Fairy Bride: Epilogue (Patreon)

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London, July 2023
Two Years Later…

The world of a butterfly is so small.  Nothing but the stem of a flower, its colourful, wind-swept petals, and the heavy soil packed beneath.  All the rest - hundreds of ferns and blossoms, chirping birds and canvases of grass - is lost.  Such a small creature can’t comprehend its place in a garden, its flower just a planet in the sweeping constellation.

But the man who observes her can.  Just like he sees every worm and beetle and darting dragonfly.  His smile is wide and vibrant, his face level with the butterfly’s wings.  Flashing the same bright colour as his eyes.

A calm and shining blue.

Spencer Harcourt, the Honourable MP for Henley and sitting Minister of Media Affairs, briefly considers reaching for that small creature.  To observe her closer, to make sure she stays.  But only for a moment, before he steps away, taking a deep breath of summer air.  Even if she leaves, the butterfly will come back.  He’s offering all that she needs.

And thousands of little friends have come back before her.

A chirp from his mobile calls his attention.  Spencer has to scroll through all his notifications to reach it.  Party emails and press statements. New soil orders and reminders for therapy.  Briefly, his thumb lingers on the app that shows his wife has left Trafalgar Square.  But only so he can swipe it away.

That old tracker hasn’t been checked in months.  He really ought to delete it.

It’s a text from Chloe, who never takes the hint that Saturdays are off.  Her tone is confused and frightened, describing some unaddressed letters that arrived with completely illegible writing.  No, he tells her, it’s not anthrax.  And calling the police won’t help any.  He’ll pick the letters up before tonight, for the surprise he’ll give his wife at dinner.

Spencer takes a moment to study each picture she sends, recognising the sigils from memory.  The horned beast of Glaphyra, the gilded apples of Messene.  The largest sigil of all shows a series of spiralling vines.  Xylia.

Spencer smiles, unsurprised.  His ‘contact’ in that Grove has been very excited to offer Daphne some Dryad hospitality.

A distant sound pulls him away.  Tires on gravel, an engine slowing down.  Spencer shoves the phone away nervously; they’re earlier than they’re supposed to be.  Did something happen?  Should he worry?  Just as quickly, he remembers the exercises.  Takes a slow, deep breath.  Focuses on his heart.  It’s very likely nothing, he reminds himself.  After all…

… she left with good company.

“Spencer!”

He hears her before he sees her, calling out as she hurries around the garage.  Then she’s in view - smiling, her sandals in one hand, rainbow paint on her cheeks and pride pins on her bag.  A gust of wind catches her sun hat and sends it tumbling; she laughs, her bright yellow skirt billowing as she races towards him.

Spencer opens his arms, and in a moment, she’s hugging him, the hat left to drift to the garden unnoticed.

“Whoa!  Easy, easy!”  Spencer wobbles, struggling to keep from stepping back on the sunflowers. “I just planted-”

He’s cut off by her laugh.  Daphne looks up with those bright eyes and pulls him in for a kiss.  Spencer lets the moment pass, warmth flooding his body.  They pull apart at the same time, together.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting!”  He giggles, setting her down.  “How was the Parade?  Everything that you’d hoped for?”

“Better.  It was amazing!”  Daphne looks up at the sky, faint lights flashing in her hair as Spencer removes the glamour.  She starts speaking quickly.  “There were so many people, and they all knew my name and wanted my picture and oh my gosh, Spencer!  You should have seen it!  You should have been there!”

“And steal your spotlight?”  He smiles.  “Never.”

He lets her butterfly pendant fall to the grass, pressing a hand to her back.  Feeling the silken strands of her long silver hair as antennae pop out and her wings emerge.

“Besides,” he grins.  “I had business to attend to.”

“What business?”  She gasps in indignation when he winks at her.  “No!  You can’t do that!”

“It’s a surpriiiiiise.”

“It’s against the rules, you have to tell me!”  She laughs.  “Do I need to bring out the fine print?”

“Well if you can just wait for dinner…”  He pauses, turning around when he hears another’s footsteps.  “Afternoon, Mr. Evans!”  He calls out.  “Sounds like you had a good time?”

“Evenin’,” the figure quietly replies.  His arms are crossed and he keeps his distance.  It makes it hard to see the transgender flag draped around his shoulders.  But Spencer can still make out the mohawk, and a goatee that’s grown into a full beard.  He stares directly into the man’s rich, dark eyes.

And meets Ian’s scowl with an awkward smile.

“Need anyfin’ before I go, Dee?”  Ian asks.

Daphne turns back, smiling wistfully.  “No, I’m all good!  Tell Trys and Mads I said hi!”

“Sure fing. Shame you can’t see ‘em yerself.”  He gives Spencer a final glare.  It’s hatred.  A pure, straightforward, and ever-present hatred.  Spencer admires it; at least this way, they don’t have to pretend to be polite.  He knows that Ian will always think of him as a villain.

He knows that Ian probably isn’t wrong.

But it doesn’t make him want to panic.  He’s not going to hide, or ban Daphne from speaking.  No.  He’ll take it, standing tall.  He’s not afraid of how others see him.

Not when the one that matters is nestled in his arms.

“Keep outta trouble, Dee.”  Ian spins around.

“Goodbye!”  Daphne waits for him to leave, then sighs.  “Sorry.  I…told him something I probably shouldn’t have, and he got all freaked out that you had me spellbound.”

“Shhhh, it’s fine.”  Spencer leans down. “I’m glad somebody came with you.  It seems like Pride was safe, but there’s all sorts of people-”

She puts a finger to his lips.  “Spencer, I think-

…I think it’s time.”

Spencer feels his heart race.  His eyes grow wide.  Daphne stops, and starts again.

“There were lots of families there.  With tons of little kids, and I… if they could do it…”

“Darling,” he swallows, trying to think of the best way to deflect this.  “We only just finished counselling.”

“And it went great!”

“I-I still have EMDR-”

“And I know you’re gonna smash it.”

“I-I’m juh-just wuh-worried…”  He winces at his speech.  “Thuh-that we’re nuh-nuh-not-”

“Spencer, relax.  It’s okay to stutter, remember?”

He breathes in her advice, feels the stutter fade.  “What if we start, and it goes wrong?  What if I hurt-”

“It won’t go wrong, and it won’t hurt.”  Daphne speaks quietly, taking his hand.  “It’s been months since I’ve heard the rain.”

He feels her soft skin as she rubs each of his fingers, squeezes between them.

“I’m not scared, Spencer.”  She looks up.  “Are you?”

He feels a heat rush to his cheeks, looks back at the house, then nods.  “Okay.  When?”

“Now.”

“Now?”  He snorts.  “Daphy-doo, you can’t put that on me now.  I’m in the middle of-”

“It can wait thirty minutes.”  Daphne rubs his arm.  “Come on.  I got home early for this.”

He smirks sarcastically.  “You nymphs and your needs-”

“Cram it!”  She pushes into him with a grin.  They laugh together, before she tugs his sleeve.  “And I want to do it… in there.”

She points to the sun-speckled glass of the greenhouse dome.

Spencer lifts a brow.  “Why?  So we can feel muggy and gross?”

She shrugs.  “Maybe it’ll put us in the mood.”

They both chuckle, but it doesn’t hide the truth.  He looks at her earnestly.  “... The history?”

“I want it gone.  Forever.”  She looks at him sternly.  “Feels like the best way is with a memory of my own.”

Carefully, thoughtfully, Spencer slides his arm over her shoulder.  She doesn’t twitch.  “Then that’s all I need.”

With a final glance, they bid farewell to the garden, the butterflies and their little worlds.  Walking towards the greenhouse with a new confidence.  They’ve spent two years fostering tiny lives.

Now, they can create one of their own.

For the first time she can recall, the woman now called Daphne Louise Harcourt sees her husband’s body in the light.  Unhidden by padding, hatred, or fear.  It’s so much larger than hers, so seemingly invincible compared to her tiny, pale frame.  But it wasn’t going to stop them.

None of their differences would.

The air of the greenhouse is lush, so unlike that cold, storm-shrouded collection they had lost themselves in.  Before sunlight streaked through the roof, or vines looped around the walls, Daphne thought everything she was, is, and will be died here.  That she would never love him.  That he could never care.  That their history was too painful to mend.

That this day would be a nightmare, instead of something she dreamt for.

Spencer and Daphne strip off their clothes, and hold each other close.  Not as Kept and Keeper, or owner and slave.  Not even as fae and human. But as two people who, in this moment, are brave enough to be together.

As Daphne sinks into Spencer’s arms, she looks into his eyes and smiles.  He smiles, too.  For all that was taken, and never returned.  For all that was lost, and once again found.

Today, after five years, they rise.  Higher, and higher, and higher, until they reach a place they’ve never known.

A place she could always touch.
A place he could never take.
A place where their love belongs.

Ensemble, ils s’envolent
Together, they soared

Hey guys.  Lehanna here, one last time.  Looks like Spencer and Daphne’s journey is finally over.  Thank you so much being part of it <3

While with this story, we say farewell to Spencer, Daphne will continue to have more adventures in another world.  Wanna see what would happen if she escaped Spencer?  Then stay tuned for more information about Imago, Chrysalis’ long-awaited Part 2.

Until then, thanks for stopping by, and remember, always, that love can overcome