Painfully Numb

I remember the night that changed my life forever, the night when everything came into a new perspective. I remember how they told me this night would be a special one, a celebration just for me. I didn’t know what they meant then, though I guess now I do. But that night had seemed just like any other. Creatures danced around the large space, some feasting on the generously laden tables, others slipping into the shadowed corners with equally devious partners.

Bright colors, though they were not out of place to me, whirled around the oddly lit hall, making the atmosphere seem light and frilled. I was told later by him that he had never seen anything like it. He said it was like heaven. I didn’t think so, but this is where I grew up. For hundreds of years I had lived in this realm, never to see the outside world.

I knew nothing then. I was completely naïve, as I sat in my small, padded chair. My costume, a different material every night, fell about me in soft waves, dark and lacey. I thought it was quite modest, compared to some of the other outfits, but he often said my clothes hurt his eyes. I never understood why.

Dancers whirled around me on light feet, some with cloves, some clawed, and some adorned with petite slippers. I always liked leaving my feet bare; the floor was soft enough to do so, as long as you had a decent dancing partner. I remember studying the faces around me, some twisted and fierce, gaining amusement from suffering, others were delicate and sharp, faces like mine, otherworldly.

I always found I liked the pixies the best. They would dart around, making comical faces at shocked expressions. Their quick reflexes usually allowed their escape, except for the few times when they were caught, and tortured mercilessly. It made me glad that I wasn’t a pixy. They always seemed to have their wings ripped off.

It was that night when one of the little tricksters came to mock me. I, being an elf of the higher blood, ignored it, of course, but I still couldn’t help but be curious at what it said.

“It looks as though you finally become a real elf tonight, not a stupid little innocent,” It squeaked, buzzing around my coifed head, “Maybe his blood will freeze when he gets near you. Maybe he will lose all emotions since you’re too dumb to have them!”

The little creature still cackled, even after I cut it in half with my sharpened fan. I wanted to know what it meant though. What was it talking about? Who was ‘he’? I did not ask though, for I knew I would not get any answers. Instead I let the festivities go on around me, hands lying demurely in my lap as I feigned comfort and relaxation. I wished to go back to my quarters. My shrouded rooms seemed more inviting than any thick goblet of wine.

Yet I endured the chatter, letting my mind fade away as I pondered the end of the night. I heard a wrym rumbling about the opening of a gate, but that was as far as I could glean before he faded away into the crowd once more. I wished to follow his gleaming hide, but that would be unsightly for someone of my stature.

It was a bit of a haze after that, but I do remember the way the room reached a dip in activity, only to stumble across a crescendo of noise that assaulted my delicately pointed ears. And then comes the point where I wish to hit myself with a gargoyles club, or some other form of brutish weapon. I hate seeing the way my feet got up, wandering over to the golden draped tables of illusioned food as I trailed my fingers across brocaded cloth.

I remember the way my attention was drawn to a figure, a figure that did not belong in this place. He was different in every way, a warmth radiated off of him, and something else I could not name. He was not beautiful in any way, though he could be labeled as handsome. It was nothing tangible though, for his nose was slightly crooked, and there was a quirk in his left eyebrow. I may not have realized it at the moment, but his body was also riddled with scars.

He had been eating a fruit, actually quite a bit of fruit, obvious form the way pits and other seeds littered the floor around him. Juices ran down his chin, purple and dark from the plum grasped tightly in his hand, and vaguely the thought that it looked like blood filtered into my mind.

It was then that I found pity for the creatures that was obviously not fey. His cheeks were too pink, his eyes too bright, and his whole stature was entirely too kind. I also didn’t like seeing him feast on food that wasn’t real. It would never fill him, it was only the spell that made him think so.

This is another part where I curse myself, for I wish I could have stayed true to my nature, and walked away uncaring. Instead I took a hold of his wrist, gently prying the plum from callused fingers. I liked how the rough spots on his hands felt, for I had never felt anything like it before. Maybe that was what sealed me to such an unfortunate fate, the one that had me regretting like this.

He was so mysterious. I had never met a creature like him. His hair was blond, yet had black specks in it, clearly contrasting my silver length running down my back. His eyes… they caught me as well, for they were bright and shining, the color of a green tree in the middle of summer. At the moment I wished that I could have orbs like his, for mine seemed dull and flat in comparison.

Even his clothes caught my interest, outlandish as they were. The knees were patched and the hems were worn. The cloth was rough, gray in some areas, brown in others. In fact, it gave him a disheveled appearance that I had yet to see in the Court.

His facial expression was surprised once he caught sight of me, and a look of wonder settled hand in hand with the blush lighting upon his high cheeks bones. He didn’t do anything for a while, and I wondered how he was still alive, since it was quite clear he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. Anyone could have easily caught him without problem. It didn’t occur to me that they might have been avoiding him on purpose. I hadn’t even noticed that a space had surrounded us, which was quite rare in the boisterous hall.

The man soon faded out of the shock and dipped his head in greeting, “Milady.”

I nodded in return, silent as I studied him some more. The plum wilted in my pale fingers, and I dropped it on the floor, unaware of the splat it made.

“Who are you?” I questioned, keeping my voice level though my heart was beating fiercely against my ribs. Unnoticed, my hand clenched his, taking comfort in the unknown mystery.

“My name is Aten, son of Balder.” I had no idea who Balder was, and I really didn’t care, though the young man seemed proud, by the way his shoulders straitened, “And who might you be, milady?”

I didn’t really know how to answer, I still don’t. We never gave out names out, it went unspoken, a silent law, of sorts. To address someone, they would call them by the creature they were, “Elf, pixy, gargoyle.”

“I am…” I was silent for a moment, trying to think of what to say, and then I remembered a name of an old stone placed in the courtyard. Its name meant mercy, though I had never tried to learn why, “You may call me Eir.”

He bowed then, an uncoordinated, sweeping gesture that I found comical in and of its self. No elf I had ever met would make such a spectacle, and I felt a twitching of my lips. Instead of allowing an uncharacteristic smile, I inclined my head instead.

“A pleasure to meet you, Eir.”

“And I you, Aten.”

That night I showed the man around, questioning him all the while, and that was where my first spark of interest in the mortal world. I curse that night now. I curse the creatures that linked our world with his, leading him to me. I curse them for playing with my life.

I curse myself for allowing it.

He ended up trapped with us, stuck in the realm until the gates opened again. At the time, I wished for the gates to be shut for all eternity. He taught me that life held variety, that it was not all the same. After the nights ended we would sit in the courtyard, under an eternally flowering tree, and he would tell me of his world. His father was a lord, he said, one that controlled many lands. I compared him to my own father, a leader in his own right, and king of the Seelie Court. His mother, he told me, was dead, leaving this earth in a premature child birth. He wept then, but I did not. My kind do not weep, and I didn’t know how to at the time.

I loved the way his head lay in my lap, and he would smile under the gentle ministrations of my fingers in his hair. Touching his hair, touching him, brought me a bliss that I had yet to find in my long life. He always liked to tell me how beautiful I was, that in his world there was nothing that rivaled it. At the same time he said it hurt his eyes.

I hated it when he said that. I did not want to be a source of pain, yet somehow I ended up being so. Sometimes he would be sad, and he would say he missed his world. He said he wanted to go home. It was at that time that I began to hate my realm. I hated all its bizarre beauty, the wondrous sights and everything so perfect that it was numb.

I was numb, until Aten came.

Years passed; at least that is what he said. I had never paid any heed to time, not until he came along. The enrapture he first expressed at being in my court soon faded into sorrow, which dissolved into despair. He once asked me when the gate would open, and when I said I didn’t know he would not speak to me for days. After that the despair turned to resignation, and he once again lay with me under the ever-blooming tree.

I tried smiling for him, but he didn’t smile back. I laughed for him, but his eyes remained dull.

“Do you not like me?” I asked him one day, though, unwillingly, my mask remained in place.

He gave me a sad smile and said, “You are too perfect for me, just like this world, Eir. For there to be happiness, there has to pain. It may be beautiful, but this realm is an everlasting winter.” My cheek was cupped in his callused hand, and his eyes held mine. I wished at the moment that I could express what was inside of me, but my muscles remained stoic and unmoving, and so he turned away, back into the dream of his home.

I began to notice changes in him, changes that I did not understand. His hair speckled with silver and wrinkles surrounded his eyes. I thought he was sick, taken to some abnormality like my aversion of iron and salt. He explained to me that all was fine though, and I should worry naught.

For the first time in a long time I sought advice form my parents, but received nothing in return

“He is mortal.” My mother said, her face impassive unlike my soul, “They die quite quickly. You’ll have to send him back soon.”

I was silent for a moment, my eyes steady as I studied them. Born out of air, they told me, daughter of the rulers of the fairy realm, they said. I had power, I had control, yet there was something completely hopeless about the situation.

I ignored their advice, turning desperately to scrolls and ancient tomes, looking for an answer to me desperation, yet nothing came. My quandary was left unsolved, and my hope came to an end.

“The gate will be opening,” A pixy told me, while my love slept next to the stone named after mercy, the stone I had named myself after, “It will open tonight.” It said with a wicked grin, “Be ready to release the human.”

I remember how I dressed in ragged clothes that night, as though I was attempting to like myself to an old hag. I remember how I gripped his hand as I lead it through the bustling hall as dancers flew by, banners waving high and proud, but cold, in the air.

My first time entering the mortal realm was hand in hand with a human. It was painful, yet amazing. The night air—for the sky was darkened, speckled with stars and a singing full moon—was warm, oppressive even, as a sluggish breeze whispered around my exposed ankles. Branches dug into my feet, causing small droplets of blood to flow from soft skin. It was the first time I ever felt hurt, and it compared nothing to the pain in my chest.

“Now that is real.” He whispered, as tears pooled down my cheeks, “That is what makes me love you.”

He kissed my lips then, a chaste peck, and then he turned away, disappearing into the shadowed wood. I turned around and returned to my realm, bloodied footsteps marking my path.

The second time I entered the mortal realm was the night after he had left. I searched for him, walking the streets like a silent wraith, combing the forest as a shade. In the end I found his grave, and I learned that time passes differently in our separate realms, and my loved one, Aten, had long since left the plain of the living.

Centuries passed, and I watched the human world with an exuberance many of my kin disdained. It did not matter to me though, for as time passed slowly for me, the human’s lives went on quicker than the midday shadow. And as they evolved, my kind waned, dying off as our age slipped through our clawed finger tips. Faded, did out parties of every night, and dissolved did the court of the Seelie. The King and Queen left, to another land, another realm, for fairy to call their own, and they did not return.

The ones left behind, me and others, stayed in the shadows. Our realm had diminished with out own population, as many of us fled to among the humans, glamour covering our true selves.

I followed suit, becoming more human than any other, for since that night my emotions had been anything but numb. It was ironic that I would live with them now, many of my kind would avoid them, if put in my situation. It brought a twinge to my breast that I was surrounded by so many mortals, so lucky that they could barely live to be a hundred years old. I saw many generations pass, as I avoided the iron wrought cities and salted households.

I have decided that I will go into one of those cold cities that burn my skin. I will search for the one that I have missed through out the centuries. His soul jumps time as mine flows across it, and I am determined we meet again, for that is probably be where he is.

I say this as I walk down the street, as I search faces and meet new people. I say this as a young man greets me with eyes green like a midsummer tree and callused palms. I think I have found him, and this time I am not impassive, caught in my own web of destructive numbness, this time I offer a smile.

“Now that is real.” He says, a smile on his lips as dirty blond hair blows across his face.

I agree, as I grasp his hand, and vow never to let go