the lilac fairy by evalyn harper At first glance, I assume the woman is human. A customer, perhaps, come into the shop looking for a new gown. Certainly could use one. The frock she’s got on might be well tailored, but it’s the dullest gray I’ve ever seen, not to mention several years out of fashion. It’s really too bad I’ll have to turn her away. Just yesterday I had a commission come in from the royal family. Enough money to feed my family, and my sister’s family, for a whole year. Can’t take anything else on at the moment. I’m about to tell her as much, when I spy something shimmering through a hole in the weave of her blue shawl. Wings. She’s got them tucked primly beneath that shawl of hers, but now that I’ve spotted them I can’t unsee their outline. Several other small details begin to jump out at me. The rouge on her cheeks, shade clearly chosen to minimize the slight green tinge of her skin. The almost spindly quality of her long, slender fingers. The tips of her ears, just barely poking out from beneath dark curls, which come to a rather sharp point. Clearly, she’s a fairy. Except she’s trying, I realize, to minimize her inhumanity. I’m certain I haven’t got a clue what the devil a fairy is doing in my shop, but I’ve enough sense not to turn her out onto the street. Couldn’t risk getting myself cursed. Beading is fiddly enough work without trying to do it while spitting up toads and snakes.
“I am not here to purchase a dress,” she reassures me, as if she can read my mind. Maybe she can. Before I can come up with a polite way to ask why she is here, she continues. “You recently received a commission for a most interesting gown, did you not?” “Yes ma’am, I did.” A gown the color of the sun. It's intended, I understand, as a gift for the young princess. “I do not think,” the fairy says, slowly, as if choosing her words carefully, “that you should finish this gown.” “What?” I bark out in surprise, before quickly clapping a hand over my mouth. This is very odd indeed. Is this a warning? I’ve heard fairies can be quite clever, and that you should always heed their warnings. I’ve also heard they like to cause mischief. Nobody ever bothered to tell me how to tell the difference between a warning and a trick. “I can’t—I mean it’s for the king. I must finish it.” “Very well,” The fairy turns, as if about to leave, but then seems to reconsider. “May I tell you a story?” she asks, turning back to stare at me. She doesn’t look much older than me, except for her eyes. You can practically see the years lurking behind them, although I’ve no idea how many. “Can I work while you tell it?” I ask warily She nods, and so I lead her back into the workroom, where the cut pieces of the dress .