2.
Moth
A wedding.
My lips quirk into a smile. For all the time wandering around this mortal plane, I never thought I would see the day. Heather has only been in my life for a short time; even still, I cannot imagine a day without her. I want to make this as special as she has dreamt of. Especially considering there are variables in our lives she never considered.She is a faerie, a bride— my bride.
Butterflies swell in my chest at the thought of seeing her dressed in something white with frills—my perfect confection. I am thankful she’s bonded so well with a seamstress like Widow. I have ensured her favorite items have been altered to accommodate her wings. Still, neither of us mind our space well and tend to bump into things around the cabin. She seems more comfortable now, especially with access to her full wardrobe.
And though I have not been permitted to see her gown before our wedding day, I know my flame would look like a goddess in anything. I trust Widow has created a garment that will complement her perfectly.
Yes. It seems wherever my flame goes, warmth follows. She has found comfort with my family and her friendships. She acts with an ease that I find admirable, aspirational even. Often, I am teased for my standoffish nature. Brooding, grumpy, even strange. In truth, I am most comfortable when I can simply observe. Both here and in the other realm. It is only Heather I feel I can be completely myself with.
Even after denouncing my title and crown, the mere act of thinking of Eclipsica has been challenging, to say the very least.
My memories of what life was like come back in hazy waves, flowing into pages of a novel I am convinced I will never finish. Despite endless conversations with Heather, I have a strange feeling that my past is a dream, and there is nothing before her.
“Brain Fog” is what Heather calls it, and it certainly is fitting. My mind is a swamp and my past lost in the marshy waters.
For a moment, I stand at the window and watch my flame disappear into the woods, Sprout following close at her heels. It is odd watching her go, knowing she’ll be a world away from me, if only for one night. The portal that my mother keeps under lock and key from the rest of the realm will bring her home safe, but that doesn’t relieve the uneasiness when I think of her so far from my reach.
Eclipsica should feel like home, and yet this is where I’m most comfortable, despite how cramped our living conditions have become. I do not regret returning, not in the slightest, but this cannot be home forever. Not while Heather is learning to stretch her wings and hone her skills. And this restlessness is not just my own. I have seen tabs on a website called Zillow pulled up on her phone when she thinks I am not looking.
I know my flame well enough to know when she is hiding a desire. And there is no desire I will leave unmet. Smirking to myself, I turn on the electric kettle. We have a rule against secrets, but a surprise after our wedding?
I hope it will be well received.
After I pour myself a blend of black tea and rose, I put a record on the player. It is a collection of old country songs, reminiscent of the radio signals I heard when I first arrived in this realm. How domesticated I’ve become since hiding in the bunkers of Point Pleasant, but then again, compared to royal life, it is quite simple.
A simple, quiet night. I’ll enjoy my cup of tea, the tasks laid before me, and thoughts of my love until her return.
“Knock, knock!”
I groan and place my cup down. Was a guest missing from Heather’s gathering? Everyone was accounted for, or so I thought, but then again, I was distracted. I move through the cabin, finding my glamour. It’s a small necklace with a charm of pearlescent gemstones. Any human would think it had been picked up at a boutique—not from the queen of the faerie’s personal collection. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I am assured my wings and antennae are indeed hidden. However, faerie magic can’t hide everything. There’s always a tell: claws that are too long, teeth too sharp. A glamour cannot hide my bright red eyes, which Heather has easily explained away as contacts.
Moving to the door, I open it, revealing my future mother-in-law. Strange, she was not set to arrive until tomorrow. But she is here, her bags overflowing with what appear to be florals and craft supplies. Wonderful.
“Am I too late?” she gasps. “Honey said that the party started at 7, and my flight—well, I changed it last minute, so I hope…”
She looks at the empty house.
“They already left, didn’t they?” she asks, her blue eyes large and glassy. She and Heather have had a rocky relationship but seem to have reached a healthy understanding of what it means to broadcast their lives online. Heather still deals with the repercussions of living her life in the flash of a cell phone, but as Marsha enters the house and puts her phone in the bin at our entryway, I am grateful for the growth she has shown.
I would not enjoy being vlogged .
“They did.” I nod. Considering the woman still doesn’t know the truth of my origin, I believe it might be for the best. A night in the Fae realm is a large revelation to spring on anyone.
“Well, maybe I can still catch them. Are they at that tavern or one of the girls’ houses?”
“I am afraid I do not have the address.”
“ How ?”
I blink, unsure how to respond.
“ Men .” She deflates, setting her bags down in the doorway before stepping past me into the cabin. I easily lift them, carrying them the rest of the way into the house. Huh … it seems she plans on staying here this evening.
This is an interesting turn of events.
“Just as well. I don’t think she wanted me to come, anyway,” she says. I do not know how to respond. From my understanding, none of our elders had been invited. Holly promised a small gathering.
“I do not know if it will bring you solace, but my mother is also not in attendance.”
She sighs.“I guess it’s alright for her to have a night with just her friends.” She shakes her head. “Not everyone wants to be sitting next to their mother at a strip club.”
A what? Reflexively, my eyebrow quirks, which is apparently a laughable gesture considering the way Marsha chuckles.
“Oh, come on, you know what happens at these things.” She ribs me with her elbow like we are a couple of old friends.
Apparently, I do not.
“At least let me help you with this mess.” She gestures to the unfinished centerpieces as she shrugs off her large pink coat. “I’m sure she’s told you how much I love a good craft project.” Marsha cracks her knuckles, seemingly ready to distract herself with the mess laid before us.
Moving to throw a log on the fire, I sigh. It appears I will not be spending a quiet evening alone after all.
This will not stand.
No, such a hideous mockery of my flame’s wishes cannot be, just days before our wedding. Not now, not ever. I pick one of the ribbons from the table, holding the plum strand between the tip of my claws.
“She specifically asked for burgundy,” I seethe.
“Sweetie, it all matches just fine.” Marsha bats away my worries with a flick of her wrist. For a moment, her hand passes through the glamour that hides my wings from sight, causing an uncomfortable tingle down my spine. My future mother-in-law, thankfully, does not seem to notice. “You need to relax.”
Relax.
Hah.
Relax. So says my future mother-in-law after she’s shown up two days early with the wrong color ribbon, and a hodge-podge of craft supplies I’m not sure what to make of.
How am I supposed to relax when the one task I was meant to complete has been bulldozed by this woman?
“Also, since when does the groom worry about any of this stuff?” She laughs. I cock my head, unable to gather the meaning from her words.
It is our wedding, and Heather has stressed its significance many times. I will do what I must to make it as wondrous as she imagines. Even if it means arguing with Marsha about the acceptable shade of ribbon, though I do not intend to treat her with anything other than respect. She is Heather’s mother, and will soon be my family as well. But as my bride is not here to defend her vision; it is a role I must not fail in.
Marsha skillfully blends the light purple ribbons in with the dark. I blink, watching the way the colors blend into something with more depth than just the one shade itself.
Perhaps this time she is right. Heather has always commended her mother’s craftiness, but it is something else to see it firsthand. Resigned, I copy the movement of her hands, weaving and tying the small ribbons around the mason jars that will eventually hold tea lights. Sure enough, they match just fine, and a small amount of tension falls from my shoulders.
“We really need to get you some more friends. Heather is out partying! You should be having a wild night with the guys, not making floral arrangements with your future mother-in-law.”
“I am content with the number of friendships I have at the present,” I say with a shrug. My life is more social than it has been in decades. And it is unsurprising: who would not want to bask in the glow of my flame? She seems to attract admirers and friends wherever we go, and I am happy to watch her effortlessly go into those relationships.We all have our talents. She is the light, and I am happy she joins me in the shadows each evening.
“As outgoing as ever.” She laughs, tying another ribbon around a mason jar. “But you’re cute. I’ll give Heather that.”
“Honestly, I didn’t really need to come early, did I?” She rises from the table, “You two probably could handle all this before the wedding day. I never thought she’d want something so small. Then again, this whole thing came out of left field. I never thought she’d want to step out of the spotlight. I’m glad she did though…”
Words I never thought I would hear Heather’s mother say.
“You are?”
“Well, yeah!” She smiles. “Who knew she’d find such a handsome man to settle down with—and crafty too!” After admiring my handiwork on the centerpieces, her gaze picks up as she appraises the large archway in our small living room. It still requires the addition of fresh flowers. Mother is having them brought in from the garden. I would be happy to get married surrounded by just the trees, but it’s been touching for Heather to see everyone come together to make our day special, and I love to see her smile.
“She’s happy with you,” Marsha says taking on a more serious tone. “Frankly, I’ve never seen her so happy. Not in a long time, at least. A few missing details will not change that.”
“Your daughter is everything to me.”
“Good,” she says. “God, I’m going to have the most beautiful grandchildren one day.”
My flame has always said that her mother takes only five minutes to ruin a heart-to-heart moment. I think we nearly made record time on this attempt.
“Still, I’m surprised, these life changes are all fast for her.” She shakes her head. I can understand the apprehension. Her only child is marrying a man she herself has not come to know. Marsha and I have spent very little time together. I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity to bond with her.
“The phrase I have heard Heather use is ‘when you know you know.’ And I believe it is the correct sentiment,” I offer, wondering how long this conversation will persist.
“But I don’t even think I know your last name.” She squints as if staring at me long enough will make it reveal itself to her. The name “Prince Moth of Eclipsica” would be just as strange to reveal as “Mothman.”
“I plan on taking hers, mine is of no consequence,”I reply easily.
“A modern man.” Marsha laughs. “The invitations were pretty informal as well…”
She is clearly digging for information—a predicament indeed. Secrets will be told in time. But, it is important they come from Heather’s lips.Marsha is her mother, after all.
Sprout pushes his way through the door, whining and spinning in circles, scratching at my leg—a signal for me to follow.But why? I stand. The room spins for a moment as my second form begs to burst free of the bindings of flesh. It is possible the magic of my glamour is the only thing keeping me in this human form on my bones.
There is an urgency to his barking that makes my hair stand on end. His very presence here does not bode well, and the creature inside me begs to spread its wings.
“You will excuse me,” I say—an order, not a question—and I curse myself for not having more social grace. But Marsha just laughs, telling me to take Sprout for his “walkies.”
While I am glad she does not follow, the persistence of Sprout’s bark as he shepherds me toward the forest makes every fear I have for my flame’s safety come to the forefront of my mind.
Something is wrong.