Chapter 60: Asher

Behind the double doors, the room revealed itself to be a greenhouse. And what a greenhouse it was!

It was sublime: a mirrored-glass ceiling reflected the natural light from the bay window that extended all the way in, multiplying every ray into soft, almost liquid shards that slid over the foliage like a caress.

Flooded with vivid colours, the place vibrated with lush plant life, where other pixies fluttered in the distance, tracing luminous trails through the air, as if every one of their movements left behind a dusting of starlight.

Thanks to the reflections on the ceiling, Blanche could see two versions of it at once—one real, the other suspended above her, perfectly inverted, like a mirrored paradise refusing to choose between sky and earth.

But that wasn't all. The further she walked, the more the greenhouse revealed itself, stretching far beyond what the exterior suggested. Natural arches formed by thick, flowering vines created secret passages between overflowing flowerbeds of improbable shapes—some translucent, others almost phosphorescent, all outrageously perfect, to the point of becoming suspicious.

At the centre, a body of water opened like a breath. A wide, natural pool bordered by pale stones and soft moss, where the water—indecently clear—shifted between turquoise and emerald depending on the angle of the light. Fine waterfalls slid down plant-covered rocks, feeding the basin in a continuous, soothing murmur—almost too perfect to be believable.

Pixies flew over the surface, brushing the water with their fingers or wings, causing faint ripples that shimmered outward, as if the pool itself reacted to their presence. Some seemed to be playing, others working, carrying tiny fragments of pollen or adjusting petals with meticulous seriousness that contrasted deliciously with their size.

Even the air felt different. Softer, denser, filled with layered scents—flowers, water, something indefinable—so much so that it felt like she was breathing in a living, almost conscious place.

An oasis. No—an enchanted oasis, outrageously perfect, the kind of place that made you want to surrender to it... while also wondering, very seriously, what the price for such beauty might be.

"Asher, can we be overheard here?" she asked, stopping a little further in.

He scanned the surroundings with a light flutter of flight, weaving between the plants before returning in front of her, wings the only thing in motion.

"No. Why?"

"Because you're going to have to explain to me how a pixie becomes... one of us."

He stood there, mouth agape, dropping a few centimetres before shooting back up again, flapping frantically as if his own body had momentarily forgotten how to behave. In the process, he released a burst of violet and green dust that scattered into the air in shimmering trails, almost hesitant, as if even they weren't entirely sure what had just happened.

He hovered there a second too long, frozen in a mix of shock and miniature panic, then tried to recover his composure with touching seriousness... which rather failed to hide the fact that he had clearly been thrown off balance.

"How?" he stammered.

"Living beings only have one aura. Just one. And I can see them. So I know you're Nicky."

"You... you could keep my secret?" he whispered, sheepish.

"The others don't know?"

Asher shook his head.

"You're the only one."

"How do you change size, then?"

"I can't. That's the whole problem. Here I'm a pixie, over there just a human."

"Like Glen? Vampire here and not there?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"And he's your boyfriend, right? I mean..."

"I know what you mean," he cut in. "He searched everywhere for me without realising I was right under his nose. But... we can't really do anything together, given my size, so I prefer to let him be."

"I see..."

She looked at him sadly. He smiled, heart heavy.

"I'm still glad you're here," he added, voice shaking. "I was tired of being alone."

She would have liked to hug him. Impossible. Of course. As if the universe had decided it would be too simple, too human, too logical. So she gently placed her finger against his tiny cheek, with that slightly absurd care one reserves for something precious and fragile, as if the wrong breath might send him tumbling into another dimension.

He leaned into it, releasing a cloud of sparkling dust, completely unaware of the effect it had on her. A small, ordinary gesture for him—yet from the outside, it looked like a form of disarming affection, almost naïve, and therefore inevitably unfair. As if it were easy, for him, to be this effortlessly endearing.

She stayed still for a second too long. Because there was nothing spectacular about it, and that was precisely the problem. Nothing grand, nothing theatrical—just that tiny contact... and somehow it was enough to tighten her chest in a way that felt entirely unreasonable.

He leaned into it again, grateful for the attention, shedding a little more dust.

"Count on me," she said. "For anything."

He tilted his head, with that deliberate slowness that always made it seem as though he weighed every movement, even the smallest ones. His violet eyes here, tinted by the magic in the air, closed for a brief moment before he steadied himself, as if something had slipped beneath the surface and he didn't quite want to linger on it—or couldn't afford to.

That's why no one recognised him: in his "real" form, his eyes were a vivid red. A detail that, in theory, was almost trivial... except that in practice, it made any attempt at identification completely futile. Between reflections, magical distortions, and shifts like this, it was almost a miracle anyone could be certain of anything in this place.

And yet he stood there calmly, as if that detail too was just part of the scenery.

"In that case... follow me," he whispered. "You won't want to miss this. And above all: not a word."