This Pixie was in love with a man, and the notion of his death scared her in a way that nothing ever had. She couldn’t stand the thought, and the pain she glimpsed whenever she thought of it tore at her little heart so greatly she would break down in great sobs. Her despair was alarming, so much so that any creature who heard her would come to her aid, but she could not be availed. So our Pixie did the only thing she could, she sacrificed herself for Anders.
One night as usual the boy snuck out of his house and went to the Pixie’s cave. He found the fire nearly out and her body laid out on some covers, motionless. There was blood everywhere, purple blood. Anders panicked, he rushed to her. He grabbed her motionless body and lifted her off the ground. Then he screamed. As he lifted her he realized the source of the blood, her wings had been cut off. She was not dead, though she seemed to be dying.
Anders was a smart boy and he remembered the ingredients and the recipe to make the potion he had helped her make earlier to mend the broken wing. He also knew that there was more of the potion she had created for him when he was drowning. He worked furiously, mixing, grinding and boiling the plants and powders until he had achieved a result nearly identical to that which she had prepared. He smeared the first potion over the jagged gashes where the Pixie's wings once were and poured the other potion into her open mouth. Then he waited. She lay motionless and Anders could not tell if she was alive or dead but he did not dare move. The sun rose outside, traced an arc across the sky and set behind the distant mountains, and still he stayed. He knew his family would be looking, he knew he would be made to pay for his absence, but he didn’t care. What seemed like eternity passed by without change and Anders was at his wits ends. Without realizing, he had been scratching methodically at the hard stone of the cave's wall until his fingers bled. He was examining his raw fingertips when suddenly one of the Pixies eyes fluttered, and then the other did too. Anders gasped as he watched the tiny creature move, ever so slightly. Hoping he had not simply imagined this or fallen into a delirious dream he froze watching her raise her head slightly, he watched her shake it as if to clear her mind and then he watched the realization in her eyes as she felt the lack of her wings. He watched her cry. Then he watched her notice that he was sitting there.
“You should breathe” she said, her voice changed somehow. Her face twisted slightly at its sound, but the message was no less true. Anders only now realized that he hadn’t actually dared breathe since he gasped and found himself struggling for air between the fits of joy at the knowledge that she was alive.
“What happened to your wings?” he said finally looking at her. “Who did this to you? Tell me, I’ll find…” he never finished because she held one of her slender fingers up to his lips to silence him.
“I cut them off myself Anders. For you. Pixies don’t age, we don’t die, your life would be but a flash before my eyes before you were old and dead and I would be left here alone with no hope of ever seeing you again. So I did what I had to. I…I cut my tie to mother Gaia” As she said the last thing she broke down and she began sobbing once more. Only then did Anders realize the true extent of her sacrifice. She was no longer a Pixie…she was mortal…she was like him. He wondered then at the immense feelings of sadness and at once love and joy that swirled around inside his soul. She had given up her life…for him…to be with him. And he promised himself then that he would be there for her always, no matter what obstacle, no matter the odds. He swore it to himself.
But this isn’t just a story about a Pixie and a young man and their love. This is a story about Pixies and this is a story about people. And people are evil creatures. Anders had been going to meet the Pixie for months, almost every night. People knew what purple dust meant, and after the night that he returned naked and confused they knew that a Pixie had bewitched him. So they spied on Anders. Usually he was too quick, he knew the forest too wel,l and in the darkness he lost those who spied on him without even knowing it. But this time, because he emerged from her cave after dawn they were able to follow him, they were able to see where she lived. They knew where she took him after she brainwashed him, but they didn’t know what horrible things she did to him in that cave. They were not willing to wait and find out. As Anders left, they tore into the cave.
Anders left the Pixie's cave ecstatic. He had never felt better. He could climb over mountains, he could swim in frozen lakes, he could do anything. He had the love of a perfect creature, he had the forest and he had his youth. He had everything and he wanted nothing more than his Pixie. It was to his surprise then when he arrived at the farm and found the house empty. He expected at the very least his father or mother to be there if for no other reason then to scold him or to give him a whipping, but there was no one. Anders wandered outside the house and looking around saw no one even in the houses next to his or in their respective fields. And that was not right. The only time there would be no one working was if there happened to be a town meeting…in the square, for a holiday, or a witch burn…Anders started running.
The crowd was already thereb and he threw himself against it. He hit the first body in the back and shoved it aside with a force that sent three others to the ground. They gasped, they screamed and heads began to turn. As soon as they saw him the crowd began to split, and he did not have to push again. They gave him way, the created a path to the centre, and there he saw it. At the front of the crowd stood the mayor, next to him the priest and next to them Anders’ family. His mother was crying, his father looked grim and his little sister seemed as if in a trance. Beyond them tied to a pole was the wingless Pixie. She was dirty and bleeding from the mouth and numerous scratches on her arms and legs. She had struggled, but she was no longer a Pixie, she could not fly away, and she could not fight back. She was defenseless. The priest was reading something from the book, chanting. Firewood was gathered at the Pixie’s feet and men stood ready with torches, awaiting the signal from the priest.
Anders heard his words…”and with God’s righteous wrath we cast thee out demon! Thou who hast corrupted the mind of this woman’s son, who hast bewitched him, tricked him into performing thy dirty deeds! Thou shalt be given the justice of a trial by fire..and let the lord's flame be thy judge! Go thee to Hell from whence thou hast spawned, and stay there! Anguish us no longer with thy meddling, with thy evil! Burn creature and let the hellfires that spat thee out suck thee back…” Anders snapped. He didn’t hear the priest finish. He heard nothing. He saw nothing. He felt nothing but hatred, nothing but rage. He ran to her, pushing aside the priest, knocking his mother to the ground. He began ripping at the cords tying her to the pole, clawing at them with his bare hands, but he was alone.
The crowd shuffled, bodies moved forward, Anders was grabbed. “He’s possessed” they screamed “she’s using him to try and save her own life!” “Burn the witch!” Anders struggled, tore at the arms that held him, twisted his body in every direction he could, he begged, he cried, he screamed but all to no avail. They dragged him through the crowd and out of sight so they could finish what they started. And so…
“That’s one version of the story old man, but it isn’t the truth” interrupted a voice, breaking the spell created by the old man’s story, suddenly jarring people back into reality. Some looked dazed, others wondered at their hands, squeezed into fists so tightly their fingernails had started eating into their skin. Others still were sobbing uncontrollably. The children were turning their heads trying to see where the sound came from.
“Who said that!? Show yourself!” said the old man, craning his head angrily, looking for the source of the distraction. “I said it!” answered a voice, a female voice, this time coming from somewhere slightly different in the crowd. The fire was burning but its light was limited and the darkness crept in through every weak spot that it could find. The long shadows, the crowd, the dimness made it impossible to see who was talking and the female voice continued, always shifting; “why don’t you tell them the version where young Anders never begins to drown. The version where he returns to shore only to find the Pixie there waiting, the version where she knocks him out with a rock, drags him to her cave and feeds him the mind altering potion. Tell them the version where he becomes her slave, unable to stay in his bed at night, forced to go into the forest and perform her wishes for her, ridiculous tasks, demeaning labour! You got one thing right, Pixies don’t fall in love with men, they use them!” The voice was getting louder and angrier. Now the crowd was shuffling, people were beginning to grunt, they were beginning to look around trying to find the perpetrator. But the voice was elusive, seemingly coming from above at times, from behind, moving constantly, shifting through the crowd, impossible to pin down. “Why don’t you tell them the version where Anders disappears one night and never comes back? Tell them about the search party, tell them about the body they found in the bottom of the lake, about his lungs being filled with purple stone that dragged him to the lake floor, that drowned him, that tortured him?! Why don’t you tell them that story old man!?” Now the voice was truly loud and truly angry and now the crowd was beginning to move like a wave, someone screamed “I see her, over here!” a hand went out, then another, someone else yelled “I have her!” at the other end of the crowd, another person fell, then another dove after them. All of a sudden in the commotion there was a bang, and the fire which had been illuminating the scene exploded upward with a roar. It seared high, well above any of the trees surrounding the village. It blazed the deepest, darkest shade of purple anyone had ever seen; the crowd gasped and all the heads turned to the phenomenon. The fire crackled, popped, and roared loudly. And then it stopped. It went back to its regular self and the darkness which had been scared away only a seconds prior was now creeping back in quickly, swallowing the holes where the light’s shine did not reach.
The crowd was bubbling. People were yelling, children were crying and running around, the cacophony was growing and order would not be restored. In the commotion no one noticed that the old man had disappeared quietly, no one noticed that the female voice was no longer talking, and it wouldn’t be until the next day that people began noticing purple dust all over their clothes. In the commotion no one noticed that just outside the village boarder stood an old beat up van, and in the commotion no one noticed the little girl with pigtails open the doors and load her cart into the back. No one noticed the old man behind the wheel and no one heard the engine start up. No one saw the van disappear into the darkness.
“How did we do this time Riley?” said the old man turning his head to look into the back of the van. The girl flashed a smile and he saw those sharp little teeth, he watched them glisten in the reflection of her silver lip ring, and he again marveled those enormous eyes; they still got him every time. She answered; “we did good Anders, we did real good. You’re getting better at stretching the story; I was able to hit every house in the village this time. They’re probably still running around trying to figure out how all the cattle got out, it won’t be until long after we’re gone that they notice they’ve all been robbed”.
“Good” he said “now help me take off this ridiculous makeup”.