Well, I wrote a short story based off of her. I'm hoping to write one for each of my faeries and elves.
Here's the story:
Silence. Focus. Breathe. Now think.
Few people come to this section of the library on the corner of Greenwood Avenue and Library Place. The teen fantasies are the rarest books read only because teenagers want to grow up, forget about the fairy tales and the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. They want romance and action, not magic spells and pixie dust. Sure, girls still want their Prince Charmings and boys their princesses, but they still want to grow up and forget about magic and things like that.Because of this, I feel safe in this section of the library, with the dust-covered books and the smell of adventure in-between the pages of paper and covered in ink. I feel safer here than in the Children's Section, where my friends prefer to stay. I like to be out in the day and night, posing on people's shoulders and reading whatever they are, whether it be vampires or pirates or volcanoes or tectonic plates. No one sees me here because no one is looking, no one is believing.
Or, at least they shouldn't be.
There is always that one exception. The one who's bored of volcanoes and tectonic plates and vampires and pirets. The one who likes to read about magic spells and pixie dust. The one who believes. The one who sees.
I never thought I'd live to see it, not in a million years. Instead, I figured they'd read the first few pages and put the book down and say, "This stuff's for babies" and leave to go after a romance novel. I didn't expect her to come over and purposely choose my favorite book and start reading it. And then not stop reading it.
She was a rather nice-looking girl, with long brown hair and large glasses for her brown eyes. She wore dark clothes: a black turtleneck shirt with black skinny jeans and black riding boots. She carried a leather satchel with her and walked right over to these shelves and took my favorite books, Inkheart and Eragon by Cornelia Funke and Christopher Paolini, respectively. I wasn't sure why she wanted them, but she took them to the table nearest us and started reading Inkheart. She was deep into the book, not noticing all those people that passed her by, not noticing the dirty looks some gave her. I decided I'd peek over her shoulder, and realized she was almost done with the book four hours after she had picked it up. I was shocked as she closed the book, finished. Then she turned and looked directly at me.
I froze. Her brown eyes looked me up and down, taking me in. She analyzed my striped tights and brown leaf boots and green leaf mini dress and long blonde hair and pointed ears. Then my wings. She blinked once, twice, then smiled.
She gestured for me to come closer, smiling. She turned to the table and pulled a notebook and pen from her satchel and started writing something. She pointed at it. I landed on the page, curious.
I thought I'd never see you.
the notebook said. She continued writing.
I've seen the faeries in the Children's Section, but I've always wondered anout the teen section. I've been coming for years now, and now I see you. They told me about you, how you are an outcast, like me.
I looked at her in confusion at the last line. "Outcast?" I asked softly.
She sighed, and pulled down the turtleneck. I gasped. There were long scars from what I figured to be knives and someone's hands and rope covering her throat.
My stepfather used to abuse me sexually, so I spoke up to a coucellor at school. The child abuse case fell through when my lawyer said there was no point in it; we'd lose. So I was returned to my stepfather. He tried to kill me multiple times, slitting my wrists and ankles wide, ckoking me, beating me, starving me, raping me, then treating me like an angel for a few days, then going back to the abuse. My mom's never home, so he was always alone with me. There was no help coming for me. Every time I spoke up, I was punished at home and my lawyer kept telling me my case wasn't winable. And then...
She stopped writing. She looked me in the eyes and held out her pinkie. 'Pinkie promise you won't tell?' she mouthed.
I nodded, taking her pinkie with mine.
She bit her lip, but continued writing.
And then he did it. I almost died. He really tried to kill me. He stabbed me so many times then cut my throat and left me for dead.
I was shocked. "But..."
She shook her head.
My mom came home and found me tied to a chair, unconscious, bleeding a lot. She called the police and the ambulance, and I was rushed to the hospital. I can no longer speak because he damaged my vocal chords so badly the hospital had to remove them.
Tears filled my eyes. I couldn't believe this was why she liked fantasy stories.
She sensed that, and continued writing.
I like fantasy stories because it makes me forget. I get immersed in a fake world and get to forget everything that happened. My stepfather got the death penalty and is on death row. I won't be able to rest until he's dead.
I glanced at her in curiosity. "But...if he's on death row, why-"
There's a long list of people on death row. He will have a while to wait before they finally do kill him. Because of this, my mom moved here with me and divorced him. She's been dating this other man who tries to be nice to me, but I'm still so scared he's a monster in disguise. My stepfather sure was. He used to shower me in gifts and praise, then once they got married he hated me. I'm so scared that he's going to hurt me.
I frowned. "Why did you want to find me, though? I don't understand. We are so different."
She shook her head.
We aren't all that different. The faeries in the Children's Section told me how you are an outcast because you like the teen fantasy section. I love fantasy stories, so I'm alone in that respect. Romance holds little value for me because of what has happened to me, and I'm bored of science and non-fiction books.
She suddenly stopped writing and looked up at someone standing behind me. I quickly flitted beneath her hair. She was a safe human to be around.
"Mabel, we have to leave now. It's almost six o'clock. The library will be closing soon," the woman said. This was obviously her mother.
The girl nodded, flipped the page of her notebook, and scribbled something down.
"Really? Well, we'll have to check out the book you didn't get to read then, and you'll have to tell your friend goodbye. You'll be back tomorrow, no doubt. It's only Saturday," the woman said.
She scribbled something else down on the notebook.
"Alright. I'll wait outside for you, then," the woman replied, and walked away.
The girl slipped her hand under her hair, and I climbed onto it as she slowly pulled me out of my hiding place. She set me down and picked up her pen again.
I have to leave but...will you come with me? At least for tonight? I have no friends here, and the faeries in the Children's Section say neither do you. I promise you'll have just about whatever you want and anything you need.
I smiled. "I'd love to, even if it's just for tonight."
She smiled and slipped her notebook and pen into her satchel, taking Inkheart back to the shelf and picking up Eragon. She helped me onto her shoulder so I could hide under her hair again, then we headed over to the check-out counter, where she checked out Eragon and left. Her mother led her over to a car, and the three of us drove off to their home.
It was a Victorian estate, and it was perfect. The girl ended up hurrying up to her room and set her bag on her bed before helping me onto her desk. From there, she pointed to a corner in her room by two large windows where several faery houses had been set up.
'Pick one,' she mouthed.
I fluttered over to each of them. One was in a lantern, another out of doll furniture, and another was actually a dollhouse. I landed in front of the one made of doll furniture and sat at the little "table" built into the "wall." It was the perfect size.
"This will do," I said with a smile.
She smiled back.
This was the start of a long friendship. I learned her name was Mabeline, and that her mother called her Mabel. So did I. She made me new clothes, she made improvements to my house, and in return I told her about being a faery. We even found a boy faery - a sparrow man - in her backyard, and he ended up moving into the dollhouse. Eventually, though, she went away to college and I returned to the teen fantasy section. I'm now a regular story teller at the faery gatherings after the library closes, since everyone wants to hear about my journeys in the human world outside of our little library.
I'm still waiting for her to return, just like she promised.
I know, it isn't all that good, but it's only a short story. :-) I'm planning to post this to Wattpad.
