3Sprout Wings and Fly
Genre: Placed in Fantasy because that's where it belongs. However, I was painfully torn between the other genres. It contains supernatural, yes. An element of parody indeed. But there's also a mild dollup of humor, and possibly some upcoming romance. So, I put it in the places that I did out of random selection. (General seemed like a boring choice).
Summary: By an unhealthy coincidence, two completely unrelated girls, a 5'11" faerie, and two disgruntled angels (one moreso than the other) discover a place where plot twists in the world of natural genetics created an island of "fairy tales". Absurd enough to escape the confinement that is cliche, though there are some cliche ties that are heartily mocked.
Holly lay her head upon her pillow, savoring the fresh feel of clean linen, the soft blankets, and the feel of utter exhaustion that caused her to appreciate these simple things. A cool, callused hand rested on her forehead for a moment, and there was some soft murmuring between her parents. A tight embrace from each, and they were gone. She was left alone, and she drifted off into a deep, quiet sleep.
An observer might see a small girl in her early adolescent age, lying in an almost hypnotic sleep upon the white sheets and warm blue comforter that she was nestled in. Almost hidden from view, beneath the covers was a stuffed animal, a giraffe to be specific, tucked safely beneath her arm.
How our heroine looks while she is sleeping, sadly, not the story that will be told. The aforementioned tale begins with a sudden sound in the night.
Holly was awakened by a crash in the darkness, from outside her house. Instinctively, she pulled the covers up around her chin a bit, keeping in the warmth the blankets offered. The small girl lay wide eyed, pondering upon the noise. Though she was desperately tired, her mind was racing. The sound outside had startled her, and somehow sparked a memory from long ago. Though it was only the sound of two trash cans being knocked together, perhaps by a cat. Her mind settled on that excuse, and she rolled over to continue her comfortable sleep.
Had she remained awake, she would have been there to see the silhuette of a man at her door, watch him as he approached her bed, leaned towards her-
"Lady... lady?" A male voice spoke to her quietly, as though afraid to actually awaken her. Needless to say, Holly didn't wake. "Lady," the voice hissed again. More cool fingers brushed her face and shook her shoulders. She rolled over on her stomach, then the situation hit her. She sat up, staring straight at him. He gazed back, a stranger to her, though one that she knew well. Golden-brown hair was disheveled, as though he'd just gotten off a roller coaster. He had a tidy face, looking to be a bit delicate, almost. Though not tall, he was by no means short. And a detail that Holly hardly noticed in the darkness of the night, though it gave her a pleasant jolt of remembrance when it did–the wings that were tucked neatly behind his back.
"Where have you been?" She hissed, her voice in a sort of anxious, excited question, a grin spreading across her face. Was this another dream? He had only ever come to her in her dreams before. If it was, she would find herself struck down in frustration and loss again upon waking. She settled for enjoying this as it came, and didn't speak beyond that, for fear it would make her fears true.
"You needed us." He looked about the room curiously. "This is where you live? It looks so different. Have you changed so?" He cocked his head to the side as he observed with mild interest her computer. When the moniter was awakened at his touch, though, he startled and left it alone.
Holly gave a mute nod, though by now she wasn't particularly concerned about not talking, as she was completely certain she was awake. At the very least she was only going insane, and Holly had to admit that going insane would be better entertainment than her typical life.
Fron, for that is his name, gave a small smile, he never had been one to readily display an excessive amount emotion. "I am sorry I couldn't be here for those years," Holly noted a slight accent. Somewhat between an English accent and that of a Scot. "I had many places to be, none of which were near here. I do not ask your forgiveness, but only hope that you will come with me?" He said, kneeling down so he was eye level to Holly. Holly took a deep breath, and nodded. Perhaps she really was dreaming, but she would live the dream to the best of her abilities.
"I have grown, Fron." she sat up in her bed, tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind an ear, then went on. "Nowadays, I have responsibilities. I can't just leave my family and friends for my own joys."
"Isn't shirking responsibilities one of the benefits of being a child?" Fron cunningly put in, his expression cautious, yet filled with knowing. When Holly didn't dismiss this concept, he decided to push his luck further by adding: "Did you not miss us?"
"I missed you so!" She exclaimed, falling completely for the guilt trap he had set. His speech was wordy, overdone a bit, and convinced her, but she had close ties to her family. For a moment she would have rejected him. Then she looked out the window wistfully. "Are we leaving? Truly?" A nod and answered her question. Holly granted him a resolved smile and swung her legs off the bed, placed her feet into soft slipper socks, tugged on a bathrobe, and grabbed something small from her desk drawer and discreetly slipped it into her bathrobe pocket. Then she nodded to Fron, she was ready.
He took her hand and let her down the carpeted stairs. Carpeted stairs were always viewed as a blessing by Holly. Warm on cold winter nights, and silent when one wandered down for a midnight snack. They tiptoed through the kitchen, Holly leading the way this time, for she knew her home, especially those weak boards that gave a shriek when trodden upon. Expertly, she showed Fron to the hall. The two were now faced with the difficulty of navigating past her parents, the both of them being in the living room across from them.
Holly watched her mother, who was lounging before the fireplace. She read from her book, pausing every now and then to take a sip of the milk (Holly knew from years of story-reading from her mother that the milk was warm and spiced with cinnamon). Holly's father was writing, perched on a wooden stool before his desk, scratching away with his ballpoint pen, composing everything he could dream on paper.
Some nights, when it was particularly dark and stormy outside, Holly's mother would read excerpts from her husband's work. He would sit in the back of the room, critiquing his writing to himself, and translating some of the more difficult words for Holly. As it was written using primarily Old English vocabulary, this still happened.
In her mind, Holly's father was the best author in all the world. He was witty with his words, and Holly would often stay up late trying to understand a particular phrase. He also had a way of enticing the readers to sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting for the next line. Holly adored listening, or telling the stories her father wrote of, but those nights were rare.
Holly gazed at them fondly, and then turned to Fron, trying to ask a question. He shook his head slightly, to tell her not to risk it.
Perhaps, if Holly had been able to ask the question she was going to, and he had answered, Holly would never have gone.
A/NThere's a nice plot set out for this story ::looks at the piles of plot webs, story summaries and brainstorming notes that are currently hiding my bed from view::, and I made it a point to add a boatload of foreshadowing stuffs to this story, and sort of set the whole thing... no fear, though, the next chapter will be a lot lighter. In Chapter Two, you get to meet girl #2 and then some! Thanks for reading this, guys!