A Yurble stole my cinnamon roll! Circulation: 197,091,448 Issue: 962 | 17th day of Relaxing, Y24
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Reawakening Ties


by kayixu

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Lightning flashed and wind howled in a rather cliché display of theatrics. It was a dark and stormy night and all of that. The Meepits were howling for some unholy reason that we pathetic mortals can never hope to understand.

     All that is beside the point, anyhow. Jhudora was having one of those nights again. How odd that she’d grown so accustomed to them that they’d become “just another of those nights,” she reflected dully. Then again, oddness was a common occurrence nowadays. It had grown on her life like some kind of gross fungus.

     So, could she even call it odd at this point?

     Ah, she was the world’s most terrifying dark faerie, she could call it what she darn well pleased. Speaking of that mundane little topic, her grasp on that title was fairly weak lately. Even she couldn’t deny it when alone in the cavernous, looming hallways of her exquisite abode.

     And by Slorg, her abode was an exquisite one. It was damp and cold and cosy. Dust had settled in all the right corners. Her Gruslens had made quick work of breaking in and just plain breaking the new furniture. Candlelight danced on melting wax, feathery shadows brushing her lithe form like a beckoning call. She stared at her reflection in the window’s glass, thinking to herself that she just may go out and cause some mayhem tonight.

     Why no, she wasn’t avoiding the matter at hand, why do you ask?

     The faerie suddenly dropped her poise, shaking her head with a sigh. No, no amount of ruckus nor lurking in the night would soothe her mind. She was just going to have to-ugh!-deal with it head-on.

     Her feet fell silently upon cracked violet tile, because heels were a pain to walk in and why would she wear them in private? She grabbed a Neocola from the fridge-even faeries like some carbonation here and there-and plopped herself down on a sofa. Her pets gnawed on some unfortunate soul a few rooms over. Served them right for being a whole minute late.

     Something was wrong, the dark faerie knew in the depths of her being. Pity. If only those blasted depths would tell her what it was. Some communication they had. She practically inhaled the soda, but all that bubbled up from them was a raucous burp. Well, thankfully no aliens were around to document it.

     Something had changed, she realized, and her gaze went wild with glee. The vigour left them just as quickly. How in the world did that help anything? What changed? When did it change? Heck, why not get the who, why, and when while she was at it!

     Oh, curse it all! Wait. Was it a curse of some kind? Furthermore, if such was the case, who would dare curse her of all people? She was Jhudora, the evilest and most threatening dark faerie Neopia had to offer. She tried thinking back as far as she could, making vain reaches for memory…

     * * *

     Illusen, meanwhile, was having a marvellous time. Of course, that was sarcasm. Why would you think any different? No, the earth faerie-what even is an earth-was having rather similar feelings. In fact, one could even call them identical if they were a particularly lazy observer.

     It was much too late to be awake. She was an earth faerie, a force for hope and resilience. Plants get most of their energy from the sun, you know. She needed to be ready to bask her wings in the glow of the morning light like some kind of solar panel. Alas, here she was, pretending that she was going to catch up on some chores.

     The dust bunnies laughed at that idea. Had she not been in such a foul mood, she may have laughed right along with them. Had she not been such a nice person, she may have stomped the laughter right out of them. Had she not been so preoccupied, she may have- oh, forget it. Her brain was essentially a clump of spyderwebs. What could she do but sit here and think about hardly anything at all?

     It had something to do with the past, with memories that eluded her reach. Illusen sat upside-down on her couch, hoping the extra blood flow would help her find the answer. Her logic-for it was very logical and not at all stupid-seemed to have some bearing, as fragments began striking her one by one.

     She failed to recall most of her earlier years. Something had happened, something that involved her and two others. Yes, it must have been that some event took place, some grand magic battle that she and two others were caught in the crossfire of. Who, was next in the eternal line of questions. After that came the confusing kerfuffle of why some yet believed in Jelly World.

     A little more time with her unwashed feet stinking up the air, and she at last held it in her mind’s eye. It was quickly leaving her, however. Of the two others that had been with her, they were both faeries. One was a powerful, all-consuming presence, whose might could trample all in her way. She was a force of nature, an enemy one should never make. One of these faeries held all magics in her veins, and a glare that would turn even the bravest to mush. One was an awful, terrifying presence, and the other was Jhudora.

     Ah, but this was giving her a headache. She tipped herself over in an unintentional back flip. She thudded on wooden floorboards and the dust bunnies pointed and made jokes at her expense.

     Illusen found herself some three-day-old pizza to eat as a midnight snack. She splayed her limbs out on the couch with the remote in hand and set the NV to her favourite channel. These crime thrillers had a way of relaxing her. The earth faerie already felt better, so much, that she could sleep with pizza in her mouth…

     * * *

     Fyora, the ravishing, wonderful faerie queen, was completely and utterly ticked off. She’d been trying to fall asleep for the past several hours. All she’d accomplished in that time was getting a stomachache. By the skies, couldn’t she go one decade without some kind of mystical phenomena rearing its ugly head?

     She was going to find the source of this disturbance and personally incinerate it. But of course, she needed her beauty sleep first. And this obstinate pile of dung-whatever the Slorg it was-was in the way of that.

     It was woefully infuriating to not know who or what she needed to harm. Fyora, her pink wings fluttering with ire, practically threw herself out of bed. Her hair a mess and a scowl on her face, she slipped her feet into puffy Snowbunny slippers. She paced about in her room for a bit before storming down to her office.

     There, she found a dry erase board and got to work. She levitated a marker in such a way that allowed her thoughts to spill forth in a hasty scrawl. Must kill, written in a corner. Can’t sleep won’t sleep, was scribbled in another. An indoor gale whipped up and toppled piles of books. She clutched her head, glaring venomously at nothing. There was a tickle in the back of her throat, a screech raring to tear its way through the room.

     That poor room, so peaceful, then she came in.

     There was a loud pop, and all went dark. Blast it! The palace was running low on new light bulbs. She lit her environment with a spell, chasing away the shadows. The faerie queen plopped down on a chair and stared blankly at all that she’d written.

     Fyora scratched her head, caring not in the slightest for how mad she must have looked. The wind howled loudly outside, and she thought that it must be so refreshing. She broke open the window with the plants on the sill, allowing the storm to invade that poor, poor room. Caught in the tempest was a Weewoo, that found itself an unexpected bystander in this chaos.

     Fyora wracked her tired mind for any missing details. For so many were refusing her call, and when she found them, she was going to freeze them so that they could never leave again.

     There were two other faeries involved in this: two that she knew well. Oh yes, the faeries of earth-what even is an earth- and darkness. Their rivalry had caused her more than a little trouble, and struck her temper on many an occasion.

     But how were they to blame? She figured they must be, because why else would her heart seem to skip at beat each time she thought of it? Whatever “it” was, anyway. Clearly, it must be from anger, and not at all stemming from any form of concern. The kind of concern that one might find themselves feeling for someone close to them. Someone related to them.

     Someone who shared blood.

 
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