Chapter 4

I opened my eyes and saw nothing.

The void stretched out in every direction, endless and black, the same suffocating darkness I’d come to know across our many meetings. There was no sound, no wind, no ground beneath me, and yet I was standing. The silence pressed against my ears like hands cupped over them.

I didn’t panic. Not anymore. The first time I’d arrived here, I’d wandered blindly into the nothing, confused and afraid. Now I knew better and simply turned around.

There it was. The house, glowing softly in the void like a lantern in the deepest part of the ocean. The white picket fence circled the property in its neat little boundary, the wooden boards shimmering faintly as they always did. The stone path led from the gate to the front door, and the large tree stood beside the house, its branches heavy with glowing fruit that pulsed with a gentle inner light.

But the basket at the base of the tree was full. Overflowing, actually, the fruit stacked high and spilling onto the ground around it, each one glowing with that same warm radiance. I’d never seen it like that before. Every other time I’d been here, the fairy had been picking, plucking one piece at a time with the care and patience of someone who had all of eternity to tend her garden.

She wasn’t here.

I walked toward the fence, my steps making no sound against the void, and reached the gate. The latch lifted easily under my fingers, the same as it always had, and I stepped through, closing it behind me. The air inside the fence felt different, warmer, heavier, like stepping into a room where a fire had been burning for hours.

“Hello?” I called out.

My voice disappeared into the void beyond the fence, swallowed without an echo. Inside the yard, there was only the soft hum of the tree’s fruit and the faint shimmer of light coming from the house’s windows.

I walked around the tree, checking behind it, looking toward the sides of the house. Nothing. No glowing figure. No divine voice. No wings fluttering in the dark. The tree’s branches swayed slightly, though there was no wind, and a single piece of fruit dropped from a low branch, landing in the overflowing basket with a soft thud.

I stood there for a moment, hands at my sides, staring at the front door of the house. In every visit before this one, I had never gone past the yard. The fairy had always been outside, by the tree, waiting for me or pretending not to wait. The house had always been there, glowing, its windows casting rectangles of warm light onto the stone path, but I’d never thought to approach it. It had felt like a boundary, something I wasn’t supposed to cross. The fence was where we met. The yard was where we talked. The house was hers.

But she wasn’t here. And the last time I’d seen her, she told me to go to Sensluttia, and I’d gone to Sensluttia, and everything had gone to shit. I’d been imprisoned, tortured with words, and locked beneath a city of people who wanted me dead. I’d done exactly what she asked, and she wasn’t even here to tell me what came next.

I walked up the stone path to the front door. It was simple, the same pure white as the fence, as if it had been carved from light itself. The handle was the same, smooth and white, glowing faintly. There was no knocker, no peephole, no markings of any kind. Just a door.

I reached for the handle, half expecting it to burn my skin or lock itself or send me flying back into the void the way the fence gate had locked me in once before. My fingers wrapped around the cool handle and I turned it.

It clicked, and the door swung inward. The inside of the house was exactly what the outside promised. White. Everything was white.

The floor was smooth and seamless, the same luminous material as the walls and ceiling, as if the entire structure had been carved from a single block of solidified light. To my left was a sitting room with two white couches facing each other across a low white table. A fireplace sat against the far wall, and inside it burned a fire that was as white as everything else, the flames dancing and flickering but casting no shadows, producing warmth without smoke or sound.

To my right was a kitchen, small and tidy. White shelves lined the walls, holding white pots and pans and cups and plates, each one glowing faintly with the same light. A white kettle sat on a white stove. A white cloth was folded neatly on the counter. It was the home of someone who lived alone and kept things in perfect order because there was no one else to disturb them.

The air inside was warm and still, carrying a faint sweetness that reminded me of the fruit on the tree. It felt lived in, in a way the yard never had. This was where she actually existed.

“Hello?” I called again, softer this time. The sound didn’t vanish like it had outside. It bounced gently off the walls and faded naturally, the way a voice should.

No answer.

I moved through the sitting room, running my fingers along the back of one of the couches. It was soft, like touching a cloud. The white fire crackled silently in the hearth, its heat pressing against my skin as I passed.

At the back of the room, a staircase rose along the wall, the steps the same smooth white as everything else, curving gently upward to a second floor. I placed my foot on the first step and waited, half expecting the house to reject me, to send me tumbling back into the void. But nothing happened.

I climbed slowly, one step at a time. The staircase curved, and as I neared the top, the warmth of the house seemed to concentrate, the air growing thicker and sweeter. The landing at the top was narrow, with two doors on either side. One was closed. The other was slightly ajar, a sliver of soft light spilling through the gap, brighter than the rest of the house but not the blinding radiance I was used to from her.

Then I heard it.

A whimper. Soft, breathy, barely more than an exhale sound. Then another, followed by a shuddering gasp that caught in someone’s throat. The sounds were coming from behind the open door, the kind of noises someone makes when they believe they are completely alone.

I should have turned around. I should have gone back down the stairs, sat on one of those soft couches, and waited for her to come to me the way she always had. That would have been the respectful thing to do.

But I’d been locked in a dungeon, manipulated by a princess, told I was a monster, and crawled through a tunnel of freezing water to escape a city that wanted me dead, all because this fairy told me to go there. I was done waiting for her to come to me on her terms.

I pressed my fingers against the door and eased it open.

The room beyond was a bedroom. The walls and floor glowed with that same luminescence, the bed at the center was draped in sheets that shimmered between white and the palest silver, like moonlight woven into fabric. The bed was large, far too large for one person, and scattered with pillows that looked as soft as the couches downstairs.

And there she was.

For the first time since I’d met her, the fairy’s glow was dim. Not gone, but muted, pulled inward, as if she’d drawn her light beneath her skin to keep it hidden. What had always been a blinding radiance that made her features impossible to see was now a gentle shimmer, a soft luminescence that outlined her body rather than obscuring it. And for the first time, I could actually see her.

She was small. Her body barely longer than the pillows she lay against. Her frame was delicate, with narrow shoulders and a waist so slim I could have wrapped both hands around it. Her skin wasn’t white like the house, it was pale, yes, but warm, a living color, like cream touched by candlelight. Faint markings traced along her collarbones and down her ribs, patterns that looked like vines or flowing water, glowing just barely brighter than the rest of her skin.

Her hair spilled across the pillows and the sheets, pooling around her like liquid silver, catching light that didn’t seem to come from anywhere, yet everywhere.

Her wings were spread beneath her, pressed flat against the bed, their span wider than the bed itself, the tips hanging off either side. They were translucent, veined with light like stained glass. They twitched with every breath she took, every sound she made.

Her face was turned to the side, half buried in a pillow, her lips parted, her eyes squeezed shut. Her features were fine and sharp, high cheekbones, a small nose, a pointed chin that gave her an almost elfin look, though she was nothing like the high elves I’d come to despise. Her ears were long and tapered, extending past her hair, twitching faintly with each gasp.

Her breasts were a modest size, round and soft on her petite frame, the kind that fit her body perfectly without overwhelming it. Her nipples glowed a shade brighter than the rest of her skin, flushed and stiff. Her stomach was flat, her ribs faintly visible with each heaving breath, her hips narrow and smooth.

Her legs were spread across the silver sheets, her thighs parted, her knees bent slightly. One hand gripped the sheet beside her head, her tiny fingers twisted in the fabric, knuckles tight. The other hand was between her thighs, her slender fingers pressed against a slit so small and delicate it looked like it had been sculpted from porcelain. Her fingers moved in slow, trembling circles, her hips rocking in tiny, desperate motions against her own touch. The faint glow of her skin pulsed brighter with every circle, dimming when she paused to catch her breath, flaring again when her fingers resumed.

She let out another whimper, higher this time, her back arching slightly off the bed, her wings pressing flat, her toes curling. She was close to something, chasing it, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts that fogged faintly in the warm air.

She had no idea I was there.

I stood in the doorway, frozen, watching the most powerful being I’d ever encountered lying vulnerable and bare and aching on a bed of silver sheets, her divine body trembling from the work of her own fingers. The fairy who had blessed my cock, resurrected my friends, upgraded my body, and sent me across a continent, was lying in her bedroom, alone, touching herself.

I stepped into the room.

My bare feet made no sound against the glowing floor, but the air shifted around me, the warmth thickening, the sweetness deepening. I moved slowly, carefully, the way you approach something wild and beautiful that might vanish if startled. My eyes never left her. The way her fingers trembled between her thighs, the way her light pulsed in rhythm with her breathing, the way her wings twitched against the sheets like the heartbeat of something ancient and alive.

I reached the foot of the bed and stood there, looking down at her. She was even smaller up close. Her body was about 5’7” from head to toe, her limbs slender, her frame so slight that the bed seemed to swallow her. But there was nothing fragile about what she was doing. Her hips rolled with a quiet desperation, her fingers circling faster, her breath catching in her throat. A soft moan escaped her lips, the sound divine, musical even in its need, and her thighs pressed together around her hand before falling open again.

I placed a knee on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath my weight, barely, the surface giving like it was made of something between silk and water. But the motion was enough.

Her eyes flew open. They were the color of starlight. Not blue, not silver, not white, but something that held all three at once, shifting like the surface of a still lake reflecting the night sky. They were ancient and bright, and when they found mine, they widened with a shock so raw and unguarded that it stripped away every layer of divinity and mystery and power, and left behind nothing but a girl caught in her most private moment.

Her hand froze between her thighs. Her lips parted, a sharp intake of breath, and the glow beneath her skin flared bright for a single heartbeat before dimming again. Her wings stiffened against the bed, the translucent membranes going rigid, and I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse in the veins of light that ran through them.

“Human,” She whispered, and even now, even like this, her voice was a melody. But it was thinner than I’d ever heard it, stripped of its composure, trembling at the edges. “You ... you shouldn’t be in here.”

“Don’t stop.” I said.

Her starlight eyes searched mine, her chest rising and falling, her fingers still pressed against herself, motionless. I could see the conflict in her expression, the embarrassment, the vulnerability, the part of her that wanted to flash bright and send me flying back into the void. But beneath all of that, deeper than the divine power and the ancient wisdom, I saw something else entirely.

She wanted me to stay.

Her fingers began to move again. Slowly at first, barely a tremble, her eyes still locked on mine. Then faster, her hips rolling, her lips parting as a shaky breath escaped. Her glow pulsed, brighter, dimmer, brighter, matching the rhythm of her hand. She held my gaze the entire time, her starlight eyes burning with something between defiance and surrender, as if daring me to look away while simultaneously begging me not to.

I placed my other knee on the bed and crawled forward, moving between her legs. She didn’t close them. If anything, her thighs parted wider, her knees falling to the sides, her fingers still working in slow circles. As I moved closer, I could feel the warmth radiating from her body, a heat that wasn’t just temperature but something deeper, something that vibrated in my chest and made the blood rush to my cock.

She watched me crawl toward her, her ancient eyes tracking every movement, her breath quickening. When my shadow fell over her, her fingers finally stilled, and her hand slid away from herself, resting against her inner thigh, her fingers glistening faintly with her own wetness. Her slit was bare before me, tiny and perfect, the lips flushed a shade warmer than the rest of her skin, glistening with the evidence of what she’d been doing. It glowed faintly from within, pulsing with that same rhythm, as if her arousal was something visible, something made of light.

I lowered myself over her, my arms on either side of her body, my face above hers. She was so small beneath me. My chest cast her entire body in shadow, and her wings spread wider as if to compensate, the translucent membranes brushing against my arms, sending a tingling warmth across my skin.