Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first to come was an engineer.

He was a lanky man, with warm hugs that matched the blood-red color of his irises much less than the kindness they held. He was clumsy yet threatening when he wanted, but also humorous and wary. The most distinguishable feature about him was his mustache, fancy yet cartoon-like, perfectly fit for his face.

{~/-|-\~}

For months after her arrival on the island, Lizzie had been angry, feral even, tearing apart every plant in sight no matter how quickly they grew back (seconds, always seconds), sinking her teeth and claws into animals no matter how scared they looked (so terrified, so human-like).

She broke into sharp glass shards of salty tears and dried blood that was never hers, torn clothing that proved her wild, and shrunken wings that no longer held her in flight. She wrestled with her anger until it turned into determination; she fought off her fury until it turned into the want – the need – to ratify that exiling her would prove to be useless. She learned that according to herself, she needed to determine that nothing could stomp her down and that she could survive this island no matter how dangerous it was.

And so, she built The Fairy Fort.

In a circle of trees and flowers and mushrooms and vines, she planted saplings and started farms, built a cottage and placed lanterns, and collected rainwater and tamed wolves. She used the wool of sheep to create beds and blankets and clothing, trained her wolves to act at her command, and decorated the cottage to look like a home. She fenced off the entrance of the fort and placed a sign that only she would read.

Then, and only then, did she feel safe enough to claim the circle. She had bitten into her hand, drew blood, dragged the blood across the outline of plants, and claimed the circle as her fae ring; she found her fairy circle. She grew to know the land, to love the river circling her fort, to greet the animals that knew her too well.

Yet she felt lonely.

An empty void of loneliness would consume her when the last of the sun's rays would fall, a beast of emptiness would grip her neck until her eyes stung. Don't mistake her words as insults, she loved Ogre, Dragon, and Tariff, but the canines could only do so much to quell her thirst for human touch. Yet she did not give in to the gods’ wishes, she would not forget her stubborn ways.

Until he came.

A year or two after the birth of The Fairy Fort, she found someone. Or rather, someone found her.

Mumbo.

(Has she already forgotten his name?)

He had been searching for his dear friend, traveling throughout dangerous lands and merciless oceans, seeking to find the one he adored. He had sacrificed his ability to fly (his poor wings, a torn and broken yet beautiful painting) just to get a lead to where they might have been, only to get used and left for dead. She pitied him.

She did not share the story of her banishment with the cinnabar moth, nor the story of her crimes. Call her selfish, but she did not want to let go of the mentally Injured man just yet. So, she offered him a place to stay; a place to rest his head until he was ready for departure was offered to him on a fool's gold platter.

And he fell into her net.

He stayed with her, listened to her ramble, shared his stories, ate her food, and rested his head. All while rebuilding a broken ship he had brought with him. She resisted the urge to sabotage the thing threatening to take him away.

The loneliness she had once felt dissolved into nothing but specks of dirt in her garden. When nightmares would wake her and terrify her out of bed, he would rush in and check on her with worry only a close companion could have. When she felt too burnt to rise, too sorrowful to eat, he would make sure she never fell too deep into a pit she couldn't escape from.

She could feel herself growing attached. How she would always make sure to hide her pointed ears and repress the urges to bare her unnaturally sharp teeth. How she played her fae wings off as that of a butterfly and pretended her inability to lie was just a personal moral. How she allowed him to leave and enter the circle without once being held back, and never even tried to take him to the realm she was no longer welcome in.

She introduced him to the Redstone flower and showed him how to crush it into dust and use it for machinery. She made him sweaters and showed him how to do so himself, making extra for when snow began to fall. She turned a blind eye to the worried look of the man who believed he had wasted almost a whole year fixing his ship and instead braided flowers into his hair. She never used his name against him and gave him the luxury of accepting her gifts and thanking her without punishment.

Yet it was all for naught. 

The gods had caught wind of her new companion and turned into the raging beasts she once respected and now resented. Sending their best assassins, pouring their harshest rain, they set out to take away her prized possession. She, unknowing of the danger, had requested the engineer-turned-redstoner to gather a few berries before the storm became too bad.

She almost ignored the sound of wolves howling in favor of worrying when the storm raged on harder and he had not yet returned. Almost. She had dropped everything – not even bothering to throw on her gloves or hat to cover her ears and claws – when she realized those were not the songs of her tamed warriors nor her wild friends, but instead unfamiliar and supernatural creatures that could only mean harm.

By the time she had arrived, it was too late.

The pack of 'wolves' had gone, and the only thing left on the redstoner was his corpse, clothes ripped and hanging from his limp body. Bite and claw marks littered his body like bloody freckles. His wings were torn much more than they were before, practically shreds.

Loneliness suddenly came back and hit her almost as hard as the rain hit the ground, joined by its cruel friends. Grief squeezed her heart, threatening to break it more than it had already been broken. Regret embraced her in a bittersweet hug, whispering to her about how she brought this upon himself.

The rain was still pouring when she dropped to her knees. The wind was still howling when she clung to the slowly growing cold corpse and sobbed. The gods were still laughing as she screamed into the storm.

He was still dead when the sun began to rise.

Chapter Text

The second to come was a blaze.

He was sharp-toothed and pointy-eared, with fully red eyes that glowed like Redstone. (She was not mourning The Engineer. It was only a comparison.) At the tips of his ears and points of claws, his pale skin turned into a solid red color, matching that of his eyes. With a slightly explosive (quite literally) temper, yet a kind and fond heart, he gave off more than just thermal warmth.

{~/-|-\~}

Lizzie had buried her redstoner at the edge of the forest, as close as possible to the sandy beach. She did not give in to the gods. Her tears only lasted until the sun was fully in sight, just above the horizon and still melting the sky into puddles of orange, purple, and pink.

She refused to mourn, and instead forced herself to learn. She adapted to her new yet old routine, never once acknowledging the unnecessary death or the pit of loneliness in her chest. She left the room the redstoner had stayed in untouched and unkempt, ignoring the silence that swarmed through the forest.

She didn't go to anyone when she woke up from a torturous nightmare. She didn't get dragged out of bed when her limbs felt too heavy to go through rounds of heavy labor. She didn't teach anyone about the ways of redstone.

She trained her wolves more, coloring their collars with dye from her flowers. She found them name tags and carved their names into them, hooking them to their leather neckwear. She washed their fur, made them toys, and kept them fit.

She planted and placed more flowers when the snow stopped falling, digging the seeds of red and pink Anemones by the entrance to her circle and setting a Yellow Carnation by the grave of her past friend; her fallen acquaintance. She sewed together a leather book filled with thin yet functional pages, writing out her past journey using a crow feather she found after seeing six crows in a tree. She waited for the ice river to melt before beginning to fish there, collecting more food for her and her furry friends.

She trapped animals and stored food, creating a safe room under a crafting table. She would use it during any storm or any particularly bad winter. Or, she planned to at least.

The forest animals became more familiar to her, and she caught herself whispering apologies whenever she would slaughter one, and use it for consumption. She would never let it bother her, as that's how the food chain works. Two fight to survive and one wins their survival.

She began to fall back into a steady rhythm, a slow yet steadily growing upbeat symphony. She began to look forward to fishing. She began to place more trust in her wolves, rewarding them any chance she got. She began to feel normal.

Too normal.

The universe may not work for the gods, but it sure did seem to follow in their steps. It broke her routine sometimes, natural disasters, strange animals, harsh weather. She could only do so much. The fae could only feel so human.

Yet still, even with nothing going her way, she did not grieve.

Any thoughts of her past fort-mate fell to the back of her mind to resurface another time in a bad dream. She would not let something like this hold her down. She would not let the gods win against her.

Then, another one came.

Tango.

(She promised she wouldn't forget – she PROMISED.)

She had been pacing through the beach when she first laid her eyes on him, pondering her escape from her eternal hell, when she caught sight of a small, raggedy, lifeboat. Inside was an unconscious blaze hybrid, its flaming hair burning right where a hole in the lifeboat was.  

She tended to the man's wound, dragged him to the bed she swore she would never touch again, and waited for him to wake. As soon as she did, she questioned him.

The Blaze hissed and spit and backed away from her, pushing himself into the corner farthest from the bedroom door. She flinched at his hostility, yet did not push further. She needed to win him over. She needed to show him he could trust her. (She needed a friend.)

So, she left the new guest to his own devices. 

He didn't leave the room for hours, not even when she'd knock and ask him to come out. When the sun began to set, and she cooked fresh meat above a fire, she set a plate for him right outside his door. With a knock, she abandoned the plate, hoping that the will animals didn't get to it before him.

When the sun had risen, and the fae had exited her room, The Blaze was sitting against the wall opposite her room, staring at the floor. He met her eyes and gave a lopsided and nervous smile. They talked.

( “You wanted to know who I was.”

“I did.”

“Tango.”

“Lizzie.”)

Forgotten by his family during a raid, the blaze hybrid had been captured by poachers and dragged to the overworld, where they kept him caged and took him overseas. They had been planning to sell him when they were attacked. He had been able to burn through the bars of the cage and escape into a lifeboat while everyone was too busy “running around like headless chickens.”

She once again took pity on an abandoned stray and offered him a place in her fort. He agreed, but only with a promise. 

She would never forget him. 

The two grew close, with only a little hesitation from both sides. The fae never grew angry at him for losing his temper and setting something ablaze, not even when it almost cost her her house. And her dog. And herself.

In return, he never got angry with her for being possessive of him, and always wanting to know when he was nearby. He didn't question the grave, nor how she would stare at Redstone Flowers with a sorrowful look. 

She soon gave into the comfort of having another companion. She caught herself teaching him about the Redstone she barely touched anymore, helping him plant things that could survive the unbearable heat he produced.

The dogs adored him, so she sent one out with him each time he wandered off to ease her protective thoughts. She taught him to cook, to bake, to hunt, to survive.

She kept her promise inside her head at all times, always remembering special events they planned, never leaving without telling him, remembering his favorite things, and never, never, abandoning him.

She found solace with him. A familiar feeling – comforting yet burning all at once – filled her chest whenever she looked into his Redstone eyes. He reminded her so much of the last, and it wounded yet alleviated her all at once. 

He never judged her for not being able to get out of bed. He never made fun of her lack of understanding or occasional clumsiness. He never showed fear when she brought up her species.

He never showed her distrust.

So, she returned the favor.

She never feared his temper. She never stole the rods circling his head. She never flinched when he bared his teeth. She never made fun of his voice.

She never abandoned him for her freedom.

But alas, all good things come to an end.

The gods caught wind again. They were annoyed that, once again, she had taken in an underdog and nursed it to health for her selfish wants. 

Any being of atoms or magic knows that water quenches fire. That being said, any being knows that fire can not be fought with fire.

But fire can be fought with Soul Fire.

He had told her he only meant to go out for a few moments. He had told her he was going to hunt. He had told her he would return.

He had told her he would be okay.

He lied.

With the last rays of sunshine falling below the skyline, and the animals retreating to their burrows, she came across his body. She had gone to seek him out, worry consuming her no matter how much she tried to douse it.

She stumbled across his corpse, covered in burn marks and still burning with cyan flames, crackling like the whispers of the dead. His once burning hair was dulled and short, no longer a flame but rather hair strands. His red eyes were lidded and filled with unscheduled tears, fogged up and void of its usual glow.

His once-held-high-pointed ears drooped. His once golden blaze rods lay dimmed against the ground. His once ‘tufted’ tail laid unmoving, the flame it was once pointed with gone.

He was dead.

Chapter Text

The third to come was an angel.

His kind eyes were blue and filled with fire (yearning is not what a Fae should feel), his pale skin littered with even paler scars. A broken halo circled wobbly above his head (Their head, why is it always near their head?), fluffy and large wings bursting from his back in a show of whites and greys and void blacks. He was kind and caring, protective and understanding, safe and trustworthy.

Lizzie should've been more careful.

{~/-|-\~}

Lizzie's blaze was buried near (but far from) the riverside, far from the water he had hated but close enough to soothe his soul's burns. Once again, she chose not to mourn the fallen and instead slipped back to her previous status quo without a complaint. If it were harder to do so this time, then no one but her would know.

( Lizzie stared down the empty hallway, shoulders stiff as she remained in place. She couldn't think straight — the only thing she could focus on was how it was empty. It was empty, cold, and lifeless.

She was alone.

She was cold.

Where was her warmth? Where was her friend? )

Months flew by quicker than she could catch them.

Some days, she would weep for something she could never have again, and some days, she couldn't bear the thought of existing on a planet that had left her for dead. On particularly rough days, the fae could hear the sounds of the gods laughing at her, cackling as she struggled not to give in to their demands.

It was four months after that forsaken night, on a gloomy day when her bones felt like rocks underneath her skin, that she decided she had had enough of the island. She came to the conclusion that she would stay no longer, protesting against the thought of spending any more time suffering under the thumb of the gods. She refused to keep waiting for someone to take pity on her and save her from the loop she was placed in.

It was time she stepped up and saved herself.

Lizzie had collected every bit of scrap material, tool, and wooden plank she had on hand before taking them all to the abandoned boat on the beach. She took to fixing the broken mess with whatever she could, seeing the sea as her only ticket to the freedom she desired. Surely, if the water had brought people to her, it could bring her to people.

The ocean would work. It had to, or the two bodies she had buried and left to rot below the ground, would be for nothing.

While gathering more necessities, she had come across a handmade journal signed by her redstoner, one filled with messages of how he had begun to lose his trust in her. Fearing she would refuse to let him go, he had made plans to escape in the middle of the night, after she had gone to rest in her bed. In the final few pages, he had written how he had seen her “true form” without her awareness, and how he planned to construct a raft and leave the next time he was requested to go foraging.

While reading his anxious writings about how she was a “monster” was nothing short of hurtful, the blueprints and future plans that had fallen out of the journal were useful to her goals. Besides, she figured finishing what he never could would be enough of an apology, as verbally doing so to his grave would be nothing short of humiliating. Apologizing was below that of a fae, and she'd rather maintain at least some of her former nature.

When the last planks had been nailed and the last chest had been dragged below deck, it had been exactly two years since she had played with fire. 

Lizzie hadn't meant to take so long. She really hadn't, but her own mind wouldn't stop getting the best of her. She occasionally found herself glued under blankets, staring into nothing as the world moved on without her, or cursing her limited knowledge of all that floats. At one point, she had all but given up, taking a long hiatus from stepping near the amalgamation of wood.

But she had got it done, and that was what mattered.

She figured her shoddy repairing of the boat would last at least until the next civilization before breaking down, so she finished up her preparations as soon as she could, eager to leave her prison cell.

( Lizzie's wolves whimpered and backed away at the sight of the boat, fear shining in their eyes. She didn't understand. Did they not want freedom?

They had to come with her with the intent of letting her own them. They were supposed to be her forever companions, the animals that she would care for no matter how much she despised everything else. They weren't going to abandon her because of some pointless phobia, were they?

Her hands curled around the leather of the nearest canine’s collar, nails digging into the leather. Ogre — bless his poor, intelligent heart — had caught onto her plans almost immediately and began pulling away from her, whining loudly. She yanked him forward — careful not to choke him — dragging him onto the boat as he struggled to fight back.

Once she had led him where she wanted him, she sat him down and demanded he stay, maintaining eye contact as she left. 

It was obvious he needed to remember that she was the owner here, that she was in control.

When Lizzie came back to where the other two had previously been, they were gone. Only a few sandy paw prints directed to the forest remained where they once were. Lizzie groaned in annoyance, stepping back into the greenery. 

The hunt was on. )

When all three of her animal friends had willingly been brought aboard the ship, she set off into the water.

Leaving felt like heaven. With the sun setting and the sky darkening, everything felt perfect. The calmness was enough for her to think she was free, enough for her to think she could finally relax after years of hardships.

It turns out she's wrong about many things. 

Lizzie had woken from her unconsciousness back on the beach, wood and chests littered around her with blood sticking to the back of her head, staining her pink hair. Injuries marked her like freckles, but it was nothing compared to the condition she found her two hounds in.

Yes, only two. The youngest of her wolves, Tariff, had disappeared, likely a victim of the raging storm that damaged her boat beyond repair and dragged her back to the island. While she would've loved to focus on that, she couldn't, really.

All she could think about was how she failed.

For the next few hours, Lizzie had what could only be described as a “blank”. She quietly carried her bleeding wolves back to her fort, ignoring the snarling and growling from the two hounds. She healed their wounds even as they bit at her skin and drew blood from her veins. She continued on with her life even as her four-legged friends seemed to turn their backs on her.

She said nothing, thought nothing, and felt nothing. Everything she did was done out of pure muscle memory, and by the time the sun rose the next day, she couldn't even remember what had happened.

She kept going regardless.

Or, at least, she tried to.

When the sun was in the middle of the sky, and she was trying her best to coax her hounds over to her even though they had ignored her bribes, something fell from the sky. Something big. Something… human?

It landed right outside The Fairy Fort, spewing up dirt and luring Lizzie right over to it. A spell of disguising washed over her just as she reached the gates, a feeling of hope rising in her stomach. It had been so long since she had seen another person — could this be…?

The universe must have taken pity on her (cause the gods never will) because just as she hoped, there was someone alive right outside her door. There was someone with feelings and thoughts and senses just in her reach. There was someone sentient outside of her fairy fort.

An angel.

Skizz.

( Her head hurts. It hurts so bad.)

One of their wings had broken, and a few shards of their cracked halo were scattered on the ground. Their wings were half curled around themselves as if they had used the limbs as shields to soften their impact. Fortunately for them, and not so much for their wings, it seemed as though it worked at the cost of a bone or two.

The first thing she did was scoop the broken shards of the halo into her pocket. Call it selfish or greedy if you wish, but an angel's halo was a sacred thing that rarely ever cracked, and she wasn't about to pass on this. Besides, if he turned out to be hostile, at least she would have something to remember them by once she killed them — in self-defense, of course!

The second thing she did was attempt to drag him inside her circle. Keyword: attempt. The second she touched them, they had practically shot up, their good wing spreading defensively as they scrambled onto their feet and away from the fae before them.

Which — rude! She wasn't that threatening. Not when she doesn't want to be, at least.

Lizzie had put on an innocent face as she backed away, hands held up placatingly. She pushed as much fear into her eyes, which seemed to trick them as their wing lowered ever so slightly.

( “Woah, woah — wait! I'm just trying to take you inside!” )

It took some back and forth paired with an awkward introduction, but eventually she had convinced them — or rather they had taken her words and let their own mind trick them into thinking — that she was of no threat and only wanted to help. From there, it was much easier to lure them inside her faerie ring.

As it turned out, the angel was a traveler who flew from place to place, trading and collecting souvenirs for his family and friends. He had recently set off, his first an unfortunate one as he had landed in a village not so kind to his species. For two days straight, he had been flying with a broken wing, relying on nothing but pure magic and fading adrenaline to keep his feathered appendages moving.

Taking pity on him and his unfortunate situation (and seeing the opportunity for what it was), Lizzie offered him a place to stay while his wing healed, free of charge as long as he helped with chores. He agreed, of course, — not that he had had any other option — but seemed hesitant to, which Lizzie could understand as to why.

Angels were known for their sixth sense of detecting magic, and with a spell covering every inch of her skin, he was bound to know something about her was off.

( "It's really no problem, I have an extra bedroom.” 

Skizz hesitated, unbandaged wing flapping once as he examined her. Not finding anything, he went back to maintaining eye contact.

“I mean… if you're sure?”

Lizzie grinned widely. )

Lizzie knew she had won before he even agreed. If there were a way off the island, she would've tried it by now. The waters around the place weren't safe, and there was no boat — not anymore. In short terms, the angel was just as trapped as she was.

At first, the angel was suspicious of her. He was too humble, masking apprehension with kindness. He questioned more than the others, was more set on leaving than they were.

But when faced with someone as adapted to deceit as she was, it didn't take long for his walls to fall. By the second month of his stay, she had obviously grown on him.

Her days started with him ensuring she got out of bed on time, and meals could never be skipped with him in the fort. When her wolves were extra prissy and wouldn't spare her even a glance, he somehow managed to calm them with just his presence. Their bond grew quickly as the days passed, but not as quickly as she would've liked.

Even so, his questions didn't stop.

( “How come you never leave the island? Wouldn't it be healthier to see another person every now and then? I could've sworn I didn't even see a boat when flying here.” 

Lizzie paused, the soup in the pot stilling and beginning to pop as she hesitated. A frown found its way onto her face as she stared blankly at the food. )

Lying without actually lying was difficult, and more often than not, it ended with unfinished conversations and high tension. But in the end, Lizzie was still a fae, no matter how disconnected she was from other faeries. The tension never lasted long, and the angel never failed to remind Lizzie of just how silly he was.

Lizzie had panicked much more than she thought she would when his wing had finally healed. She hated to say it, but she had gotten pretty attached to the guy. She hated the idea of going back to any empty home with no one to keep her sane.

The thought of being alone once more…

She would do anything to try and convince him to stay.

An argument sparked between them the night of her departure, one that went unresolved. She couldn't sleep throughout the night, her mind plagued with the fear that he would leave before she ever woke. It was her restlessness that let her hear the scream from the angel's room and the sound of flesh tearing that followed soon after.

She wasted little to no time in jumping out of bed, no spell needed when her angel was in danger. She dashed throughout the hallways, slamming the door to her angel’s room open.

The sight she was met with was nothing short of horrifying.

A grotesque creature with grey skin and long limbs loomed over the limp body of her angel, its face sunken and face hollow. Its mouth was buried deep into a gaping hole in her angel's stomach, claws dug deep into his sides. Lizzie could tell just from the sounds that it was leaving nothing behind, eating anything and everything ranging from flesh to bones to organs.

A strangled noise clawed its way out of her throat, and its head snapped to her with a crack. Its mouth, hanging open in an eternal face of terror, stretching slowly into a petrifying grin. She was frozen in place as it stared at her, useless to help as it disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, abandoning her with the dead body of a fallen angel.

The sound of the gods laughing started in her head, the mocking howling leaving a lump in her throat as it grew louder and louder. Her breathing slipped out of her control as quickened, her claws coming to grip her hair as choked sobs poured from her mouth, salty tears rolling down her face. She didn't want to face the body any longer, and yet she couldn't move.

She needed to apologize to him for the fight she started. She needed to apologize to his family for sealing his fate. She needed to apologize for keeping all these secrets from him, for not trusting him.

All she could do was scream.