A Modern Fairytale

The very first day

I spent decades outside of Mecrisdale, and I did so gladly. The spell you left on my back became my only link to the kingdom in which I was born and raised—and about that, too, I had no complaint. To be honest, we'd known each other for a long time, but unlike Reginvalt, I hadn't been friends with you from the start. I spent some long years just...watching—not just you, but the world around me, and the people around me.

There seemed to be something strange about the world around me. Or maybe it was me. Which it was, I couldn't tell; all I knew was that something wasn't quite right, and I definitely did not belong. As a result of that confusion, I kept a distance from others—my own family included. I don't remember when it was, or how, that I learned to turn invisible. All I know is that I never stopped using it ever since I discovered it. You can imagine my shock and feeling of impending doom when Reginvalt chose to befriend you, the heiress of a chaotic kingdom, of all people. Did he choose you, really, or was it somehow arranged in the dark by the adults in our lives back then? If, when you first met, it was in a regular garden instead of the edge of a cliff, maybe he wouldn't have been so intrigued.

Even though, to be honest, I was too—it's just that I stayed at a distance and literally out of sight. He knew I was there, but as usual, he said nothing about it simply because that would defeat the purpose of me going invisible.

I remember that day. I don't remember it as clearly as I used to, but I still do remember. Reginvalt and I were just looking around Mecrisdale for no particular reason. Back then, I had just learned the invisibility charm, and Reginvalt, being much younger, had just made his first shabby bowl—and broke it deliberately right afterward. He didn't even need to hear our father's amused chuckle or our mother's endearing smile to notice the bowl was not perfect. He broke it with the same hammer that our father had been using to build...I don't remember. He wasn't upset, just dissatisfied. He did not allow this imperfect work to exist on his shelf.

Looking back now, I suppose that was the moment I knew we would never be alike in any way. For one, when I meddle with the intricacies of an object, I do so only out of my own interest; I don't care much if the result is perfect, flawed, or outright hideous. That is the reason why there is a drawer of weird-looking failures back at my place. Reginvalt, on the other hand, would not put his work on the shelf unless it was perfect—he didn't always work relentlessly until it was perfect, but he definitely didn't keep what wasn't.

That, and the fact that he doesn't work only with objects.

...but you already know that. Is that not why you two get along so well?

When we saw you that day, my first thought was...she's so tiny. And I know—you're not actually tiny, but considering what you were doing at that moment, you might understand. As I recall, you were with the late queen. There was a dead bear on the ground, and with the queen watching, you pushed it uphill and then off the cliff.

I...was visible up to that moment. Then, I hid.

Reginvalt did not share the same sentiment. Instantaneous as my reaction was, he'd at first frozen at the sight—perhaps processing what was even going on. Then, he just...kept watching. I'll never know if it was because he was too young to fear or if such a scene simply doesn't fall into the category of things he considers dangerous.

I remember tapping him on the shoulder to tell him that woman was the queen, and that we should probably get out of the way—not that we were in the way in the first place, and he made sure to point that out to me. Nevertheless, he didn't object. We turned into two specks of fairies and sat on a branch. If he didn't so clearly want to keep watching, I would have left altogether...and then none of what followed would have happened.