This is just a short story I wrote about my girlfriend when I first met her. It's kind of sad that she sees herself this way, because she really is so amazing. Lexie, if you're reading this, I love you.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.


Her steps seem airy and light as she sneaks through the autumnal forest, but anyone who listens can hear the sad song of the dead leaves crunching beneath her.

The first rays of sunlight peek through the towering branches overhead, and her pace quickens. Soon she is running to the safety of her flowery home.

The tattered, hand-sewn dress she wears, long discarded from a child's dollhouse, catches on a twig. Old, darkened scars on her delicate skin peek out from under the torn fabric, reminders of the dark magic that once possessed her. She covers them shamefully and continues to hurry home through the giant's garden.

The morning is becoming brighter, blinding even, and she unfurls her soft, papery wings in desperation. She despises them, regarding them solely as another thing setting her apart from those that she envies. The power and beauty they possess is lost on her, and she cringes in disgust as they lift her off of the ground. She had neglected them, pretended that they didn't exist, and the flight soon becomes painful and exhausting.

She arrives at home, pulling the small, hand-painted door closed. She remembers the dollhouse where it came from clearly, with the perfectly shaped dolls mocking her from behind porcelain faces and gorgeous dresses. She remembers carrying their heavy door away through the forest, tripping and falling several times. She had been badly hurt, crushed by the door's weight, but she had no one to help her home, so she had struggled onward.

This house that she had built all by herself is the only place where she feels safe. There is no light, no decorations to remind her of the beauty that she lacks, no mirrors in which she can look at her pathetic self. Here, she has only a memory of her wavering reflection, caught in a puddle left outside by a recent storm. She shamefully recalls her pointed ears and teeth, her slanted nose and too-wide eyes, and her ragged wings and the scars that she can never quite hide.

She wishes to forget, and not just her appearance. She wishes to forget the disbelief and fear on the faces of the few who'd seen her. They had all looked away, dismissed her as a dream or a hallucination. They had disappeared, forgetting she ever existed.

But if she can't forget, then she wants them to remember her, although they never do. They are too scared of her, of everything that she hates about herself. She has grown used to their reaction. She appreciates it, even, as proof that she is ugly, and strange, and different; that she will never be as beautiful the great ones.

So she gives up on the world, and the sunlight, and the people who would love her.

But I've seen this fairy, seen the loveliness and magic in her, and I will not forget.


This is the second of three old stories that I am publishing right now, so please read the others if you liked this one. Also, let me know what you thought about this in a review, please! It's really awesome to get feedback from the lovely people of FictionPress.

Good Night,