Where we would fly

𓇢𓆸 𓆤 𖧧 𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𖧧 𓍊𓋼 𔓘

"𝕀 am," Philo began, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility that was impossible to ignore. "I've been charged with finding the man behind these attacks, and my sister is here to assist me and tend to the wounded on our journey." His tone was resolute, yet there was an underlying strain that only someone who had seen too much could carry.

Melody, ever the empath, offered a gentle smile to the woman named Magrite. She sensed the tension and reached out, taking Magrite's hand in hers, the gesture both soothing and grounding. "Unseelie Jack," Magrite murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the name might conjure the dark figure himself. She avoided direct eye contact with Philo, her unease palpable.

Noticing the woman's discomfort, Melody tightened her grip slightly, offering what comfort she could. "That's what they've been calling him," she echoed softly.

"What us Critch have been calling him," Magrite corrected, her tone bitter. "Jack would never take the clawhammer to your kind." The words hung in the air, a heavy accusation that spoke to the unspoken tensions between their worlds. Melody could feel the weight of a secret pressing down on her, a truth she had yet to fully acknowledge. She glanced down, wrestling with the knowledge she bore.

"You can talk to him, Mags," the male fae beside them said, his tone reassuring. He gestured towards both Philo and Melody. "They're both one of the good ones." His attempt to alleviate Magrite's fears was met with a grateful smile from Melody, though it did little to ease the tension.

Philo stepped closer, his movements measured as he pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat facing Magrite. "I've spoken with some of the others," he said, his voice gentle yet insistent. "At least, the ones who can still talk. But I didn't get very far. I was hoping you could tell me more. Help me bring this man... well, if we can even call him that... to justice." His plea was sincere, his eyes searching Magrite's face for any sign of willingness to cooperate.

Magrite turned her gaze towards Melody, who was still holding her hand, offering silent support. "Can I have some tea?" Magrite asked suddenly, her voice trembling slightly. She turned towards her lover, who had been watching quietly. He nodded and rose to prepare it.

Before he left, Melody handed him a small herb from her pouch. "Put a few leaves in the tea," she advised softly, her voice filled with gratitude. "It will help ease her pain." Her knowledge of healing was second nature, but in this moment, it felt more like an act of compassion than duty.

As he departed, Philo turned his attention back to Magrite. "You're from Anoun," he observed, his words stirring something deep within Melody. Her heart quickened, memories flooding back unbidden. Instinctively, her hand moved to touch the small braid in her hair, a habit she had developed to calm herself.

"My sister and I spent some time in the Tirnanese highlands during the war," Philo continued, his voice growing softer as he spoke of their shared past. "I was stationed in a mimasery while Melody accompanied me, treating the wounded. It was one of the most beautiful places we ever saw, with some of the bravest people I've ever known." His words were filled with a wistful longing, and Melody could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She fought to keep her emotions in check, but the memories were too powerful, too vivid.

"I feel like I left a part of my heart behind," Philo admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at Melody, who was struggling to keep her composure. Before she could speak, Magrite's voice cut through the heavy silence.

"Me too," she said simply, her tone laced with a quiet sorrow that spoke volumes. In that moment, the three of them were connected by their shared pain and loss, the unspoken understanding of those who had endured too much.

"We hate to ask you to relive this," Melody finally spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I know it's painful. But this man is still out there, hunting innocent fae folk." Her words were gentle, but the gravity of the situation was undeniable.

Philo picked up where she left off, his voice steady but urgent. "Every three weeks, another one. It's been three weeks since your attack. He's going to do it again. We have to stop him. We need your help."

"Please," Melody added, her plea filled with desperation. The urgency of their mission was clear, and she hoped Magrite could see that.

Magrite looked at Melody for a long moment before she began to speak, her voice trembling with the weight of her memories. "I heard him before I saw him. He called me a Pix whore. Said he could smell it on me." The pain in her voice was unmistakable, and Melody squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort she could.

"The darkness," Magrite whispered, her eyes distant as she relived the horror of her encounter with Unseelie Jack. The details of that night were etched into her memory, and now they were being laid bare for Philo and Melody to piece together.

"Do you remember what he looked like?" Philo asked, his voice gentle but probing. He needed every detail, no matter how small.

"His head was shaved, except for the hair on the sides of his face," Magrite recalled, her voice steadying as she focused on the physical details. "Muttonchops," she added, glancing towards Melody for confirmation.

Melody nodded, then looked back at Magrite. "Did he have any distinguishing marks? Tattoos, perhaps?"

Magrite hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. A tattoo on his forearm. A snake, I think."

Philo and Melody exchanged a look, their minds working to piece together the clues. "Anything else?" Philo pressed. "Even the smallest detail could help." Magrite took a deep breath, her brow furrowed in concentration. "He wore a uniform," she finally said, the revelation surprising both siblings. "A uniform?" Melody repeated, her curiosity piqued. Philo leaned in, his attention fully on Magrite. "What kind of uniform? Was it police? Military? Do you know?"

But Magrite shook her head slightly, the details eluding her. "I haven't been here long," she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration.

"No. Of course not," Philo replied softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He placed a comforting hand on both Magrite's and Melody's, a gesture of solidarity. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his gratitude clear.

Melody offered a warm smile, her eyes reflecting her admiration for the woman's bravery. "You've been very helpful and brave," she said. "I can tell you're from the highlands." Her smile was genuine, a small attempt to ease the tension in the room.

As they prepared to leave, Magrite's voice stopped them. "Mr. Philo," she called, her voice soft but clear. "I can see you are a good man." She turned her gaze towards Melody, her expression thoughtful. "I hope you find what you lost there." She gestured towards a painting of the highlands on the wall, a reminder of the home they had all left behind.

Melody was touched by the sentiment, her smile bittersweet. "You as well," she replied softly. "Get plenty of rest." With those parting words, the siblings left Magrite to her recovery, their minds heavy with the knowledge they had gained.

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

Near the lighthouse where faun and man gathered, a boy with a ball darted across the scene, his laughter filling the air. "Careful, Fanny! Not so close, Peter!" their nanny called out, her voice laced with concern as she gestured towards the edge, urging caution. But the boy, full of mischief, dismissed her warning with a wave. "Never mind her, silly old goat," he said, leading his sister towards the ledge wall. As they peered down, his eyes widened with excitement. "By the Martyr, look! A shipwreck!" he exclaimed, pointing towards the rocks below.

The girl's eyes lit up with excitement, sharing her brother's enthusiasm. The nanny, finally catching up to them, glanced down and gasped at the sight below. Bodies, both fae folk and man, lay strewn across the rocks, the ocean's waves gently rocking them as if trying to lull them back to life.

"Run back! Get a constable! Hurry!" the nanny urged, her voice filled with urgency. The children, sensing the seriousness of the situation, turned and sprinted back towards the town, their small figures disappearing into the distance.

Meanwhile, the ocean continued to splash against the rocks, the waves relentless in their rhythm. Among the bodies, a lone fae lay on a rock, clutching a little book in his grip. The water ebbed and flowed around him, the salty spray mingling with the blood on his skin. As the clouds parted above, he fluttered his green eyes open, gazing up at the sky.

𓇢𓆸 𓆤 𖧧 𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𖧧 𓍊𓋼 𔓘

By: SilverMist707