Even Faeries Die

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Even Faeries Die

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Or do they?

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Faerie: Also see Fairy, Faery, Faire.

These mythical creatures may or may not exist. The commonly spread tale of beings five to six inches in height with fluorescent wings that fly around and sprinkle dust has been known to spark both the curiosity and wonder of many of the wizarding world. One such curious wizard has been known to repeatedly send in reports on said creatures, though these reports lack any proof of solidity. Said reports state that these beings are dressed with leaves from the trees that they live in. They also state that the faerie race drink the morning dew of trees and, much like bees, pollen, and honey, let off a dust, called 'pixie dust' by said reporter, that has been known to "heal any wound, no matter its size, shape, cause, or form." If such mythical creatures can be contained and therefore evidence represented, then the wizarding world would no doubt benefit from the dust's properties forever.

--Excerpt from "Theories on Existent Creatures, Artifacts, and Places" by Margaret Doreen.

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Some days I sit staring out the window,

Watchin' this world pass me by.

Sometimes I think there's nothing to live for.

I almost break down and cry.

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He wouldn't cry. The raindrops may be flowing down the windows, the sky may be hazy with clouds that promised a dreary forever, and the window seat he was on may look out over his wife's grave, but he wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. The hustle and bustle of the streets in Diagon Alley had pushed him away once more, pushed him away into his solitude at home, though it wasn't exactly solitude.

"Daddy?"

The voice rang clear, even to his own faraway thoughts. A memory flashed, suddenly, a little girl swinging in her mother's arms, the sunlight catching the strands of her hair as she smiled, laughed, screamed her jubilancy. And then it was gone. There were no more memories to make--the mother was gone.

"Daddy, why are you looking out the window?"

Forcing himself to smile, he looked behind to see his daughter tugging on his overshirt, innocent blue eyes peering up at him beneath dark brown eyelashes--his wife's eyes. His wife's eyelashes. Shaking his head, he reached behind himself to pick up his little girl. She had grown... why hadn't he noticed? She was so much lighter now. Squeezing his eyes shut and then open, he twirled her so that she was sitting on his lap. Her innocent eyes--a flash of blue--looked back and up at his fake smile. A whisper, hardly heard, came from her lips, just like her mother's--why hadn't he noticed?

"You were thinking of her, again."

Once again, he heard her laughter, this time joined with that of his wife's own, clear as a bell, a siren, a faerie--her Animagus. Blue eyes. Reaching a hand up to pinch between his eyebrows, he smiled half-heartedly. His voice, hoarse from lack of use, seemingly rumbled from his mouth as he tried to form words. What did she expect? That he'd forgotten?

Shaking his head once again, he turned and leaned his head against the windowpane. Of course he was thinking of her again. She was, in short, everything. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, if he'd leave, then she could be safe. Nothing would harm her, and everything would be all okay. But it wasn't.

That never is the story.

Tears threatened, and his head banged against the window. No use in crying now. You didn't cry at her funeral--couldn't break for his daughter. You won't cry now--she needs me...

But she didn't.

That never is the story.

She didn't need him; he needed her, with everything he had. Only two months ago they had met each other. He'd never known that he had a daughter--blue eyes. He'd never known that his wife was pregnant--staring up at him. No one had ever told him when the child was born--from beneath dark brown eyelashes. His wife's eyelashes.

"Daddy?"

She was gone now, no more wife. He would never see her again, never hear her laughter, never see her smile, never look up into her beautiful blue eyes as she leaned over and kissed him. Even faeries die. She wouldn't be able to teach him how to use that bloody computer that they'd come up with, a new version that is "supposedly" easier. She wouldn't be able to sit in his arms as they shared a book on The Supposed History of the Faerie Realm. She wouldn't be able to cross her big toe over the two smaller ones beside it every time that she got nervous. Her cheeks would never dimple when she bit them. He'd never see the map of Orion made by the freckles on her back. He'd never hear her sigh in contentment as she snaked an arm around his shoulder. Even faeries die.

If what happened could even be called death.

"Daddy?"

Blue eyes peering up at him from beneath dark eyelashes. His wife's eyes. His wife's eyelashes.

"I'm here, sweetie. I'm just thinking." About her. About how everything is just so messed up and twisted that nothing makes any sense. About how just looking at acquaintances can make nothing seem worth while--as if anything seemed that way now.

"I like to think. Do you like to think? I think that if people just thought about things more often, then everything might turn out all right. Do you think so? I like to think so. It makes everything so much simpler."

A pause.

He wanted to ask how she was able to talk. He wanted to ask how she was able to walk around. He wanted to ask how her teeth had grown so fast, or how she was able to decipher the meanings behind things. But he didn't... ask, that is. She was only--what--two years old? How did she get that old if she had only been born four months ago? Faraway in his mind, he acknowledged that it was due to alternate dimensions, but right now he tried not to think about how long she had been away from him. He'd only been away a year. But he'd never ask about anything. That wasn't his way. He'd just sit there, staring out the window. The blue eyes wouldn't look up at him then. He wouldn't be expected to do anything but stare. There was no more reason to move, to talk, to laugh. There was only reason to sit there--stare. Leaves were falling around the grave. He should go rake them, don't want her to be mad that her grave is dirty. He should go rake them. No--he should stare. The leaves will go away by themselves.

"Daddy, are you all right?"

'No, sweetie, you don't want to know. Daddy's been dying since you weren't even born, and you could never know--anything. Stay that way, sweetie. Stay ignorant as long as you can. You won't like the world when you see it for what it really is. You won't like it, trust me, sweetie. You won't like it at all. And you'll run to me for cover, but I won't be able to hide you because I'll be staring as I am now. Her grave will still be in front of me, and I'll still be looking out the window, waiting for her to come back and tell me that it's all okay.'

"Will you ever be all right?"

'Very unlikely--I should comfort you and hold you in my arms. You need that, don't you? You feel alone, just like I did. I should give you everything that I never had. But all I can do is stare. Stare at the grave, at the leaves gathering around it, at the footpath that I laid a year ago when I first bought the house--for her. Is someone walking up the path? It doesn't matter. Blue eyes are dead, and all that is left stares up at him from beneath dark eyelashes. His wife's eyelashes.'

A door opened and closed.

Footsteps creaked across the wooden floor--maybe he should fix that board, maybe he should rake the leaves, maybe he should change his shirt, maybe--

"Daddy?" A hand was shaking his arm. When did she climb out of his lap? Did she answer the door? Did Charlie come in uninvited? One should never invite someone in--they might be a vampire. They might be out to kill you. They might be out to destroy everything you've ever loved. They might be--

"Daddy, Uncle Charlie is here. He's brought us some cake, said it's from Molly. Who's Molly? Is she that nice, old red-head woman in the pictures? Is she, Daddy? Why won't you say?"

'Because there's nothing to say.' Charlie--Molly sent him. Wonder if he's okay, wonder if she's okay, wonder if everyone is a-ok, because he knew that he wasn't.

"Harry?" The voice echoed throughout the room, deep, rich, full of a hard life.

He faintly felt something small crawl on his lap. She probably climbed on him again. Small hands--they're so cold, does she need some gloves?--laid themselves upon his face, turning it so that it was faced towards his daughter. Blue eyes, so bright, so innocent, so full of wonder and light, peered up at him--dark eyelashes. His wi--

"Daddy? Charlie says you need to go with him. It's time, Daddy. It's time to go--all of us, together. It's time to go. You know what you need to do."

He nodded, slightly, standing up while accidentally dropping his daughter from his lap. She was on his lap? Oh, yeah, she was. Which way to the bedroom? He needed to change. Had to get it all ready, had to fight the good fight, had to walk through every day, had to get through every day, had to--

"Daddy?"

He turned. She was standing there, his little girl, standing there with a big smile on her face. Her raven head of hair was in pigtails as her blue eyes peered up at him. His wife's eyes.

"Even near the end when it's so bad that no one really wants to know, I still believe that people are really good at heart."

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She put him to shame.

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She would always put him to shame.

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He walked on, blocking her words from his mind. How could she forgive him? How could she forgive the world? How could she forgive everyone for what they did to her? How could she still believe that it would all be okay? How could she--

Blue eyes.

He entered the bedroom. How could she forgive all of the hate and loathing that people sent towards her? How could she forgive all the cruel words? How could she forgive that insane look in the man's eyes as her mother was killed right before her very own? How could she forgive and believe in things that he couldn't even acknowledge? How could she--

Blue eyes.

He dressed. How could she look at all of those cruel people and smile at them? How could she laugh her heart away at the cruelest of all sayings and jibes that were thrown her way? How could she--

Blue eyes.

That's why.

He left the gravestone, the bedroom, the kitchen, the light and the happiness. He left it all--to fight. He left it all to make it right. He left everything because he had nothing left--except--Blue eyes, peering up at him from beneath dark eyelashes.

Blue eyes, wondering but never pushing.

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Blue eyes, his wife's eyes.

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Blue eyes always filled with understanding.

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Blue eyes, his wife's eyes.

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Blue eyes that put him to shame.

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