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Dedicated to
Mr. Winter

It was a fine autumn afternoon. I know not the name the humans have baptized this park with but I know that people really loved to picnic here in summer. But now that the leaves turn into different hues of red, brown and gold, fewer people go here to visit. Some are torn, shedding tears in tune to the leaves’ descent from the trees. Some have lost their beloveds into another country. While some are…well, I see a girl sitting on a bench alone, reading a thick paperback. She was pretty enough to be fey like me but is undeniably human. Her brown hair falls into curls down her back, the top of her head covered by a “beanie”, as I heard people call the strange thing she wore like a hat. Her eyes are the color of our pond’s—azure under the sun and shining like it contained tiny pieces of diamonds. She had a translucent skin, which softly glowed under the golden sun. She was wearing a brown, fur-trimmed coat, and leather boots.

And, a boy kept looking at her.

I giggled at the boy’s nervousness, knowing well that neither could see nor hear me. As a faery, what am I to be afraid of? The boy had the same beanie atop his head and brown hair, too, except that his was a shade lighter and curled around the edges. His eyes were green as the leaves of the trees during spring. His skin was almost as translucent as the girl’s, except that it had a hint of tan, from summer.

And he was weighing his chances. I know that, because, I have helped boys like him before. They are very…shy, I guess, is the word. They can’t approach the girls they like because of lack of courage. And this boy…well, I always see him every afternoon since autumn started. It’s as if he’s waiting or looking for someone because he’d roam around the park several times for several hours then go home with his head down. Then, since the girl came here every afternoon…well, he’s always sitting somewhere he has an unobstructed view of her.

Human love, as I’ve seen it to be, is a very important emotion for the mortals. It cannot be explained by their science, the way we fey cannot be explained (that’s why you humans conclude that we do not exist at all. You people think we were just from poor Shakespeare’s imagination, huh?). And sometimes…it is a dangerous emotion.

You see, I’ve lived before Napoleon whatshisname or Elizabeth I. I’ve been alive since the day this world has grown vegetations. I saw people get born, grow up, and die. I watched them love, get their hearts broken like fragile china, and die. I’ve watched from a distance as couples we fey helped drift apart because of the cruel mistress named Fate, until one of them dies in grief and the other is left alone to either endure the pain, move on, or pass away, too. And…I don’t want these couples to turn out just like that, too.

So, I called my minions.

Or my partners in crime, you might say. Well, they are truly my elves, following my orders in one flick of a wrist. The head of them approached me and sang beside me as he saw the look on the boy’s face. “What shall we do, Mistress Quince?”

I turned away from the scene and started singing Amy Adams’ “That’s How You Know”, from Enchanted’s soundtrack. I twirled round and round between the stone statues of those unfortunate fey I have turned into hard stone, as punishment for throwing their stony hearts at humans’ glass ones. One by one, they emerged from the deep sleep I have put them into and started to flex their arms. I continued singing and the elves joined.

Well, does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind?” I grabbed a little note from thin air and, leaning on a tall fey with my arm propped on his shoulder, put it on the breast pocket of his tux. “Give you yellow flowers when the sky is gray?” The elves handed me a bouquet of yellow flowers just as the skies above dimmed and thunder boomed. I gave it to the fey I was leaning on and pushed him out of our glamour, to give it to the boy.

I pulled out an umbrella from thin air just as the boy gave the flowers to the girl. They were both standing now and their faces were flushed. Oh, boy. I gave the umbrella to another fey and pushed him out to give it to the boy, who thanked the two and opened the umbrella just as rain fell.

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