Three Twisted Knots

Tales of the Fae Lands

Under her coat, she has wings.

ImageRemember when I said I wouldn’t be a proper fairy if I didn’t get wings? Back in Jasper Cove, Isabella said something to me once about how wings were just part of fae glamour. So now that I’m cool with hair and I guess clothing, though that’s happening almost unconsciously, I decided yesterday to experiment with wings, since I might as well try to practice what I preach and all.

     I didn’t want wings like butterfly fairies and all that girly girl stuff. I mean, clearly Tinkerbell is an important figure in the feminist revolution and all, but even though I’ve managed to come to terms with looking good in pink, I have no desire to flitter around getting jealous over idiot boys and pumping my friends full of pixie dust. Also, she dresses like a ho-bag. Srsly.
     So I just sat on my bed and thought about wings, what they look like, what it would feel like to have them. I thought about the delicate bones of the sparrow, the wingspan of Quetzalcoatlus, and then I felt something on my back. This being the fucking 3rd century or something, there are no proper mirrors, so I had to run out of my hut and check my reflection in the horses’ watering trough. Luckily, nobody was around: people only seem to come out after dark around here, anyway. I imagine walking with a kite on my back would have felt similar: I felt dragged by the wind and slow on the ground. But when I finally made it across the bailey to the stable, I managed to get a pretty good idea of what the wings looked like. It’s funny: I don’t have any problem thinking of clothes or hair and knowing what looks good on me. But wings? Who sits around going, “Gee, would I look better in blue wings or green?” Not this beeyatch.
     They were white. And a bit shimmery. I can’t make them flutter or flap; they just sit there. Maybe that comes with practice.
     When I got back to my hut, I figured, “Hey, the ceiling’s not too high here– if I’ve got wings, surely I can fly, right?” That doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch, does it? Yeah. Or at least I could jump and fall with style like Buzz Lightyear, maybe.
A tip for the future: dirty floors swept out in a castle bailey and surrounded by very little more than stone and wood? Are HARD.  Before you learn to swim, they teach you how to float, right? I figured it would be the same thing for flying, since flying is basically swimming through air. If you were a person you’d be looking at me like I just landed from Mars, and I’d be telling you that my logic is in fact sound, so stop looking at me that way….anyway, I thought about flying and floating, and I did it! I was so excited, I was like, fuck! I’m flying!
      And then I hit my head on the ceiling and woke up fuck knows how much later, stark naked and wingless, on the EXTREMELY HARD floor of my hut. This is how I know the floor is hard.
     The only thing I sprained was my dignity, and nobody was watching anyway, except maybe some magical fairy-pixie-sprite whose job it is to spy on the very spyworthy residents of Castle Shithole. I am certain this creature exists.
     Later I went into the tavern, and since only Aoibh and Nathaniel were there (he keeps complimenting me on my clothes wtf), I felt safe and showed them my wings. Aoibh asked me if I could fly and I told her about the floating thing and the head bump, and she said I shouldn’t practice alone, but I don’t think Valene can fly. Can Cait-Sidhe fly? That will be my first question, right after, wtf, whiskers? I saw her point, but JC on a PS, if I don’t figure things out on my own, I’ll be an old and wrinkly fairy while all the young fairies are laughing at me because I never learned the secret of eternal youth.
     I think I should kiss Nathaniel again. He keeps doing that gentlemanly flirting with me, but the only place he ever kisses me is on my forehead. I feel twelve. Mummy, why don’t the boys ever chase me? Why do I always have to chase them? There are no answers to that question that make me feel good about myself.

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About Me

Narrators Gwyneth, The Amazing Catwoman, Friðrós, Davi, and whoever else springs out of The Author’s head, live in the parallel universe of Second Life. You can read their stories here, or just scroll down to see what Gwyneth was wearing when she wrote it.

Gwen Enchanted is a story blogger, a fantasy fashion blogger, and a thoughtful in-world photographer.

Caution: contains poetry.

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