Her fae & His fairy

Chapter 0.2

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Euodia:

Droplets of water cascaded down my neck and dripped onto the white fabric of my dress, some even slipping further down the crevices of my spine. The coldness penetrated the warmth radiating from my skin and provided a sense of respite. I shifted in my chair, attempting to find comfort as the water droplets kissed every inch of me with their chilliness. Uncontrollably, I found myself wiggling in an effort to free myself from the sensation.

"Hold still, my child," the raspy old voice of my grandmother broke my restlessness.

I looked up at her, through the dirty little mirror that hanged on a wooden pole. I was finally so tall that my eyes were just over the bottom of the frame. I watched her as she focused on my hair.

She was old. How old I have no idea. She had just always been old in my mind. She was a small woman. At my young age, I was almost as tall as her. Her skin was pure white, yet tarnished from years in the sun. Her hair I had always envied, with its long and straight structure, the colour of it completely white. Her eyes were a deep emerald. She had a hooked nose, and her lips had almost disappeared. Wrinkles lined her skin all over and reminded me much of the carvings in the bark of a tree. Still, she would put rouge on her lips every morning and the same colour on her cheeks. Her ears were pierced up and down, with various different coloured earrings. Matching necklaces sat on her chest over her white dress. The most important one was a golden chain with an oval pendant. It symbolised her power and role as Mistress of the Coven. In her hand, she was holding a comb with her stiff fingers that had coloured nails and multiple rings on. But the most eye-catching thing about her was her tattoos. Down her arms, her legs, her hands, stomach, chest, and back had all been written with runes and symbols. Some represented her history, some her magic, her roles throughout life, her lineage, and her position in the clan. Some contained magic to either protect her or give her power. And then the last thing was her wings. Clear as the crystals of the morning drops shaped sharper than the butterflies they were out today. It was very rare after the new faes hunt for our kind that we allowed ourselves to show our wings. So with magic, the adults hit them, only letting them out at special occasions such at that night. She was beautiful.

"You are more restless than your mother was, and that is saying something," she mumbled as she began to brush my hair again.

I resembled a lion, my hair spiking out in all directions like the mane of a big cat despite the copious amounts of water she had drenched it with. The black locks were completely unladen to my attempts to curl them during summertime, leaving me looking more akin to a feral animal than most would consider appropriate.

I looked back at my own image. I saw the familiar emerald eyes, I saw the beginning of freckles from the spring over my cheek. I saw that my bare skin is still too young to be painted. I spotted my skin far tanner than my mother or grandmothers. I spotted the way my nose had a slightly less of a hook than my grandmother's. I spotted the bruise on my shoulder, from crawling up a tree unsuccessfully. It was worth the few cherries that I got. I looked at the rouge she had put on my cheeks, something that only happened on very special occasions. Such as that night, it was the long day, the beginning of summer.

"I dreamt again last night," I started while tinkering with the necklace around my neck.

We had created these pieces of jewellery the day before yesterday, whilst we were being taught about the history and how to prepare for this year's Long Day. During those lessons, we children had our eyes open to the power of the Goddess sun; we found out that she was holding a special ball tonight. As one elder finished telling us his story, we decided to make our own accessories as a way to pass the time until sundown.