A University of Love and Pixies

Moving Day

No, no, no.

Niamh groaned in frustration and promptly threw the ankle-length skirt she had meticulously folded across her bedroom. It soared into the growing pile of similarly rejected clothes beside her empty suitcase. Sinking to her knees, Niamh let her curved wings slide down against the bed posts as she dropped to the floor. They fluttered slightly against her back and Niamh braced her head upon her hand, once again examining the wide array of clothes that lay before her.

They were all wrong! So wrong; clothes for a girl who never left the house if she could avoid it, clothes that were safe and comfortable and clothes that would definitely be mocked if Niamh dared to dress in them.

The last few hours had been spent picking out something decent to wear for university. It had been a nightmare.

There were thick pink jumpers, long flowing skirts, and overalls, all of which Niamh had been fine with wearing, but she knew they would not be acceptable in her new environment. As she spent nearly all her time secure inside, Niamh had never once worn the crop tops and ripped jeans all the beautiful girls sported in their Instagram posts. She could stare at them for hours if Niamh didn't force herself to close the app down. By contrast, her own account was filled with pictures of cake for god's sake.

Not that she really wanted to post a picture of her glamoured self; Niamh's true self was a far cry from the bland, blond illusion her classmates saw. No, as Niamh glanced into her wardrobe mirror, it was a vibrant pink pixie who looked back, with long silver hair to match the near-transparent curves of her wings. She pushed her circular-framed glasses back, smiling slightly to admire the spiked teeth that layered her mouth.

The smile quivered, the memory of when Niamh's mum had been in a rush one morning when she was ten, with the glamour being applied in a rush. The resulting rot that had materialised on Niamh's teeth had led to leers from the boys and a subsequent beratement by the school nurse. She had then stayed in bed for a week, too scared to come out.

Blinking hard, Niamh anchored herself back in the present. Without further thought, she snatched up the jumpers that looked the least frilly and some drab jogging bottoms, deciding anything was better than the skirts. With that, Niamh carefully placed the clothes into her suitcase and zipping it shut, mentally declaring packing to be done.

A knock sounded on the door and her mum peered her head in. "Are you all packed, sweetie?" Niamh was so often jealous of her mother, whose tall, slim figured was boosted by her golden wings and radiant magenta skin. If her mum was a diamond, Niamh was, well, the kind of unremarkable rock you would not even known was there.

"Yes, Mum," Niamh answered as blandly as possible. Her mum raised an eyebrow and gestured to all the discarded skirts on the floor. "What about these?"

"No room."

It was not quite a frown that crossed her mother's face then, but enough of a look of pity that Niamh turned away and began cleaning up her unwanted clothes pile.

Annoyingly, her mum didn't quite get the message. She stepped inside and then said, "We can always go shopping for you if you want new clothes, Niamh?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Niamh snapped, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry," she amended, turning to face her.

Her mum smiled again. "I know the next few weeks are going to be tarrying, to you more than most. Just remember that I and your father both understand what it means to be a faerie living as a mortal among mortal. It takes getting used to, especially when you no longer have a safe refuge to fall back on."

"Yeah, but you don't have the social skills of a gagged mouse," said Niamh. For all her mother's attempts at comforting her through shared experiences, Niamh knew her mother had never known what it felt like to be an outcast, to fail so completely at fitting in.