Mhairi woke with a start. An errant dewdrop fell from the leaf that served as her shelter, drenching her entire body and the soft bed of pine needles she made for herself. Soaked to the bone, she stretched her long glittering legs and shook out her unruly curls with her slender fingers. The sun shone brilliantly in Bail nan cnoc that early April morning, and what a sight it was to behold! If only she was in a more pleasant state of mind.

Ordinarily, she rose to the sweet sound of birdsong, making for a much more enjoyable morning than what she was currently experiencing. She huffed and pulled her most favorite bodice and skirt—a deep, shining emerald much like the hills she called home—from the spotted mushroom trunk she kept hidden in a burrow under a magnificent curling Rowan tree. While she was there, she pocketed a few of its bright red berries for protection, never knowing what the day might bring now that the humans have found the glen. She liked most colors, but she knew she could hide just about anywhere so long as she wore that brilliant green.

Days like this were few and far between in the upper reaches of Scotland. Sure, the sun would come out here and there, but there was always a rain cloud lurking not far from its rays. This particular day; however, proved to be dry, warm, and bright, which could only mean one thing: people. She never actually saw them, but she heard tales from the others. Some say that humans would try to capture Seelies if they came upon them, in hopes of living out their wildest dreams. If only a Seelie could bestow even a modicum of fae magic upon a mortal, he or she might spend the rest of his or her days in great prosperity.

But of course that was a bunch of bunk. Seelies were generally indifferent to humans, so long as they didn’t bother them. But if held against her will? Oh gods, pray for their mortal souls! To say the Seelie folk were mischievous is an understatement. And truth be told, Mhairi just didn’t feel up to performing any sort of tricks, even at the expense of an unsuspecting man. No, her preference on that early spring mornings as to be left quite alone. Besides, she had a busy day ahead of her: she had to pick flowers from her secret spot down by the largest cairn, where the most beautiful and delicate blooms sprouted. You see, she had a special skill for plucking them from the ground that even the most gentle of her Seelie brethren did not possess. And they were to prepare for their weekly feast that very evening, so the florals were of the utmost importance!

She also had to collect honey from the bees, a usually prickly bunch who didn’t much care for interacting with the fae, but someone had to do it and the job often fell on her shoulders. Mhairi was patient, and what’s more: she understood the bees and their disdain for bartering. After all, they were generally self-sufficient and didn’t need very much to thrive in such a verdant landscape, but they also just-so-happened to love the nectar of the elusive primrose, which she just-so-happened to keep in her private garden overlooking the cliffs. It was quite a journey from the glen to the cliffs, especially for someone as small as Mhairi who was not much larger than your run of the mill grasshopper, but she was dedicated to her job within the Seelie Court, and so she must go about her business despite her foul mood. They were relying on her.

She had a small breakfast under the shade of a bluebell and set out on foot. The sun’s warmth against her face was rejuvenating. She loved the way the light made her glisten, sending fragments of color here and there, dazzling in its vibrancy. Some might even mistake these flashes of color for a rainbow stretching across the valley, but it really was the refraction of light against Seelie skin. She was starting to come out of her funk. How could she not? Spending any amount of time in the light, walking round the curves and swirls of rocks, traipsing through the grass and flowers, and feeling the fresh sea breeze on her skin were all things that made her immeasurably happy.

She completely forgot about the dewdrop, which, by the way, she suspected was less a natural accident and more of a silly prank pulled by Iona. It was their personal game to flit about the hills and valleys of the isle, playing harmless tricks on one another. She had to admit that Iona got her good that morning, and felt a momentary shame for letting herself get angry. After all, it was just a bit of water, wasn’t it? And it saved her from having to take a morning bath. So all in all, it was more helpful than anything.

Mhairi and Iona were bosom friends, close even for Seelies. Mhairi was a bit older, but they were practically inseparable from the moment they met. They were like-minded, beautiful in the way all Seelies are, each possessing a quick wit and helpful yet cunning demeanor. Mhairi briefly wondered where Iona was; it was so unlike her to not to be present at the scene of a prank, relishing in whatever outlandish reaction Mhairi was sure to have, but then again, it was the day of the feast and Iona had to head to the sea to collect opalescent pearls and shimmering stones for the festivities. It was very likely that she set the dewdrop to teeter and fall on its own as she made her way out of the glen and down the winding path to the ocean.

She followed her usual path, wicker gathering basket in hand, past the burrow that the rabbits called home, through the hollow log the mice took shelter in, and down the bog the toads leapt to their highest heights, taking care to greet each and every creature she came across, wishing them a lovely day. All was well until she heard footsteps behind her. They were much too heavy to be Seelie or gnome. They could perhaps be troll, but they sounded much too uniform. Most, if not all, of the trolls she knew stood somewhat lopsided, bearing most of their weight on either their right or left side, making their steps much heavier on one foot than the other. It didn’t sound like animals either, so the prospect of a stray highland cow or sheep meandering her way was close to impossible.

That sound could only mean one thing: humans. She couldn’t risk capture, not with the fate of the fête’s florals in her hands, so she gently placed her overflowing basket in the high grass beside the edge of the bog and tiptoed away. Mhairi walked until she could no longer hear their footfalls and found herself in a peculiar clearing, one she hadn’t ever visited in all her life on the beautiful isle. How could it be that there remained any undiscovered land? She wondered as she gazed upon the enormous standing stones placed curiously in a circular pattern around what looked to be an altar of sorts. She’d heard many stories throughout her long life, but never had she heard of a secret ritualistic site here on the island. Though, as she ventured closer to the ancient monoliths, she did feel in her bones that they aligned perfectly with the sun and stars above, and she did recall that the elders often spoke of stargazing giants inhabiting the land long before the Seelies, so perhaps they placed them in this very spot. Whatever became of them was just as mysterious as these stones themselves, and she was nothing if not intrigued.

Mhairi stood quite still and listened very carefully to her surroundings before investigating further. All she heard was the usual peaceful sounds of nature: birds chirping, crickets singing, the breeze floating through the high grass producing an ethereal sound much like a sweet violin, waves crashing in the distance. She was safe. There was no indication of danger, no indication that anything out of the ordinary were to befall her. She allowed the glory of the day to wash over her as she felt the whisper of adventure calling from the stones. She determined that she had enough time to explore and perhaps even rest her back against the warmth of she sun soaked stone for a bit of daydreaming—a practice all too important to the Seelie. She stepped closer to the stones and felling a thrilling vibration around her. She stepped back and everything was again still. She stepped forward and allowed the thrumming of the air match the beating of her heart. She ran her fingers along one stone and then the next, tracing the ancient, faded markings from their mysterious makers, allowing the stones to tell her a story only she could understand.

The humming grew louder and stronger still, her temperature rising, her heart beating wildly the closer she got to the largest stone until she was nearly overcome with excitement. She stood in the shade of the massive stone, wondering how it remained upright on its short end all these centuries. A crack ran from the lower corner, practically invisible at its base, and all the way up to the top, splitting the stone dramatically. She stepped from the shade into a sliver of light coming through the fissure and felt that it was much warmer, like the heat of the sun was magnified through the crack. It was so hot but she found she couldn’t step back into the shade. If anything, she wanted to get closer to the stones, maybe even climb inside. Tentatively, she placed her fingers at the base of the crack. She pulled back immediately—it was as if she placed her hand directly on a simmering cauldron. Interesting, she thought, inspecting her skin for nonexistent burns. Next, she spread her palm on the stone, resisting the urge to pull way from the intense heat. She allowed the warmth to snake its way up her arm and felt the undeniable need to place her other hand down. So she did.

Instantly, her whole body radiated. She ran her hands together as a unit up the length of the crack and found a spot where she could grip enough to pull herself up. She was excited by the prospect of sitting in the middle of this gargantuan ancient stone overlooking the valley, but as she made her way into the space, the heat and vibrations totally overwhelmed her.

It was as if she vanished into thin air, a trick only the most skilled Seelie possessed. However, she didn’t vanish of her own volition, so it couldn’t have been through any skill of her own, rather, it must’ve been something in the stone.

As she looked around, she realized she was walking, and quite quickly too. She must be late for something. There was nothing but concrete and metal all around: buildings, roads, a café, a daycare. Cars lined the street, honking at the slow traffic light, honking at the crossing guards, honking at each other. The sun shone aggressively on the sea of concrete, and with nothing soft or living to absorb its rays, the walk was uncomfortably hot. What was this moisture running down her forehead, her neck, her back? Could it be sweat? Curious.

She glanced down at her hands and registered that she was pushing a pink stroller, but whose? She stopped for a car and rose to her toes to peer over the sun cover to see a mop of auburn curls not unlike Iona’s, but this couldn’t be Iona, could it? She was afraid to move to the front of the stroller to look at the child’s face, to be known by this child in this strange place.

It occurred to her that there was a constant stream of chatter coming from the small person in the stroller. It was nonsensical but innocent and sweet:

“Mama, I love magic wands!”

“Mama, did you know that dinosaurs are egg-stink?”

“Mama, that car is red, that bike is green. I have a home with you.”

“I love strawberries and I do not love cucumbers.”

“A giant robot monster is in the city! Beep-boop-bop!”

“Swimming is good, but I have to make sure I am safe in my body.”

“Ms. Sonny is FUNNY! I rhymed.”

“Mama, mama, mama? Mama? Mama, you heared that?”

It occurred to her that Mhairi was Mama and all of this chatter was, in fact, directed to her. So she said, “Yes, my love, I heard it all.”

She had no idea where she was or where she was going, but it seemed to her that her feet knew, so she just followed. Soon, they turned left at a corner and came upon a terracotta school with a wide, tree lined courtyard. She could see art hanging in the windows and colorful chalk flowers and hop-scotches just inside the gate. The child in the stroller saw someone she knew and started fumbling with her buckle, saying, “Mama, out, Mama, OUT PLEASE! Mama, DOWN!”

It shook her, so unused to being called mama, so unused to being in this body, this place, but she stepped around the front of the stroller and looked at the small smiling face and saw that it was indeed Iona. She could tell by the hair and the glimmer in her eyes, so green like her faraway isle, but she was very clearly human, and a small one at that. Some voice in the back of her mind told her that Iona is her 3 1/2 year old daughter, and this school is her school, and this is drop off, something that they do every day. But that simply couldn’t be true. Iona is Seelie. Mhairi is Seelie. They are great friends, not mother and daughter. They spend their days prancing around a wild emerald island, not…whatever this is.

Iona grew impatient with her staring and pulled dramatically at the buckle across her chest and again groaned, “Mama, OUT PLEASE!”

Then, a voice came from behind her, “Oh, hey! Didn’t see you walk up.”

Mhairi turned and saw a friendly, beautiful woman with long golden hair and a stroller of her own, but with two squirmy children that looked just like her. The voice in her mind piped up again to tell her that this woman is her friend, a woman she speaks to nearly constantly, a woman whose children are friends with Iona. But she couldn’t find the words to even say hello, so disoriented by this new world.

“Ah,” said the friendly woman, “One of your ‘not today’ mornings. Okay. Anyway, it’s time to go in.”

The gate opened and she followed Iona, the woman with the stroller, and several other parents and children in. Iona stopped in front of who Mhairi assumed was her teacher and shouted, “MS. SONNY YOU ARE FUNNY” at her knees. Ms. Sonny handed Mhairi a tablet, but she didn’t know what to do with it. Helpless, she looked around and saw other mothers holding other tablets and moving their fingers along the screens, so she did the same and handed it back to Iona’s teacher. Again, she followed Iona to a gaggle of little girls, all dressed in various shades of pinks and purples, with glittery headbands and glittery shoes and glittery fairy wings strapped to their backs. If she didn’t know any better, she would say they were Seelie, and maybe they were in their own way.

“Mama, oh my mama!” Iona said, looking up at her expectantly, “where are my wings? Catrina and Sara and Morgan all have wings and I want mine NOW, Mama!”

Fairy wings? Mhairi had no clue, but Iona was becoming increasingly upset that her friends all seemed to have something she did not, so she knelt down and put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and whispered, “Can I tell you a secret?”

Iona’s eyes lift up and she nodded vigorously. Mhairi went on, “You don’t need wings because you and I are real fairies.”

“Oh Mama, you are so silly!” Well, at least that cheered her up, even if she thought it was a fib.

Iona turned to her friends and started chattering about sparkles and unicorns and flowers and suddenly Mhairi found herself alone and at a loss for words. She wracked her brain and could distantly remember that very morning in the fairy glen: the dewdrop, the flowers, the footfalls, the stones, but the memories all had a fuzzy quality about them. Like they weren’t real. Like her reality was here, in this schoolyard, surrounded by children and adults, and she feared that if she were to interact with any of them, that Seelie part of her would slip away completely.

A very tall man approached her, his won little girl skipping over to Iona and her friends, “Hello there, good morning!”

“Oh, hello,” she said, feeling the grasp on her garden overlooking the cliffs slipping.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He asked, attempting conversation.

She just nodded.

“Ugh, finally,” came the voice of a frazzled looking mother hurrying toward them, pulling a whining boy by his elbow, “some sane adults! My Mick here does not want to go to school, but it’s a school day, so here we are.”

“That’s always a rough one,” said the friendly man, “these children just want to play, but they could do with some structure.”

“Totally,” said the frazzled mother, signing her son in and gently pushing him toward the group of boys gathered around an anthill, “so what are you guys up to this weekend? Wine play date?”

Mhairi stepped back, away from he friendly man and frazzled mother as they discussed weekend plans, away from the little girls playing pat-a-cake, way from the boys inspecting insects, and felt consumed by her reality.

“ONE, TWO, THREE, EYES ON ME!” Ms. Sonny called, snapping her fingers, “Time to line up and go inside! Say bye to mommies and daddies!”

Iona ran to her and squeezed her tightly.

“Go on, my sweet, get in line,” Mhairi said.

But Iona refused. She stomped her small feet and crossed her arms, and made a big show with her huffs and puffs, but all the while, Mhairi could see the glimmer in her eye. Iona raised her arms and smiled. Mhairi crouched down to give her a hug and a big, big squeeze so she would happily go into the school and learn about letters and numbers and playing nicely with her peers. But before she could give her that squeeze, Iona placed once tiny, chubby hand on each of Mhairi’s cheeks. All at once, Mhairi was flooded with intense, fierce love for this little girl, her little girl. If things could stay this way: Iona, small and loving, needing her, and Mhairi, big and protective, giving all she could give…well, then things would probably be okay.

“Mama,” Iona whispered, “Mama, come close.”

So Mhairi did.

“I got you really good this time.”