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Thorna sat in her throne, peering up at the dancing butterflies, interweaving through the thorn branches. To the humans, she and her beasties would either be considered gods or monsters, and perhaps both were true. She did kill and drink the blood of pixies when they bothered her beasties, but those creatures were pests, villainous in her world. Most of the stories in the mortal world about fae were untrue—she didn’t like to toy with humans. Much. She had found the majority of them rather dull. Until Asher.
“That ... that ending,” Pyrka said, peering up at her, his dark lips parted.
“Yes?” Thorna grinned.
“I want to know more.”
Thorna had penned a second set of the stories to give one to Pyrka each day. But she would have him read them the following day because she didn’t want him to make her rethink sending something if he hated one. What was done was done. Yet she had to share them with someone.
“Then you can use your imagination, Pyrka.” Thorna grinned and patted his cheek. “Feed the butterflies pixie blood—they are thirsty. I shall be back soon.”
“Yes, my queen.” Pyrka bowed and lifted a bucket full of blood beside the water wall.
With a wave of her hand, she shifted to moth and dove straight through the liquid, entering the mortal world. The wind pierced her fragile body, stronger than the prior night. She fluttered her emerald wings harder, inhaling the scents of woods and chemical pollution, until she arrived on Asher’s lamp-lit street. Same as the night before, she peered into his window, discovering him reading something. Her story...
With a smile and her heart galloping, Thorna shifted into her fae form. Her leather pants hugged her legs tighter as she knelt to retrieve the next scroll and thorned twig. She placed them both on the doorstep, rang the bell, then disappeared back into the darkness. A part of her yearned to steal Asher away to her kingdom, but she fought to keep her hands to herself.
Thorna hadn’t planned on coming back the next day to the antique shop, but she did. The day before, she had bought two teacups. And when she had smelled both, the memories of the previous owners had rushed through her. That was what she liked the most about antiques, knowing the memories the objects held. Whether beautiful, hateful, melancholic—she wanted to see and feel what others had in the past.
“You’re back.” The man smiled, tapping his fingers along the desk as he circled around it to approach her. He wore a button-up shirt over a horror movie tee and tight jeans that showed off his lean legs.
“I suppose I am.” Thorna inched closer, tugging at the hem of the T-shirt she wore. She couldn’t wear her clothing from home if she wanted to blend in, but she still left her hair emerald. So many mortals colored their hair these days compared to the past when she had needed to change it.
“I’m Asher, by the way.” It was a kingly name, one that somehow matched him well.
“Thorna.” She glanced up at the glass cabinet in front of her. “Are you getting more teacups in?”
“Thorna,” he said softly, as though tasting her name. “Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll make sure to find it for you.”
Her heart swelled, knowing he would search for any object she so desired.
