Fairy Bride Ch1: The Promise (Patreon)

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Three Years Later
Mercantour, France

The world of a butterfly is so small.  So many things are too large for it to see, and so much of reality remains beyond its comprehension.

This butterfly rests on a mountain flower, its purple petals one of thousands that call this field home.  But, to her, it is an entire planet, in a brilliant constellation.  When the wind bends its stem, it feels like an earth-shattering hurricane.  Around the butterfly shines a clear, blue sky, a crystalline glacial lake, swaying trees, and distant, snow-capped mountains.  But she ignores them all.  The flower is her everything.

Until she takes flight, ready to explore a whole new world all over again.

Fluffy legs relax into the petals; striped antennae feel for the nectar's sweet taste.  The butterfly - an Agriades orbitulus, though she’d never know that name - unfurls her wings beneath the Alpine sun.  Like the lake, the mountains, the sky, her wings shine blue.  A blue as rich as a sapphire and as deep as the oceans.  A blue that could stop any eye and invite awe, amazement, wonder.

Another breeze, and she’s off again.

It’s a strange feeling, to live in so many homes and experience in an hour what larger creatures cannot fathom in a lifetime.  Each flower brings something new; this one claimed by ants, another just in bloom.  Sometimes, even, she wanders to somewhere she remembers, embracing it like an old friend.  But every departure is taken with glee, for the butterfly knows that with each new adventure, she becomes more.

So, after she’s fed, the butterfly leaps again, striking out into the unknown.  Bold, confident, and free.

Unaware that this is the last time she’ll make such a journey.

FWOOM!

Daphne’s body whizzes over the meadow, bending the blades of grass in her wake.  With a twist, she launches back to the sky, her antennae swallowing the mountain air.  She squints through her glass goggles, secured to her head with a leather flying cap.  High above the wiry trees and trickling rivers, she swoops and rolls, dips and dives in a roller coaster of her own creation.  The motion dizzies her senses, the exhilaration fills her nerves.

The sun catches her smile.

Losing herself in the joy of the moment, she flicks her wings hard enough to send her soaring.  They’ve been dyed bold, piercing blue, the colour of the sky behind her, but from up here all she can see is her own shadow dancing on the green below.

Daphne scans the dianthus and armerias, the saxifrages and ribbons of thyme.  Every breath floods her with the majesty of the landscape.  Sunlight grazes on her skin, glowing against her white gloves, and there’s nary a cloud in sight.

There!

The flowers that caught her eye, still holding their visitor.  She smirks and tightens her grip on the net, wings curling in preparation for the pounce.  Daphne drops into a swoop, her pale hair whipping behind her.  She can see the Alpine Blue fluttering into the air, sensing her approach, trying to climb above her.

But the nymph knows she’s faster.

It’s over in seconds.  The net bends.  With a delighted gasp, Daphne shoots back toward the sun, looping in celebration.  Helpless to match the flight, the tiny butterfly tumbles about in the strange fabric of her prison.

Conscious of the passenger’s plight, Daphne slows herself to a glide, scanning the ground for the place she’d left her belongings.  She finds her landmark quickly - a stand of trees near the lake, branches growing so close together that they seem to intertwine.  Daphne’s wings hum as she spirals down, her mind already drifting toward plans for her precious burden.  She should start by naming -

A flash.  That’s all it is - a brilliant, white light stabbing up from the hillside.  A camera pretending to be distant lightning.  It barely lasts a second, but a second is all she needs.  There’s a sour taste in the back of Daphne’s throat, muffled rain echoes in her ears, and the smell of dried heather clings to her nose and antennae.  All the memories, all at once, demanding every ounce of her attention.  Her breath catches.

Her wings stop.

The rest is a blur; crunching branches and a heavy, stinging pain.  Suddenly she’s on the ground, blinking up at the sky.  Mud cakes her white jacket and trousers, and her bruised wings flap desperately back into shape.

Daphne groans and sits up, moving to unlatch her helmet.  It’s a mistake.  The pain surges through her skull again, afterimages dancing in her vision.  She feels around her without opening her eyes all the way, her breath hitching.  Her mind is fuzzy, and her thinking is slow, but there was something important she -

The butterfly.  The Alpine Blue.  Her memories vanish instantly, taking the dizziness with them.  Daphne scrambles upright, looking frantically around.

The net lies discarded and bent on the shore of the lake, turned upright and open to the air.  There’s motion beside it.  Barely-perceptible feelers tapping against a block of quartz.  Daphne’s eyes go wide as she watches tiny wings unfurl.

On the verge of flight.

“NO!”  The nymph kicks up from the site of her crash-landing, stumbling through clumps of grass.  There’s a stab of pain in her left ankle, but she pushes through it long enough to dive for the sand.  Daphne snatches up the net, twisting it over - and it descends again, settling over the tiny shape on the rock.

It had barely moved, really.  Maybe the butterfly’s as winded as she is.  Daphne repositions herself, kneeling over her catch, adrenaline draining away as quickly as it came.

“Huf… you’re a… huf, huf… little rascal, aren’t you?”  She bites her lip and grins, leaning to inspect the patterns on the insect’s wings.  “Nigel.  You look a bit like a Nigel, don’t - oh.  A girl.  Hmmm…”

Lost in thought, she doesn’t hear the snap of carelessly trodden twigs, hurrying through the trees toward her.

The nymph’s antennae jolt up with excitement.  “Wait!  Yes, oh, that’s perfect!  I’ll… call you…”

Daphne’s voice trails off.  The longer she stares, the more she notices it.  The Alpine Blue jumps in flickers, barely lifting from the ground despite its fluttering wings.  It’s so thin that it can only just be seen in the sunlight.  A tiny little mark.  A tear.

But even the tiniest tear is enough to twist the nymph’s stomach.  Her voice quavers.  “I…I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t AH!”

Another bright white flash sears through the air.  Daphne cringes back and covers her eyes, her antennae curling into her hair.  The dry scents of the nest threaten to drag her under even as she tells herself she isn’t there, that the air here is crisp and clean and-

“Hi, Daph!”  Spencer Harcourt climbs out of the bushes, rogue leaves sticking to his khaki shirt and shorts.  There’s a metal oblong in his hands, connected to a strap around his shoulders.  He’s holding it out toward her.  “Surprise! I got back early!”

“Spencer!”  Daphne’s breathing picks up and goosebumps prickle over her skin.  “Wh-what the Hell is that?”

She saw it.  She saw it.  Another mask, just like before.  He wants her to wear-

“It’s a camera, silly!  You know?  For taking pictures?”  He holds the object up, and all at once, the mask is gone.  Spencer turns the lens around as if inspecting it, before holding it back over his face.  “Here, I’ll show you!”

“Spencer, wait, no-”

But it’s too late.  Another flash from the lens sends her spiralling back into memories.  Daphne grimaces, shooting him a furious look, but all she gets in return is a giggle.

“Daphne, don’t give me that look!  We both know you don’t have stage fright!”

“Spencer, stop it!  It’s-”

“I order you to smile!”

Her lips bend back and upwards, revealing her teeth.  She keeps talking through it. “ - screwing with my head!  It hurts!  Just-”

“Say ‘cheese!’”

“Cheese!”  The word rolls off her tongue, mirroring her husband’s tone as another white flash attacks her mercilessly.

“Yes!  Perfect!  All good!”  Spencer’s voice returns to normal as he looks back, beaming.  “So, you were saying?”

Daphne forces her smile into a frown as the magic of the command fades.  “Stop with the flash!  My antennae are… sensitive-”

“Really?”  Spencer’s eyes sparkle.  He holds up the camera, brandishing it like a magic wand.  “That’s fascinating, Daph!  I never thought about how nymphs might - ”

“Just turn it off!”  Daphne holds up an arm, showing him her mud-stained outfit.  “You made me crash!”

“Crash?”  The wonder on his face abruptly fades.  Spencer drops the camera, letting it dangle from its strap as he hurries forward.  “Shit, shit, shit.  Are you okay?  Do you need help?”

“What?  No, I’m fine.”  Daphne hedges backward, her stomach twisting at his approach.  She’d spoken without thinking.  She should have known how he’d react.  “Just scratches, but - ”

“I’ll take you straight to the car!  I have a first aid kit!”  Spencer reaches out as he nears her shoulder.

“I said I’m fine - ”  Daphne hisses, recoiling from his hand.  He presses forward, his fingers brushing her arm.

“We’ll get you band-aids and check for bruises and - ”

“Don’t touch me!”  She screams, her wings flaring.  Spencer jumps back, each retreating to their own section of the churned-up lakeshore.

“Okay! Okay…”  He holds out his hands, eyes wide, smiling shakily.  “Nuh-nuh-not touching, not tuh-tuh-touching!  No more flash!”

Daphne can’t bring herself to return the expression.  “Good.”

She crouches and leans back over her butterfly, low enough to hide her eyes.  This time, she can hear Spencer coming up behind her.  His shadow falls over the lump of quartz.  “So… you brought out my bug gear after all!”

“Mmm.”

She can hear the excitement creeping back into his tone.  “It’s pretty! It’ll go great in our-”

“She’s not going in ‘our’ collection.”  Daphne cuts him off with a quick, dry laugh.  “I’m starting one of my own.”

Spencer tries to laugh with her, but it falters almost immediately.  “O…oh. Heh, okay!  That’s… that’s fine!  There’s plenty of space!  If you need any help with the pins or - ”

Daphne’s wings flutter, as if trying to shield the net.  She turns around, looking him in the eyes. “No thanks.  I’m not going to kill her, Spencer.  The dead ones are all yours.”

He can’t hold her gaze for long, but he does try to smile again.  It flicks on and off like a lightbulb, never settling into place.  “Ah.  So, what?  You’re just gonna keep her in a little box?”

“Fitting, don’t you think?”

Spencer’s expression plummets.  This time, Daphne allows herself a smile of her own before she turns back to the butterfly.

A few minutes of silent studying pass before Spencer finally finds the courage to kneel in the sand beside her.  “... You hurt the wing.”

“I know.”  Daphne’s smile fades.  The knot in her stomach doesn’t.

“She won’t be able to fly.”

“That’s… okay,” she says wistfully . “She’ll… find a way.”

Spencer speaks slowly, gauging her response as he goes.  “Daphne, you know butterfly wings don’t grow - ”

“I’ll be there for her,” Daphne interrupts.  “I’ll take care of her.  I’ve… I already picked her name.”

He offers a supportive smile as his hand rests on her arm.  “Of course you will, I - ”

“It’s ‘L Morgan’.”  She lets the name hang in the mountain air, beating down on them like the sun.  She mimes his voice, from long before.  “‘Do you like her?’”

“... Heh.”  At first, all her husband can get out is a nervous laugh.  “Uh… it’s… not a very… original name.”

Daphne folds her arms, her smile slowly returning.  “Still more original than yours.”

Spencer lets her go, tugging his shirt collar and turning to face the lake.  “Heheh… wuh-well, ta-ta-take your time.  I-I’ll be over by the cah-cuh-cuh-cuh-car.”

Four ticks before he got ‘car.’  Daphne’s grin takes on a sharp edge.  She really nailed him with that one.

He leans down, kissing her head like he always did before leaving.  “I love you, Daphne.”

Spencer Alexander Harcourt doesn’t order her to respond, so the nymph keeps her silence.  Instead, she sits, waiting impatiently for her husband to finally retreat from sight.  When she’s sure he’s gone, she pulls away the net with one careful hand and nudges L Morgan closer with the other.

“Here you go.  Come on up, it’s okay.”  Daphne sets her fingers against the rough surface of the rock, letting the Alpine Blue climb at her own pace.  Once she’s secure, Daphne rises, lifting the butterfly to her eyes.  She’s so small.  So fragile.  So… broken.

The longer she stares, the less Daphne Louise Harcourt feels like smiling.

“... I’m sorry, L.  I didn’t mean…”  She forces out a shaky breath.  There’s a slight tremble to her hand.  “I need you close.  I need you safe.  But I’m right here.  I’ll protect you, okay?  He’s never going to hurt you.”

One by one, the sounds of the world fade away.  The rustling leaves, the chirping birds, the wind whistling through the grass.  Her sights bends and blurs until there’s only L beneath this cloudless, sunny sky.  Nothing but L, her, and the phantom sounds of a long-gone rain.

Quiet and distant, like the tears on her face.

“I’ll never let him hurt you again,” she whispers.  “I promise.”

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