Adras

"So... how many stories have you heard of faeries?"

Morel is a talkative person, a welcome change to Winter, however unfamiliar it is. I'm not that used to being talked to so avidly, to have someone so invested in the little happenings of my life and the curiosities of my mind. It's refreshing just as much as it is strange.

"Well... I've heard many," I respond, tilting my head. I watch the flowers we go past. They sway in the breeze, and I can swear that I see faces in their petals, but the moment I look a second time, they are gone. "My mother did buy me a few books about faeries from the local library in Tahthian. But they were more horror stories than they were informative."

Morel looks shocked at this information. "Horror?! By the stars, that's not good. Faeries aren't that bad." He smiles a little and looks at me, which sends a thrill down my spine I cannot explain and am frankly afraid to unpack. "Well. Sometimes."

I smile back at him and duck my head. His gaze is intense and bright and blue, crystalline and obscure in its strangeness. I recall Winter's furiously burning gaze, and I wonder if all faeries have eyes that pertain to vicious and wild nature.

Winter is the burning quiet of the snow, paired with that icy frostiness of icicles. Sharp, harsh, and prickly. But also enticing. While all of his body and exterior form is icy and vicious and sharp, unable to be touched comfortably - his eyes are the warmth of autumn, and are warmer than I had expected. His exterior warms and thaws when combined with the shade of those brilliant eyes.

And Morel... Morel, I suppose, is rather different. His hair is not black, I have realised, but a dark shade of green-blue. His eyes are bright and cutting and yet somehow caring and welcoming. A bright crystalline blue, a diamond hovering in midair, catching the light of a thousand fracturing jewels.

His body is warm, his appearance is caring but somehow kept in check. He holds himself not with the poise Winter does, but with the grace of a carefree soul. But also with a rigidity of a carefree soul trapped and confined.

"Here you go. This is your place." He gestures forward to a pale white door. Everything here is somewhat white-washed, and I need to squint to see some things. It's beautiful regardless of its appearance.

And it is not daytime here. Only night. The Court of Stars will always have stars.

Morel opens the door, and I am flooded with the scent of spearmint and a faint undertone of cinnamon. It's a beautiful room, I notice as I enter, and I'm dumbfounded just by the amount of space I'm given. The bedroom itself is the size of my living room and kitchen back at... back at home.

A pang in my chest, and I blink quickly to rid my eyes of burning. I look back at Morel. "Thank you. It's... it's very big." I manage a laugh at that. It's a rather pathetic thank you.

Morel doesn't seem to think so. He waves a hand and walks inside, picking up a water glass. It shines and picks up different colours from the open windows. It reminds me of the jewel trees. "Well, I suppose it would be. You can do what you want here! Just, try not to destroy anything. I don't think Winter would be too thrilled."

His smile is radiant where Winter's is harsh and unsure. His hands are gentle as they place the glass back on the table, as opposed to Winter's cutting motions. Morel is an entirely different person, and yet I feel just as comfortable with him.

I walk over to the bed, on the far side of the room. I place a hand on the blanket, a furry thing, soft and plush. I smile as I run my hands across it, the feeling familiar and warm.

Morel walks over to the window and leans out. His hair flicks in the wind, and I think it may be my imagination, but I think his hair goes a little lighter. "I hope you like it here. I know it's unfamiliar, but... but maybe you can call it home one day."

I blink at him in surprise. I suppose one day I could call it home. Only time will tell.

But I know I don't belong here. These faeries are beautiful and wild and serene, a pinnacle of nature. They are part of nature, they move with it, they do not disturb it. But I do. I wouldn't expect anything else from me, of course, since I am not a faerie. But it's painfully noticeable how different I am.

Morel moves and takes my hand. I am caught by surprise so much that I practically jump and rip my hand away.

But he holds my hand tightly, and does not let go. When I calm, I notice how much rougher it is than I first thought. It is calloused, a worker's hand, a hand I can relate to. It's human.

"Come on. I'm going to show you the garden. And... Adras," he says softly, his voice gentle but vividly different, "If you're ever unsure or upset, you can call me." He smiles, a crooked a smile that cracks up his face and makes him look bright and happier than I've ever seen anyone before.

I blink in surprise, my fingers moving to hold his hand right back. The top of his hand is surprisingly soft, populated with ice-cold plants that wind around his fingers. "Ok... I will. Thank you, Morel."

He seems taken aback at what I've said, and it takes me a moment to realise that he's surprised I said his name. He blinks a few times, crystalline bright blue eyes flashing with emotion I cannot recognise so quickly, and then laughs.

A raw laugh, bright and so unabashedly happy. It makes my insides curl into a ball, just at the sound of it.

Morel tugs me forward, and toward the door. "You'll have centuries to explore this room. But I want to show you the garden."

"The... garden?" I ask, blinking in confusion. I didn't see much out the front, but then again, I am no faerie. There could have been things all over.

"Yes. It's a lovely place." Morel hums a tune as he tugs me along. He walks with a spring in his step, as if he's excited to get somewhere but isn't prepared to run. "It's my sanctuary. If you can't find me, I'll be there."

He laughs again, a sweet bright laugh that makes all my insides coil and uncoil in record speed. I ignore the sensation, and I watch as he leads me down to marble steps, out into this large mansion I barely even looked at on our way to my room.

He doesn't let go of my hand as he leads me down the steps and onto a rocky pathway. I don't mind. When I look down at our hands, I notice the plants. They're not just on his hand anymore.