Brew 8

Aria’s heart sank into her stomach as the villagers stared at her. Their eyes filled with confusion, uncertainty, wondering who, or what, she really was. Her delicate pointed ears were exposed and her pale skin gleaming under the midday sun.

Blaise watched, a pit of guilt rising in his throat as Aria scrambled to pull the cloak’s hood over her head.

“Aria,” he whispered, reach out for her hand.

She gasped, flinching. Her palm slapped his away, eyes wide with fear. Tears pooled as her breathing grew uneven. She clutched the cloak to her chest, shaking, trying to vanish into its folds. Without a word, she turned and ran. The villagers stepped aside as she fled back into the forest – into her haven.

“Aria!” Blaise called after her, but before he could follow, a firm grip caught his wrist. He turned sharply, ready to push it off – until he saw her.

Mama.

He froze. She looked up at him with calm eyes, her hand warm but unyielding. “Mama, let go,” he pleaded. “Please. She’s not dangerous.”

Still smiling, Mama brought both his hands into hers and gently tugged him down. Blaise knelt, eyes locking with hers. They brimmed with kindness and understanding.

“She’s just had a fright,” Mama said, voice soft. “Give her a moment.” #

“But-”

“She needs space. And you need tea,” she added finality, turning and pulling him towards her home.

Blaise let himself be led, surprised by Mama’s ease. She hadn’t panicked at Aria’s reveal. In fact, she seemed…at peace with it.

Mama’s cottage sat neat the village entrance. Modest, warm and filled with the smell of flour and fruit. Blaise took a seat in the living room as the kettle hissed in the kitchen.

“She’s called Aria, yes?” Mama asked her back still turned, keeping a close eye on the kettle.

Blaise nodded, his voice low. “Yes.”

The kettle whistle, steam coming from the spout. Mama poured the hot water into two small cups, the scene of tea leaves rising between them. She walked carefully to the living room, handing one to Blaise before taking a seat opposite him. The steam curling from the cup as she stirred it with her spoon.

“She’s a fae, isn’t she?”

Blaise hesitated, then gave a stiff nod. Stories warned him of fae, he’s grown up fearing them and yet, here he was, the culprit behind bringing a fae into their village. He expected a scolding from Mama and yet, her calm deminer never wavered.

Mama smiled. “She’s beautiful,” she said matter-of-factly, finishing stirring her tea. “My father used to tell me stories of the fae in the forest. I thought I would never see one myself.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Blaise’s voice cracked as he thumped his chest with an open hand. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I just... I wanted her to see more. I thought—”

The tears interrupted him, making him unable to finish what he so desperately wanted to say.

Mama’s tone shifted. She set her cup down and lifted his chin with one finger. “Stop defending yourself,” she said gently. “You’re speaking like you regret it.”

“But I do,” Blaise whispered.

Mama shook her head. “If we never risks, we will never know what is beyond the forest.” #

Blaise let out a weak laugh through his tears. “You’re really not afraid of her?”

“Of course not,” Mama placed on her chest to mock offense. “She walked into that village, she had every chance to choose mischief. But she didn’t. She chose joy. She ate, danced and laughed. That’s not the work of a threat, child. That’s someone who is trying to belong.”

Blaise blinked, slowly piecing it together. She was right, Aria hadn’t recoiled from the world – until it recoiled from her. He stood, quickly gulping down his tea. “Thank you mama,” owed slightly as he put the cup on the table.

“Perhaps next time you visit,” Mama smiled as she watched Blaise walk through the door. “I will prepare three cups.”

Blaise’s walk back from the cottage was slow. Deciding he would take his time, allowing the fresh air to help clear his head. He trailed along the path that sat on the edge of the forest, the sounds of the village fading behind him. Though the passed by the same trees, the trees that stood tall and still, and walked the path he knew like the back of his hand, everything felt different somehow.

By the time he entered the door to him home, he felt worn out. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, leaning against it for a moment as Mama’s words echoed his mind.

“She chose joy.”

After a few deep inhales and exhales, he moved, settling down at his desk. The paperwork that once littered his office now all in boxes ready for his move to the capital soon. He smiled looking up to the forest before him wondering if Aria was watching him. Or if she was hiding? Was she okay?

He didn’t have the answers. But with those questions in mind, he picked up his quill—and began to write.