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She checks her basket, then checks it again. A third glance draws a hum from deep inside. She has everything she needs. What a disappointment.
The market always brought her great pleasure. Bustling, humid with countless bodies, teeming with buzzing heat that drew in flies and freaks alike. She could spend hours simply drifting from stall to stall, buying the odd trinket or latest concoction from the snake oil woman. But she's already visited her once today, and she really should be getting back.
Her eyes brighten. There, a stall she hadn’t been to yet, its owner having been away for a month to procure new supplies.
“Jethro,” she greets in a low drawl, getting a warm welcome in return. “I didn't know you were back. You know I like to have the first pick.”
Her admonishment is only partly genuine, though her pout lets him know that there are no hard feelings.
“Ah, my dear. Worry not. I've only just set up.” The stocky man accentuates this with a practiced flick of a sheet. “Come, look.”
She does so with glimmering eyes. Manicured fingers brush over petrified lizard tails and burdock roots. Jethro produces a plant that Moticia coos over. Whispy tendrils curl around her fingers, drawing a smile as she pulls away from their grip. Handing the small pot over to Lurch, her eyes fall upon something in the back row. The shape is obvious, even if its contents are covered.
A cage.
“What is that, under there?”
Her old friend looks over his shoulder for need of dramatic flair rather than necessity. “That,-” He starts in a notably lower tone than before. “-is why I was away for so long.”
The cage is brought over, the cloth rearranged so Morticia can peek through the top. Jethro prattles on, but the woman barely hears. The cage, new and strong, holds a single body the size of a hand. Pale limbs muddled with grime, bent into a crouch, a snarl from a tiny mouth filled with interlocking teeth, and a pair of torn wings protruding from her back.
A fairy.
“How much?”
“Oh, I couldn't! It's not ready for harvest, and I would never sell you anything less than-”
“Not the wings.” She manages to tear her gaze away to pin Jethro in place. “The whole thing. How much.”
Ever suave Jethro flusters at her question. “I-, well-, it's not for sale-”
It's quite easy, actually, to let him bumble his way into silence. All she has to do is stare, like she doesn't really understand what he's talking about. Like she's confused, and simply not getting it. A few more false starts, and then silence.
Morticia tilts her head.
“I can pay you enough to cover your stall and then some. That's more than you'll get even from this one.” The soft hissing from said ‘one’ dies down. Neither of the giants bartering for her life pay any mind. Morticia waits just long enough for it to sink in. And then she smiles. “Do we have a deal?”
As she walks away, cage in hand, Jethro swears up and down that Mrs. Addams didn't blink the entire time.
In her study Morticia pulls off the cloth between two fingers and discards it like an old rag. It's dull and plain, nothing at all like the ferocious little thing that glares up at her. Fingers just barely touching the bars as they trail down the iron, the dove laughs at the breathy snarl she earns. “Feisty. You'll fit right in.”
She kind of wants to document it; the way her jaw seems to set. The little thing holds herself with an air of elegance even while backed into a wall. The brunette bows her head slightly in greeting. “Morticia Addams. And you are?”
That seems to stun the fairy. Her eyes flicker between her and Lurch in the most adorable way. There's a pinch between her eyebrows that grows with the silence. ‘So she can understand me. Good.’ She spoke their language as fluently as one lacking the proper vocal chords could, but there were so many dialects she risked insult when she meant none.
She's a stunning specimen. Even in that crouch it was clear that she was taller than most of her species. Still, it's hard to see what shape she's in with the bars between them. With careful movements Morticia reaches for the door.
“Come any closer and I take them.”
Morticia pauses, more out of amusement than fear. It wasn’t the first threat she’d got, and there was no question it wouldn’t be the last. “So you can talk.” Not that she doubted it. The occasional mute fairy wasn't rare, but most tended to chatter like the birds they so feared. This one wasn't so traumatized that she'd lost her voice. No, this one was cautious. And prideful if the scowl she received was anything to go by.
It disappears when she opens the door anyway. The fairy crouches down further and bares her teeth in a growl, confirming what Morticia is beginning to suspect. She presses into the bars, a fierce but slightly panicked ‘stay back’ sounding out. Her body springs forward and her claws slash at the giant's fingers, but in the end she's confined into a careful grip that lifts her from her cage. Morticia's heart flutters at the tiny flashes of pain. They'll sting later, maybe even scar. Another story. Another gift from one of her charges. She doesn't bother to suppress her pleased smile.
Tiny shoulders writhe and shift. The wings, though. The wings lag. They stammer unevenly, spasming in a reckless pattern. She can't fly, otherwise she would've the second the cage was opened, but she's still trying to escape. A touch to her back makes her freeze stiff. “Shhhhh.” It's not an unkind sound. Nor is it really meant to be comforting. It's a fact. ‘There's no use in struggling, so just stop.’ A string of harsh ‘stop's and ‘put me down's slams to a halt as Morticia carefully ghosts the back of her finger over the slightly shriveled wings.
“Don't.” It's strained.
“An accent. She’s from up north.” There’s a large tear, crusted with that clear substance that passes for blood in a fairy’s wing. “Did Jethro do this?”
“Please.”
Her voice, so strong before, is now pitched with fear. The plea rings in her ears, the same as all of them did once. It's always the same. A cornered fairy, a too fast heartbeat racing against her fingertips, a fight that dissolved into tears and begging.
This would end the same, too.
“Oh, don't fuss.” She croons almost in a gentle way. “These will shed in their own time.” She cradles one against the edge of her finger, watching the way it twitches. “You'll be grounded for a couple of weeks.” She trails her fingers along tiny bones that shudder under her touch. The tiny body relaxes as it drifts further away from the delicate appendages, then tenses right back up as her wrist is pinched and her arm is extended. “Wings extend just past the wrists. Three and a half inches in length.” ‘A monarch? No. Her wings are too small.’ “A matriarch,” She says out loud for Lurch to write down. ‘Right down to the firm tone.’ Turning the fairy onto its side, ignoring the strangled gasp she lets out, Morticia gives the same treatment to her ankle. “Powerful legs. A jumper.” Onto her back now, her thumb resting on the fairy’s stomach, Morticia both sees and feels that tiny chest heaving with each breath. The little one kicks weakly. Her claws leave miniscule pricks in her finger. But she falls still again as their eyes meet.
“Blue eyes. White hair.” ‘Soft cheeks.’ “May be nocturnal.” Morticia lessens her grip. The little thing starts to haul herself away, but a thumb on her shins and a mildly raised brow stops that. She chooses instead to curl up. “No obvious breaks, but she's tender around the waist. We'll have to check again tomorrow.”
The fairy speaks, something other than a plea or a threat. “What are you doing?”
“I take notes on all the fairies I come across. It helps to know if something is…out of place.” To put it mildly. “Your wings are flaking. I doubt that Jethro was feeding you properly.”
Poor thing. So confused she can only just string a sentence together. “I don’t understand. What do you plan on doing to me?”
“Mmm… What you’re really asking, is when will I take your wings.”
The fairy cringes. Painfully. The ragged breathing that had settled into a slow and shaky pant returns in full force. “I-, I don’t-”
“Relax. I won’t be taking your wings now or any other time.” It's odd. Usually she doesn’t care if the little ones believe her. They all see in the end. But this one feels different. She cups her hands together, not letting the fantasy settle - not letting the fairy spiral into what should be happening. Instead she stands and walks carefully to the other end of the room. “Lurch, dear. Bring me Macy and Bruno. Call for Jan, too. She’ll need a dress.”
~~~~
She’s put into a tank, of all things.
It’s huge, teeming with plant life and plenty of nests. The walls are high, made of glass thicker than her arm, and there is no lid to keep her in.
It's not needed. She’s grounded.
At least the nests are soft. Open in the front though they are, they offer some cover that allows her to relax just the smallest amount. She’s safe from the hands that ripped her out of that cage and showed her just how useless her struggles were. Even that damn shop keeper feared her bite. This woman had taken her claws with a smile.
The blonde curls in tighter, wishing that she could’ve sunken her teeth into that grip.
There’s more voices outside. A deep clicking sounds out. A greeting, soft and cautious. And she shouldn't answer. She doesn't know anyone here, and the last few days have eroded her ability to trust anyone. But she heard them. She heard the human - Morticia - talking about her. They already know she's here. And…It’s been… so long since she’s seen another fairy. Her body betrays her. Her heart swells and she tilts towards the entrance. Her throat rumbles with a tired sort of fear; an acknowledgement. Dirt cushions the sound of footfalls but the other fairy continues to chitter and announce her location. Against all reasoning, it puts her at ease.
Then she's here, stepping in front of the entrance. For a moment the fairy thinks she's looking at herself. The one before her stands about as tall as she does. The eyes are the same. The face is similar. But the fairy's bright blonde hair comes down to her shoulders, not the small of her back. Her eyes are wider. Her jaw is harsher. Even her wings are those of a moth and not at all like hers that resemble the elegantly crumpled shavings of wood. So no, not a long forgotten nestmate. But perhaps distant kin.
If the other fairy is shocked at her appearance, she does well to hide it. She crouches down, all soft smiles and kind eyes, but the captive hones in on the berry between her hands. Her hand drifts towards her stomach, trying to quell the noise.
“Hello, sister.” Her voice is just as soft as her eyes. The same melodic accent drifts into the air. “I come with a gift.”
The fairy's eyes dart down to the berry in the stranger's hands and linger just a bit too long. “There are more of you,” she says, her tone flat and free of any dramatics.
“Yes. They're lagging behind, until they're sure you won't rip their throats out.” There is no accusation in her voice. She's simply stating the obvious. “My friends are smaller than us, but no less fierce.” She sits on her knees, wings folded without a care in the world. This prompts our fairy to raise a brow. But it makes sense. She could lunge, sure, but she's weak. Hungry and exhausted, she wouldn't stand a change. And, if by some miracle she did win, she'd have an upset giant to deal with. Her mirror had nothing to worry about.
She called her ‘sister’. Does that mean they’re equals here?
The sound of ripping brings her from her thoughts. Never looking away for even a second, she raises a half and sinks her teeth into it. Her lips come back glistening, clear juice dribbling down her chin, their locked gazes never breaking. And then, in an action that makes her heart shake, the fairy extends the other half. “Are you hungry?”
She pulls herself forward slowly. Whatever was fueling her in her panic before has left her worn and aching. Even so, she doesn’t want to risk startling the other. Her mind wails with reluctance to leave the nest, but hunger beckons her forward. The humans are here, on the other end of the room, too far to pose any real danger. She’s safe to come out, for now at least. Her fingers tremble with the effort not to snatch the offered half, and when she has it in her grasp she clutches it close like a mother does a child.
The first bite draws forth a broken whimper. The soft crunch of flesh satiates the urge to sink her teeth into something, just for a moment. It’s juicy - almost too juicy - shooting into the back of her throat and making her cough painfully.
“Careful. It's not going anywhere. You can relax.”
Her head snaps up. Right. She’d almost forgotten. The words swirl around in her head and make her want to scoff. “Which one are you?” She says instead. “Your owner mentioned three.”
“Owner?” The fairy laughs. “No. Morticia doesn't own us. She gives us a hive, and only asks for wing sheds in return.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “And why’s that?”
“Ah-,” The stranger tilts her head playfully. “I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”
A moment passes by before our fairy nods. Another bite of the berry softens the sting of defeat.
“My name is Jan. I’ll be helping you with a dress once you’re cleaned up. Do you have a name?”
….once she’s cleaned up? Yes, she hadn’t exactly had the chance to groom herself lately. But it would take days to get back to her normal level of presentable. Would she have to wait that long for a clean dress? She hopes not. “Larissa,” she says after a swallow. The name feels almost foreign. “I’m called Larissa.”
Jan claps her hands together softly, lacing her fingers together and smiling wide. “It’s lovely to meet you, Larissa. Now, once you’re done we'll get you settled in. It'll be good to choose your nest since you'll be staying with us for some time.”
“Do I have a choice?”
The smile she gets is kind. “Not in your recovery. Afterwards? Whether you stay or leave? That's entirely up to you.”
Larissa tries to keep the derision out of her grunt and only half succeeds.
“You don't believe me.”
Another bite keeps her from immediately having to answer. Of course she doesn't. It sounds too good to be true. There has to be a price. “She wants my wings,” she says after a swallow.
“She wants healthy wings. I'm sorry, love, but yours won't do much good right now.”
“So, you're saying that this human goes around buying fairies and then just letting them go? Because you told me. You just told me that I could leave once my wings grow back. And that means Morticia wouldn't get my shed.” She forces herself to breathe. To calm down. It doesn't work. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
“I know this is a lot to take in.” At least she has the awareness to pause at Larissa's glare. “You're right. I'm asking a lot of you. Morticia does want sheds, but she’d never take them from you.” At this Jan laughs, though it sounds more like a scoff. “She claims that sheds that are ‘freely given’ are more potent. I wouldn't know. I have no use for potions.” There's a pause as Jan waits for a response. When she receives none, she continues. “Now, I didn’t believe it either. Not at first. But that doesn't change what's important. No harm will come to you here.”
Frustration hangs in the air that settles around their silence. Larissa's, because she was disconcerted. She isn't sure which is more absurd; that Jan is feeding her blatant lies, or that she expects her to believe them.
Jan's frustration stems from something different. The other fairy huffs, rubs at her temples, then uses that same hand as if to dismiss the tension. “We're talking in circles.” It's an end to their debate - a truce without concession. And a pivot. “Shall we continue after your bath?”
~~~~
She handles meeting Macy and Bruno. She handles being told that they’ll have more food for her later, so she doesn’t have to ration it (she will anyway). She even handles a basin of water being lowered into the tank with just a few small steps into the foliage.
What she can’t handle is how the three strangers treat her with such care.
They start with her arms after stripping away the meager bindings she had been left with. Jan guides her by her arms into the warm water, encouraging her to sit when her legs wobble a bit too much. It’s overstimmulating at first. A clump of beeswax soap is drawn over her skin in soft circles. Soft hands scrub at her skin and through her hair. Where she expects hard squeezes and rough scratches she instead gets tender touches and careful examination. There is no conversation, only direction and soft bids for consent. ’I need your hand.’ ‘I'm moving to your hip now.’ ‘You have a bruise here. We have some salve for that. Would you like some?’ It's all so different compared to what she's used to. She doesn’t even notice that she’s crying until Jan softly calls her name.
“Larissa? Are we hurting you?”
Hurt? She looks up from where her mirror has her head in her lap - having been lost in the gentle way she raked her claws through her hair - and shakes her head. No. Why would she think that? Why, when the last few years of being between nests have left her with an aching hole where a hive should be? Why, when she’s endured weeks of too tight grasps and rough nicks? Why, when she feels like a little nestling being cared for by her mothers and aunts, able to bear her throat without fear of domination?
“Oh, little bird~” Jan drops the soap in favor of drawing Larissa against her chest, where she tries to muffle her sobs.
They save her wings for last. Larissa, raw and lost without the years of grief to keep her company, doesn't process the question the first time. “What?”
“Is it okay if we clean your wings? I know they'll shed soon, but it will make you feel a lot better.”
Larissa looks down. The bath water is murky with all the grim that had coated her body. In the beginning it had driven her crazy. In time the slimy feeling had faded into the background, along with the hope of ever being free again. She had gotten used to it. But now that her skin was clean (if a bit tender) the thought of letting any part of her remain that dirty made her sick.
“Just you.” It tumbles out in a small voice. It's irrational. She has no reason to trust Jan. If anything, one of the other fairies would be better. Half starved as she is, she'd at least have the size advantage against them.
But she's tired.
She's so tired.
“Please.” A soft hug keeps her from falling apart again. Jan agrees with the gentle murmur of a cat soothing its bab.
It's hard. The first touch makes her jump, but Jan keeps a hand still on her spine until she settles. She flinches here, holds her breath there, careful touch against something so sensitive making her shiver until her stomach is in knots. And then, it dissipates, and it stays that way even as the blonde frets over the tear in her right wing.
“He got impatient, waiting for my shed.” She doesn't know why she says it. Jan didn't ask. She's not prying, even now. Yet Larissa offers this information as blandly as a weather report. “He heard that tears could force one.”
Silence. Even Macy and Bruno - who had been whispering in soft tones - quiet down. In shock? In horror? Who knows. It was sadly all too common.
Jan hums. “We'll have to keep an eye on it.”
And that's that. They know her story. Morticia will know soon enough, too. She'll jot it down in her little notebook where it would live forever.
Larissa can't bring herself to care.
They wrap her in what they call ‘a towel’. It lessens the sorrow of leaving the still warm water. Though odd at first, she can't help but pull it in tighter when she feels how soft it is. Even as she follows the trio into a sunny patch she nuzzles the fabric against her cheek.
And then, for the first time in weeks, she feels the sun on her skin. The towel is abandoned in order to expose every inch of her body to warmth and light and life.
“You mentioned a hive…” She breaks the almost easy silence a little while later, when her basking had turned to a soft lounge. “Where is it?”
Jan doesn't look up from her stitching. “Here and there. Some stay with her daughter, most make homes in the garden.”
“And they're all….happy?”
“Mhm. I myself prefer the studio, but I have seen it. It's nice and open. Lots of room to fly about and tons of plants for the little ones to climb.”
“Open…” She says faintly, like she can't quite wrap her head around it. “No cages?”
At this, Jan finally pauses just long enough to smile. “None. Anyone can leave, silly. Some just choose not to. The Addams home is enormous, so there's a place for everyone.”
She doesn't ask. Not yet. She holds her tongue as Jan fits the dress around her. But it's there. It hangs in the air, not ready to be acknowledged just yet.
‘There's a place for everyone. Even me?’