment then we could have more wood." 

It's another way to guilt me. Hiding my ink stained hands in my skirts, I nod sharply and change the topic. "What is it you've called me here for?" Quarreling with Father is something I like to avoid, no matter how impossible. He has few days remaining, our healers say, and each day he becomes more frail. The cold affects him more and more each day, seeping into his bones as his life leaves him in fits of violent coughs. 

He reaches into his dressing gown pocket in response, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth as he does. "Tobias came 'round the other day, and he gave me this to give to you," he says. 

I squint at the little object pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The fire backlights both my father and the strange little figurine, casting strange shadows across the room and playing with the last remaining fragments of golden daylight. 

"What is it?" I finally ask, growing too tired for my mind to puzzle it for myself. Tobias is a master at woodcarving, so no doubt it is one of his wooden figurines. His sister, whom we all call Shrew, claims to have visions. Mostly they're right, but sometimes they're quack. Either way, Tobias carves figurines to represent Shrew's visions, and then he gives the totems to their intended holders. 

"I can't quite tell, but it looks like some kind of bird of a sorts, and it's a bit charred, blackened even. Here, take it for yourself," he says. As he leans forward, another fit of coughs shakes his whole body, causing the little figurine to drop to the floor. 

Nausea grows in my stomach as my father's coughs continue and I reach down to pick up the little figurine that isn't a bird at all, but a blackened butterfly--the totem of the fae. 

Author's Note

unedited. What do you think of the pacing and the sentence structure? does it flow?

Reviews

[Night]

Hi! First of all, I really love the idea you have about humans living in a world that could be touched by magic. I like the idea of the fae as a mysterious, powerful race that might live among them. Generally, I really like this world you're setting up. I think your pacing and sentence structure is really good, I think it flows pretty well. For constructive criticism though, I think this piece could benefit from some more visual imagery. For example, if you added some more details about the house that this main character is living in (the smells, and maybe the colours of the walls and any decorations in the living room, just to maybe give more of a visual aid to the reader). An example of some really good visuals you used was the figurine. You described that really well, to the point where I can really see it in my mind's eye. If you could try doing that with some other parts of the house, or even to add more visual effects to her father, I feel like it would add a lot to the world you've created.
Overall though, I really like the story you've got going, I think your pacing and sentence structure is great and I'd be excited to see more!