Chapter 90 - Part 1

Chapter 90 - Part 1
Kate
\[1/2\]

When things finally calm down a little, Ashleen sprawls out on the soft rug near the bed, lying on her stomach, drawing crooked shapes in the air with her fingers—maybe practicing what she learned earlier. Dan stays where he is, seated beside me on the edge of the bed, his body relaxed only on the surface.
Niv’leen had stepped out without giving us any explanation, but suddenly he’s back, leaving the door open behind him.
“Oh,” he says, as if he were simply picking up an interrupted conversation, “I almost forgot to explain an important detail.”
Ashleen lifts her head immediately.
“The pearlescent flowers,” Niv continues, more serious now, “aren’t just part of the celebration, or merely a special yearly event. They’re functional.”
I slowly cross my arms, feeling a familiar weight settle in my chest. Dan tilts his head slightly, attentive.
“When they bloom,” Niv explains, “the light of the Pearled Moon rekindles Tir na nÓg’s natural defenses. It’s an ancient cycle. The flowers absorb magic, reflect it back into the roots of the Mother Tree, and reinforce everything. Barriers, veils, paths that were never meant to be found.”
He makes a vague gesture with his hand, as if it were all too simple to require a map.
“Normally it happens modestly,” he adds. “But not tonight.”
I don’t need to ask why. I feel Dan’s gaze slide toward me—quick, almost too careful. There’s no accusation there.
“With the recent reinforcement,” Niv says, choosing his words carefully, “the flowers should bloom in greater numbers. More light. More duration.”
Ashleen suddenly sits up. “So it’s like… a party that makes everything more protected?”
Niv smiles at her. “Exactly that, you little menace.”
She practically vibrates, hugging her knees, completely sold on the idea.
I stay quiet. There’s something strange about knowing that a choice of mine now pulses through the roots of an entire place. Not as sacrifice, but as support. It doesn’t hurt to think about—just scares me a little.
Dan only murmurs, “As long as it’s not negligence dressed up as celebration…”
Niv laughs. “Always so optimistic…”
He claps his hands once, the sharp, precise sound cutting through the air like a magical snap.
“All right,” he says, far too cheerful for someone who was just talking about barriers. “Enough serious talk. We’ve got a celebration to prepare.”
I don’t have time to ask what exactly he means by that, because I quickly understand the reason for Niv’leen’s disappearance. The bedroom door flies open on its own, pushed by a current of perfumed wind, and suddenly the space fills with wings. So many wings. Small ones, large ones, translucent, shimmering. Fairies appear from every direction—through the windows, from between the roots, some practically sprouting from the living wood of the Mother Tree itself.
The room stops being a room and turns into a whirlwind.
Fabrics appear out of nowhere, floating like tamed clouds. Soft greens, cream, gold, and lilac. Flowers bloom in midair before even touching the ground, pearlescent petals reflecting the light as if each one held a fragment of the moon inside it. Threads of light are braided like yarn, invisible needles working with absurd precision.
Ashleen lets out an excited squeal and jumps to her feet.
“Is this for us?” she asks, spinning in place, her curls following the motion.
“Of course it is,” replies one of the fairies, already orbiting my sister like a tiny luminous satellite. “The Pearled Moon doesn’t happen every day.”
Ashleen laughs, enchanted, stretching out her arms without a shred of self-consciousness, completely surrendering to the magic. Fabrics begin to settle around her as if they know exactly where they belong. Flowers weave themselves into her hair on their own—delicate, alive.
I take a step back on pure reflex.
“Wait,” I say, raising my hands. “Hold on. We can talk first—”
Too late.
Two fairies immediately surround me, one examining my hair with a critical expression, the other touching my clothes as if wearing them were a crime I’d committed against the universe.
“No,” one of them declares. “This won’t do.”
“But I’m comfortable,” I try to argue, already feeling a light fabric being draped over my shoulders.
“Comfort is relative,” the other snaps back. “To behold our beloved Pearled Moon, the minimum requirement is elegance.”
I throw an almost pleading look at Dan.
He’s still there, in the same spot, arms crossed, watching everything with an expression that mixes alertness, disbelief, and a very clear I do not belong to this plane of existence. But I catch the corner of his mouth twitching, like he’s holding back a laugh.
His shadows pull in and stretch subtly, unsettled by the excess of light.
For a second, it makes me want to laugh too.
Niv, however, misses nothing. He tilts his head, studying Dan with renewed interest, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“…You’re looking too much,” he remarks.
Dan raises an eyebrow. “They’re literally being attacked by fairies. Looking is the bare minimum.”
Niv scoffs and floats a little higher. “But you’re a man. You shouldn’t be here while we fix up the two of them!”
“And are you a female fairy, by any chance?”
“I’m not, but I’m still a fairy. I don’t care about those things.”
Dan opens his mouth to respond, but doesn’t say anything. He knows there’s no point arguing.
Suddenly, the fairies change course. Like a swarm far too organized to be accidental, they surround Dan all at once. Lights flash, wings beat rapidly, and his shadows bristle on the floor like irritated cats.
“Out, dragon! Out!” they shout.
“Hey, stop that!” he starts, jumping to his feet and raising his hands to fend them off. “You want me out? I’ll go!”
“Great!” Niv wiggles his fingers in farewell, amused. “But don’t worry, my dear mystical iguana. You won’t stay ugly like this.”
“Ugly?” Dan growls, while one fairy tries to touch his horn and another assesses his hair length with suspicious enthusiasm.
His shadows writhe, complaining, but don’t strike.
Niv claps his hands again. “Exactly! Ugly like a badger brawl.” He points toward the door with a grin far too wide. “Go find the fairies outside. They’ll know how to work with… well… you.”
Dan blinks. “Work with me how?”
“Oh, lizards deserve a makeover too,” Niv replies, just like that.
Before Dan can form any coherent argument, the fairies quite literally start pushing him toward the door. Not violently, but insistently enough to make resistance pointless.
“This is ridiculous,” he protests, while his shadows slide along the floor, offended.
“You’ll thank me later,” Niv assures him.
The last thing I see before the door closes is Dan looking back at me over his shoulder—resigned, almost offended, as if he were being dragged off to some cruel fate. I cover my mouth with my hand, laughing, and at the same time feeling a strange chill settle in my stomach. Curiosity and anticipation, like something is about to change and I don’t yet know whether I’m ready… or whether I even want to be.
The room keeps moving until, little by little, the chaos begins to organize itself around a single point: Ashleen.
The fairies step back in unison, obeying an invisible choreography, and the air around her stills. The dress forms gradually—not all at once—as if it wants to be seen being born. First, a light, almost transparent fabric that falls in soft layers over her small body. Then floral details sprout along the skirt, not sewn but alive, opening petals that reflect the light. It’s too delicate. Too beautiful. Too right.
Ashleen remains perfectly still, eyes wide, maybe afraid to move and break the spell. The dress adjusts without constricting, respecting every childish curve, every still-uncertain movement. The sleeves are light, falling loose, and when she lifts her arms just a little, the flowers move with her, following the gesture.
“Kate…” her voice comes out small, almost unsure.
One of the fairies glides to stand in front of her and, with a gentle motion, conjures a tall mirror framed in living wood, adorned with thin roots and tiny points of light. The reflection opens before Ashleen like a portal. She looks. For a second, she doesn’t react. Then she brings both hands to her mouth.
“Is that me?” she asks, in a whisper that barely reaches my ears.
My chest tightens so hard I have to breathe slowly to keep from falling apart right there. In the reflection, I see not only my sister dressed like a princess from ancient stories, but something that cuts deeper: her whole. Alive. Glowing. No ice. No pain. No fear.
“It’s you,” I answer, my voice steady out of pure stubbornness. “It always was.”