The Fairy Queen

It's not easy being the fairy queen. Now, I know what you're thinking. The Fairy Queen? Great, a cheesy fantasy. Well, I'm living in the year 2014. That's right, modern day. I'm sixteen now. Sixteen today actually.


An itch on my cheek rouses me from my slumber. A persistent itch, as tiny hands slap my face. I know not to scratch at it immediately.
"Thorn, hi," I mumble. She daintily hops aside and I rub my face. It's a rather rehearsed  routine and for good reason.
"We thought we'd come early. Happy birthday!" she chirps. I turn my head and see a whole load of fairies standing in the window. I know them all by name, but Thorn is my best friend. She was the first fairy I met and at the age of six, I embraced my title 'Fairy Queen' without doubt or question. I used to tell my parents all about the fairies and they thought it was a made-up game, of course. Growing up, I then went through a phase of questioning my sanity, when I learned that other people had never seen a fairy before in their lives.
I live with it now, without doubt or question.
"At five in the morning?"
"Yep! Got an hour and a half," says Thorn. She pitter-patters excitedly on the bed. "Come on! We got you a present."
"Alright, alright," I whisper, with a broad smile.


The nights are short and it hasn't rained in weeks, so I slip on my trainers. I write a note in case my parents come in:
In the woods, out for a walk. Will be back in time for breakfast.
As I scribble, several fairies flutter into my room and collectively, pick up my dressing gown. It's as if a ghost has put it on and held its arms up.
"Thanks," I say, slotting myself into it and receiving several 'you're welcomes'. Approaching the window, I push it wide open and dozens of fairies swarm outside. I always leave it open a crack for them, except in Winter when it's far too cold and the fairies are hibernating anyway. I literally go for months without seeing them. Their daily visits are very missed.
"Careful," Thorn says as I clamber outside.
"I do this all the time, like you," I say light-heartedly.
"Yeah, but you're much bigger than us." Several little laughs chorus like a rushing stream.


The sun is peeking over the horizon and slicing through the bodies of trees. Silhouettes of tiny, winged creatures fly ahead and others wheel alongside me. Thorn sits on my shoulder, kicking her legs.
"What are you gonna do for your birthday?" she asks into my ear.
"I'm having a party later, after school. You can look in if you like."
"Alright! I'll draw a picture and show it to the others."
"Sounds good," I said, nodding. A flock of fairies would surely be spotted outside my window! So since I gifted them with paper and a pack of crayons, Thorn frequently draws pictures of what I'm up to, then she updates the others back at the Oak.


The Oak is (you guessed it) a mighty oak tree, residing in the heart of the woods. Upon first glance, it's simply a large tree, thickly covered in leaves and branches that cross over one another. You can barely discern its trunk. However, hidden behind the clever camouflage are hundreds of bird boxes; nailed to the trunk or securely placed on the branches.
The leafy dome splits as I approach. Thorn springs from my shoulder and hovers just ahead of me, her brown tresses tumbling about her.
"Wait! Wait here," she grins. I give a mocking salute as hundreds of fairies fly pass me. Finally, the opening of the dome closes and I lose sight of them all. Alone. I can only hear rustling now. Sliding my hands into my pockets, I wait patiently.
"You ready yet?" I ask, after a minute or so.
"Uh... yep! Yep, come in," calls a small voice. Branches part and leaves turn away, as the dome reopens again and I crouch through the gap. It's a little darker in here, but fireflies float around, illuminating the leafy dome. Still, I trip up like a clumsy giant and fall onto my knees. Dozens of gasps (which sound more like short-lived whistles) sound.
"Are you okay?" a fairy asks tenderly.
"I'm fine," I chortle. "You gotta remember that hitting the ground isn't so bad for me."
"It's a habit," Thorn chips in. "Anyway come on! Right, close your eyes, close your eyes."
"Okay," I say, squatting. I glimpse a dozen fairies holding large leaves that overlap one another... concealing something?
"Close!" insists Thorn. I squeeze my eyes shut obediently.


When they tell me to open them, the fairies flitter backward and drop their leaves. They fall to the ground like feathers, revealing a small stump. What looks like a tiara sits on it and awestruck sounds fill the dome. I don't say anything or make a noise.
"We know you're not so much into wearing crowns or anything... you're not a child anymore," Thorn says, sounding nervous. She wrings her little hands.
"But you've been our Queen for ten years now! And a very good one," pipes up another fairy.
"Very good," sounds the consensus from others, nodding and smiling from ear to pointed ear.
"You could just keep it," Thorn says, after a moment of silence as I approach the tiara and gently finger its intricacies. I can see it's made from twigs, strengthened with twine and carefully shaped. More twine forms the more twisted details as it plaits and weaves, adorned with daisies and baby daffodils. As I feel along its smooth edges, specks of fairy dust rub onto my fingertips like glitter.
"It's wonderful. Amazing. You made this?"
"We all did," Thorn beams, sighing with relief and gesturing around her.
"Try it on!" a voice pleads. Excitement rises in high chatter and a collective humming of rapid wings.
"Okay... it's not too delicate, is it?" I ask warily, feeling the carefully-crafted tiara in my hands.


When I place the tiara on my head, I find it fits perfectly. I could easily forget it was there because it's so light!
"Feels great. How do I look?"
"So pretty!"
"Beautiful," replies another.
"Amazing."
"Whoa, hang on..." I say, reaching around.
"What is it?" Thorn asks with a mixed expression. Is it worry? Anticipation?
"My back. Feels weird," I answer, attempting to scratch where I just can't reach. I tug at my dressing gown in frustration.
"It's working, Thorn!" someone hisses.
"What's working?" I ask with emerging panic.
"Take off your dressing gown," says Thorn, holding her hands near her chin expectantly.
"Why?" I frown, but I'm increasingly feeling the need to do so. I wrestle it off of me.
"And you better-"
"Something's wrong with my back!" I exclaim. A pushing sensation against my skin, as if something is growing from my spine. I crane around desperately to try and at least feel it, but it's out of reach.
"You better take off your top," Thorn advises. I don't even question it. Nudity is natural to the fairies. They used to tumble about naked, until I gave them my Barbie doll clothes to wear as a child. They fashion their own garments now.
"What's happening? What's working?" I say as I pull off my pyjama top.
"Crowning a fairy queen or king on their tenth anniversary can-"
"Does!" Thorn corrects, indicating behind me. The fairy providing an explanation opens her mouth again to speak, but is interrupted again by my groans. An intrigued intake of breath is shared out between the flock and I feel all their eyes on me. I dig my hands into the ground, clutching soil and dead leaves. Something sprouts from my back but I can't see it. In a wash of panic, I barely breathe.
"It's worked!"
"Calm down, calm down..." I hear Thorn say. I open my eyes and feel a bead of sweat as it stings my eye. She's close to me, her little hands on my nose as if a human had placed theirs on my shoulders. "It's just wings."
"Wings?" I repeat, in utter astonishment. I twist around again and see exactly that. A pair of translucent wings, identical to the fairies' but much bigger; proportional to my own human body. They're shapely and slit-thin. They look so delicate.
"Crowning a fairy queen or king on their tenth anniversary results in their own pair of wings, sprouting forth from the back," explains the fairy finally. It's Petta, perhaps the most knowledgeable of the fairies. I stare at her, absolutely gobsmacked. She seems satisfied with herself.
"Didn't it occur to you to ask me first?"
"Don't you like them?" Thorn says, sounding disheartened. I look down at her and go cross-eyed.
"Of course I like them. I love them! They're lovely and if other people knew about you guys, I'd show them off. But I'm not living in that world; I'm going between two and I can't have wings."
"Ah! No fear, m'lady," Petta begins, emerging from the crowd of fairies, "you can disguise them, or put them away rather."
"How do you know?" I ask, looking around again to admire my wings. I can't help myself. They're elegant and fragile, yet I beat them and they feel so strong, so sturdy... Their immense size impresses the rest of the fairies, as they watch in awe. Some even approach and inspect them.
"You know me and my books. I know all the myths and fairy facts and most of the fairy history!" Petta boasts, raising her chin.
"It's true. We did check with Petta first," vouches Thorn, smiling sweetly.
"Okay... how do I 'put' them away?"
"Just will it and it should happen," Petta says. I'm not sure if that's helpful, but nevertheless I simply will my wings to disappear. I feel a crumbling against my back but then suddenly they're there again. I can feel them.
"Maybe you have to try harder than that. Imagine them shrinking away and staying there," Thorn suggests.
"Right," I say, determined. I hold the desire to wish my wings away and the crumbling sensation happens again. They hug the skin on my back, growing smaller and smaller until I'm sure they match the size of the fairies'. Then they melt into the skin. I reach around. No silkiness, nothing paper-thin. They're gone.


The fairies cheer together and I laugh in disbelief.
"Have I seriously got wings? I still have them?"
"If you want them," Petta replies, "then you'll have them."
"That's incredible," I breathe, touching the tiara on my head.
"You like your present?" Thorn asks.
"I do. I really do... it's certainly a surprise but I love it." My eyes crinkle with joy. "Thank you, all of you."
"We haven't got time to test them out. Maybe tomorrow morning?"
"Definitely!" I enthuse, awkwardly feeling the middle of my back again. "And I'll take my tiara and keep it on the highest shelf, so it's safe."
"And wear it for special occasions?" Thorn grins. I say my thanks all over again and open my arms. All the fairies rush at me at once, hugging a finger, flattening against my hand or clutching a space on my arm warmly.


Thorn accompanies me as I make my way back home. She flutters alongside while I carry my tiara humbly in both hands. I keep admiring its craftmanship. I share with her my worries of accidentally sprouting wings in public, at school or at home... or trying to fly and hurting myself. Thorn thinks I'll be a natural. I'm not so sure, but I'm keen to try.
"See you tomorrow. I'll check on you tonight," Thorn promises. I feel her embracing grip on my shoulder (like a hard pinch) and I gently place a hand over her in return, as if petting a small animal.


I clamber through the window, into my room. I place the tiara on the shelf and take off my dressing gown, then my top. Moving my hair out of the way, I inspect my back in the mirror. It looks like nothing happened. No scar, no marks or any visible openings. Do the wings just materialise? Are the slits so tiny I cannot see them?
Suddenly, my alarm clock goes off. I almost thump it to shut it up and then I hear stirring from the other room. Ah, Mum and Dad will be up now.
"You better behave," I tell myself, back to the mirror and glaring at my reflection intently. I see the tiara on the shelf; a fleck of fairy dust winking at me.