On Wings of Spring

     One of your fellow thieves claps you on the back on her way out and suggests, "Why don't you go visit the healing springs? It's a bit far, but that Faerie'll have you all knit up," she leans in to offer a conspiratorial wink, "and she's always got more potions than she can keep track of." You're tempted, looking around at all your fellow fighters, battered and bruised as they are. There's always a shortage of potions, after all - so if there's demand, why not procure some supply? You start counting under your breath, injuries transforming into Neopoints in your mind's eye. The beginnings of a plan begin to percolate in the back of your head, and you grin a grin that scares a nearby Vullard into squawking.

     ---

     The journey from Tyrannia is long and arduous, but you manage well enough for yourself, stowing away aboard a ship and diving from the rigging offshore of Meridell. You steal a laugh from a king, a juicy berry from a farmer, a kiss from a Mortog, and you're well on your way west. That night you hide in a farmer's shed; the next morning, you're trotting through the gates of Faerieland, munching on a loaf of pilfered bread and patting your bountiful hair into some semblance of orderliness.

     The Faerie of the springs smiles kindly as you approach. Her voice is soft and soothing as the softly burbling water. "Hello, dear. I am Marina, and you are welcome to my home of healing and relaxation."

     You smile your Number One Smile and duck your head with as much adoration as you can bring to bear, making your eyes as big and kind as a Kau's (a neat trick indeed) as you sidle your way to the water. Another pet approaches, distracting Marina; she accepts the offering of a faerie apple, which is set in a basket with a stack of winged fruits. Your mouth waters a little. You pass a table laden with potions and take the opportunity to unburden it of some of its weight - it seems to you that the tabletop creaks a little in relief as you slyly scoop a few extra. Heermeedjet had told you that you were a natural; he was right!

     You sink happily into the magical water and are instantly drenched through, ears twitching a little in the glittering teal spray. The water feels good, just the right temperature, neither too hot nor too cool.

     The sun shines warmly, its heat tempered by the breeze sighing through the trees and the refreshing water. It's quiet and tranquil here, but not unnaturally so - rather, it feels as though at any moment, a passing Weewoo might break into sweet song. The subtle buzz of dancing Dragonfly Nymphs and the low chirping of a Ditrey adds to the air of contentment and peace. As you rest, the power of the springs courses through you, stitching together your wounds, washing away your pain, ruffling through your fur, even detangling your locks. You drift into a gentle, drowsy haze, your eyes drawing closed as you daydream about your score, contemplating the details of how you'll carry out the heist (perhaps you'll return later, when it's busier... or maybe in the dead of night when it's darker...).

     ---

     When they next open, you feel different. You stagger from the water, ungainly and unsure. Picking at your shirt, you blink a bit, attempting to clear your vision - it looks as though your shirt has grown a pair of wings from one shoulder, translucent and drooping. It's pretty, really. You shrug and start to crack a joke through lips muffled with something - is that kelp hanging from your mouth? There's no kelp here. Something gossamer flaps from your paws as you reach up and promptly recoil from yourself, from an unfamiliar sensation.

     Wings.

     Not wings like those Faerie pets you've seen, dainty and firmly secured behind the shoulders, beautiful, arcing, glittering appendages made to adorn and be adorned. No. You've grown small, frail wings, one on either lip, a pair at each claw-tip. You can feel them - you can feel through them. You scream, and an immense fluttering is set off all at once around your face, tiny mayfly wings at the end of every strand of hair weighing your once-bountiful curls down, tangling up as your full-body panic sends each excessive appendage to flapping, attempting to escape from their tether to you, drawing forth an itching from your scalp. It's an unbearable sensation, and you scrub furiously at your face and hair, wishing it all away. New wings erupt from your head through your hair, trailing long tendrils behind, flimsy and damp. Those at the tips of your fingers prove to only be a sign of more to come, the rest spilling forth as your claws open, pearly tassels all.

     Your vision blurs, winged lashes twitching. You stare in horror through the flit-flit-flit flickering and emit a wing-muffled groan, feeling a shivering in your bones, through the roots of your teeth. Your protests (internally, for some time now, you have only had room in your thoughts for: no no no no nononononono no please-) go unheard. A soft fuzz blooms in your mouth as each tooth unfurls into wings that twist and twine, brushing the insides of your cheeks. Your mouth opens, and wings pour out like limp, ragged ribbons or jellyfish tendrils from your dividing, unfolding tongue, like a magic act, only you can't put them back. You're covered in wings, coated in wings, and you have a terrible, painful feeling that the panicked fluttering in your gut is not due to metaphorical butterflies but wings sprouting from within.

     You stumble over to Marina, who is quietly observing. Sinking on your knees in front of her as the changes ripple over you, you stare imploringly in hope and horror, panting for breath, hiccuping through the fear. She takes a casual bite from a faerie apple, crunching through its translucent blue wings and crisp white flesh and then she smiles down at you pityingly, glisteningly. Her brows, eyes, lips, and dress are brilliantly aqua, sharing the same hue with one another; that vibrant shade cuts through the flickering blur in your vision and paints itself on your retinas, leaving you gazing at the pristine silhouette of a Faerie.

     Her voice flows like the sun-gilded sea: "Sorry! - My magic is not fully restored yet. Please try back later."

     The End.