Freedom of the Fairfolk

The first time Lis laid eyes on her, she was bathed in sunlight. She was lying in the middle of a forest clearing, sun dappled across her cheeks, and a soft smile gracing her delicate features. Lis remembered thinking she had never seen anything so beautiful.

Lis had never been graceful, or delicate, or quiet. Some of the things her father complained most about when he brought her new trails of suitors, many of which were not there of their own free will. That was why it was unsurprising that she disrupted the ethereal scene by snapping a twig, of all things. Then jumping, because it scared her, then snagging her dress on a low branch, then tripping over her own feet and eventually landing awkwardly right beside the girl.

"Um," she said eloquently. "Hello."

The girl, who'd sat up at the first sound of the twig, regarded her with wide eyes. This close, Lis could see that they were the colour of a storm, shifting from darker greys to almost bone white. She'd never seen anything like it.

"I'm sorry," Lis said, scrambling to sit up. "I didn't mean to disturb you, I just –"

"It's alright," the girl said, mouth crooking at the corner. "You startled me, that's all."

Lis cleared her throat and scratched her arm. "Well," she said. "I should be going; I shouldn't be here. Sorry, again."

The girl didn't say anything more as Lis got to her feet and brushed her dress off. She simply watched quietly and stared long after Lis had left the clearing, though Lis didn't know that.

The second time Lis saw the girl, she was in the marketplace beside the docks. The smell of fish was a constant cloud that followed her wherever she went, but of course the one place she would find solace from it – an apothecary – would be the same place she found the forest girl again. The store was permeated by the smell of dried herbs, flowers and chemicals, and it was infinitely better than what was to be found outside its doors. Lis had ducked in to shake her guard, keen to explore on her own a bit, and had been met with a pleasant surprise. That was to say, she nearly bowled over the girl from the forest as she turned from the door. Again.

"Oh, I'm –" Lis started, ducking to pick up the wares that had fallen to the floor when she bumped into the person. She looked up and met stormy eyes. "You."

"No, I'm me," The girl smiled again, in that small, mischievous way Lis was becoming accustomed to. "May I have my purchases back, please?"

"Yes!" Lis shouted, shoving the items she hadn't realized she'd still been holding towards her. "I mean, yes, sorry. For bumping into you. Again."

"Don't worry," the girl said, eyes twinkling. "You look like you're in a hurry, so I'll leave you to it."

"I'm not," Lis said quickly. "That is to say, not anymore."

"Got where you were going, then?" The girl said.

"Pardon?"

"You were rushing somewhere, but you aren't rushing anymore, so this must be your intended destination." She explained it carefully, with a small frown and twinkling eyes, mouth twitching at the corners.

"Yes, sorry, yes." Lis smacked her forehead. "Sorry, it's been a bit of a long day," she snorted. "Fish fumes, you know."

"Fish fumes?" The small, crooked smile was back. Lis couldn't help but feel that this girl was in on a joke, and Lis was the butt of it. She found she didn't mind.

"The smell, outside," Lis huffed quietly. "I couldn't stand it anymore."

"I see," the girl said. "I much prefer my forest to this place. It's why I don't come here very often."

"I think I would prefer the forest over this as well," Lis laughed lightly. "Fewer fish."

The girl laughed, and it sounded like music. Bells. "Definitely fewer fish."

She made to leave, but Lis stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Wait," she said. "What's your name?"

The girl considered her for a second before allowing a small, secretive smile. "You may call me Aislinn."

"Hello, Aislinn," Lis beamed. Then, adopting the same overly formal tone Aislinn had used, said, "You may call me Lis."

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, Lis," Aislinn said, smiling with an oddly impressed glint in her eye. "But I really must be going now. Until we meet again." She left with a sweep of her light dress, a wink, and the tinkling of the bells that hung above the door to the apothecary. Something warm fluttered in Lis's chest, and she didn't find it entirely unwelcome.

That evening at dinner, she found herself distracted by the dark clouds looming beyond the windows of their dining hall. The old teak table stretched for miles between her and her father, all the chairs empty save for the two of theirs.

"Lis," Her father's stern tone broke her reverie. "Elisabeth, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, yes," She said, shaking her head slightly. "Sorry, father. Please continue."

Her father regarded her with that same searching, almost disappointed look he always did. Somehow she could never measure up to his expectations, and she was beginning to feel the weight of that in everything she did.

"As I was saying," he continued, spearing a vegetable with his fork. "You've another meeting tomorrow. At noon. It's Archie's son, so do be punctual. And presentable."

Archibald Harrow, her father's oldest business partner and closest friend, now that her mother had passed. His son had just come of age, and as it stood he was the greatest contender for taking over his father's textile empire. A match between her and Sammy would be handsome indeed.

"As you wish, father."

They finished their meals in silence, only the rumble of distant thunder to accompany them.

The third time, Lis found herself looking for the forest girl on purpose. Aislinn, she reminded herself. Her name was Aislinn. The forest was choked with the cloying scent of wet earth, and droplets of water still fell from the leaves she passed under to land on her brow and shoulders. The storm had ravaged the small coastal town, sinking three boats and flooding fourteen homes. The villagers, however, were cheery as ever. This storm signaled the beginning of the rain season, and the size of it convinced the more superstitious of the bunch that the harvest this year would be bountiful. Lis was skeptical, but then again she was neither fisherman nor farmer and therefore had no informed opinion on the matter.

Soon she reached the clearing she had found Aislinn in the first time, but the ground was littered with puddles of water and deep swathes of mud. Aislinn was nowhere to be found.

Disappointed, Lis began to turn back. A voice like bells stopped her in her tracks.

"Looking for something?" Aislinn said. Lis could hear that crooked smile in her voice.

"Maybe I am," she said, turning to smile at the willow of a girl that now stood in the center of the clearing. Her light dress was untouched by mud, but her bare feet were specked with it. She stood beaming at Lis with her hands clasped behind her back, dark hair draped over her shoulders and interspersed with small braids and twigs. Her twilight eyes twinkled.

"Well, maybe I can help," she said, rolling from the heels of her feet to her toes and back again. "Are you looking for a something or a someone?"

"A someone," Lis said, crossing her arms. "Perhaps you've seen her around these parts?"

"Perhaps I have," Aislinn padded over to meet Lis on the edge of the clearing, raising an eyebrow. "What does she look like?"

"Well she's always wearing this beautiful white dress," Lis said, pretending to think very hard. "And she always looks like she's just been rolling around on the forest floor." At this, Aislinn let out a giggle, gently shoving her shoulder into Lis's. Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

"Well, it's not ringing any bells," Aislinn said, skipping by Lis. "Walk with me, and tell me some more, and maybe I will remember something of use."

"It's quite important that I find this person," Lis said, pretending to acquiesce. "So I suppose I can endure your company until we find her."

"What sacrifices you make," Aislinn said, spinning around a tree, "for this nameless, faceless girl."

"Oh, she has a face," Lis said, stepping carefully over the debris on the forest floor. "The loveliest one I've seen."

Aislinn smiled secretively, her cold cheeks coloring, before stepping behind a tree. She didn't reappear.

"Aislinn?" Lis said, peeking around the trunk. Finding nobody there, she called again. "Aislinn?"

"Yes?"

The voice came from right beside her ear, and Lis started. Aislinn's twinkling laugh met her fright, and Lis twisted to find her right behind her.

"How did you do that?" She said, hand over her galloping heart.

"My mother says I have light feet," Aislinn grinned. "Good for sneaking, good for making trouble."

"Sounds like something a mother would say," Lis laughed, leaning her back against the tree to regard the girl before her. Aislinn cocked her head, a furrow appearing on her brow.

"You're sad now," she said, stepping closer. "Why are you sad?"

She was close enough now that Lis could count the individual freckles adorning her nose and cheeks, like a map of the night sky. Her mouth ran dry, and she cleared her throat as she attempted to swallow. She glanced away. "My mother passed a few years ago," she said quietly. "Still makes me sad sometimes."

"Oh," Aislinn said, her mouth turning down. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Lis said, forcing a smile and digging the toe of her boot into the ground. "I should have moved on by now. Father certainly has, and I know he's impatient for me to as well."

Aislinn cocked her head, moving back again. Lis immediately missed her proximity, the slight heat she could feel emanating from her body when she was near.

"I don't think grief is a thing that should be rushed," Aislinn said, pulling her hair over her shoulder and undoing one of her many braids. "No matter what your father might think."

Lis sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the trunk of the tree, head turned to the sky. "Sometimes it just feels easier to be who he wants me to be, rather than who I am. I can't disappoint him, that way."

Aislinn made a small, angry sound. Amused, Lis cracked an eye open to regard her. Her nose was wrinkled and her eyes narrowed, staring into the distance.

"Something the matter?" Lis said, casting her eyes upwards to the dappled branches and dew-specked leaves, to the sun that shone from right above them.

"You shouldn't have to be someone else to please your father," Aislinn said, the beginning of an argument forming on her tongue. "He's the one –"

"Oh saints!" Lis shouted, scrambling away from the tree and gathering her skirt up. The sun. "No, no, no, I'm late, oh god Father's going to kill me!"

"Late?" Aislinn said, her momentary irritation at being interrupted displaced by concern.

"I'm supposed to meet a suitor at noon! The sun! Look where it is! I'm late!" Lis called, now running from her. "I'm so sorry, I'll come back tomorrow!"

"Alright," Aislinn said quietly, almost resigned, giving a small wave. "I'll be here."

Her lithe form was the singular bright spot in a forest darkened by rain, and she stood watching after Lis long after she was out of sight.

Lis was not on time, and she was not presentable, and her father was as unimpressed as he always was. Sammy and Uncle Archie were knee-deep in their second course when Lis finally presented herself for lunch. She was out of breath from running, and her hair was in disarray, and her dress was torn in many places after having snagged on branches on her way out of the forest. Her father regarded her with narrowed eyes.

"Elisabeth," he said. "How gracious of you to join us."

"Father," she said, nodding. "Uncle Archibald, Samuel." She greeted them each in turn. "Please accept my sincerest apologies for being late. I was taking in the air of the forest after the storm, and I lost track of time."

"You always did have a rather light head," Uncle Archie chuckled. "It's alright, my dear. You're here now, and that is what matters."

Lis smiled tightly, nodding gratefully at the servant who placed a bowl of stew in front of her. "Indeed," she said. "What have I missed?"

Aislinn was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the clearing when Lis found her the fourth time. Her graceful fingers were weaving daisy chains, the flowers themselves plucked from a small pile that lay next to her. She looked up as soon as she heard Lis approach, her face splitting into a wide grin immediately.

"Hello," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Good morning," Lis smiled back, slightly out of breath. She may or may not have made her way through the brush as quickly as she could, eager to see the mysterious forest girl she'd met what felt like years ago.

"Come join me," Aislinn said, pinching her daisy chain in one hand and using the other to pat the grass beside her. "Don't worry about your dress, it's all dry."

Lis arranged her skirts carefully around herself as she sat, dutifully avoiding the small pile of flowers Aislinn was using to make her chain. "What are you making?" She asked, leaning over to get a closer look at the string of blossoms.

"Flower crowns," Aislinn said, fastening the ends of her chain together and grinning victoriously. Her twinkling eyes met Lis's when she looked up, and Lis did not move away when she leaned forward to put the crown on her head.

"Oh," Lis said, cheeks colouring as she reached a hand up to arrange the crown more securely on her brow. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Aislinn said, smiling her crooked smile once again. She picked up another bunch of flowers and began weaving them together.

"Wait," Lis said, placing her hand over Aislinn's. "Show me how, and I can make you one too."

Aislinn cocked her head consideringly, smiling strangely at Lis. "Alright," she said, handing the daisies over. "Start like this."

Her warm hands rested comfortingly over Lis's as she guided her movements, gently correcting her with a small laugh when she made a mistake and encouraging her with secretive smiles whenever she managed to tie a flower in properly. The result of their labours could probably pass as a flower crown very late at night, when there was no moon and the sky was thick with clouds, and maybe you were blind, but Lis felt accomplished nonetheless.

"Here you go," she grinned, placing the crown on Aislinn's head when she obligingly moved closer. "Now we match."

Aislinn giggled. "Thank you very much," she said, lifting a hand to hold the crown in place. Lis had still not moved away from her, and their faces were inches apart. She could pick out the individual flecks of colour in Aislinn's eyes, blues and greys and deep dark greens.

Before she had time to register what she was doing, or indeed talk herself out of it, she leaned forward and kissed her. She could feel the surprise in the way Aislinn tensed, before that lapsed, and she pressed back against her. Lis's stomach exploded into a thousand fireflies, and she brought a hand up to cup Aislinn's face. It felt like eternity before they finally broke apart, Lis with a flaming face and Aislinn with a small smile and twinkling eyes.

"I – I'm sorry," Lis said, sitting back and putting some distance between them. She noticed now that Aislinn's crown had unravelled and half-fallen off her head in their little tussle. "I don't know what came over me, that was highly improper."

"Don't apologise," Aislinn said, picking the stray daisies out of her hair. "I am just as much to blame, and if you apologise then I must apologise, and I dearly don't enjoy apologizing for finally doing things I've wanted to do for ages."

Lis let out an incredulous snort, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. "Ages?" She grinned.

"It's a measure of time," Aislinn cocked her head coyly, weaving her daisy crown back together. "I'm sure you're familiar?"

"Of course I am," Lis said, laughing now. "Sorry, I'm just slightly overwhelmed? And not entirely certain what to do with myself now?"

"Well," Aislinn smirked, that wild glint in her eyes again. "You could come back over here, as a start. I don't have the plague, and I rather enjoyed our earlier exertions and would like to repeat them. If you're amenable, that is."

Lis responded by tackling her backwards and planting another kiss firmly on her mouth. Aislinn laughed into it, and Lis felt the happiest she'd been since the death of her mother, and if her dress was irreparably sullied that day she found she didn't care at all.

After that, Lis made a point to visit Aislinn every day for as long as she could. She became an expert at ducking the custody of her guards, and thankfully her father never brought it up.

The forest girl lived up to her moniker, teaching Lis all manner of things about their beautiful surroundings and kissing her beneath trees and rocky outcrops.

Lis had never subscribed to the idea that a woman was incomplete without a partner, born with a cavity only a lover could fill, but the more time she spent lying beside Aislinn, studying the canopy of leaves above them and the shadows the leaves cast over her nose, or examining the fireflies Aislinn taught her to catch and to hold, gentle as a gasp, or braiding complex flower crowns with the careful guide of Aislinn's steady hands, Lis found that Aislinn pressed her own place into her heart.

When she woke, it was Aislinn she thought of first. When she ate, she found herself wondering if Aislinn was in her clearing, gliding her fingers through the sprouts of grass, white gown spread like a halo around her. And when Lis finally found the time to visit her again, and Aislinn pressed herself against her in all the ways she could, Lis found herself wishing and hoping and dreaming with her eyes wide open. Flashes of a future, too dangerous for her to yearn for, were the last things she saw before she fell asleep at night.

It was weeks yet before Aislinn revealed the truth about who, and what, she was. Fairfolk, the villagers called them. Not a myth, but not quite real either. The shadows you'd see out the corner of your eye when you were out past sunset, the bringers of dawn and the ones you'd bless or blame for a healthy harvest and household. They were spoken of in hushed tones, their mention preceded and followed by whispers and darting eyes. Some of the villagers sewed iron into every garment they owned, hung horseshoes above every door in their homes, and sprinkled salt beneath windows and before thresholds. Others had a fairer view of the Folk, leaving saucers of milk and plates of honey and berries out for them in the evenings.

Lis had heard of them, of course. She had just never paid the legends much mind, having come from a pragmatic, modern household. She and her father had only lived in the village a small while, having moved there shortly after her mother's passing, and she had not yet acquainted herself with all the rules and tricks to follow if she wanted to avoid befalling any harm on the part of the Folk.

It made sense, then, that she would be ensnared so easily by the most heinous of tricks. Love.

Because that's what it was, she'd come to realise. She loved Aislinn. Fairfolk or not, she could never imagine feeling the way she felt about Aislinn about any suitor her father could ever present her with. It was troubling, and she avoided bringing the topic to mind if at all possible.

It was late one afternoon, while Aislinn lay with her eyes closed, head resting in Lis's lap as she sat and overlooked a lake, that Lis asked the question that had been bothering her for a while.

"Do the Fairfolk take people's names to assert power over them," she started, apropos of nothing, prompting Aislinn to open one eye to regard her. "Or is that another legend that's not true?"

Lis had begun studying up on the Folk, devouring every book and tome and scroll she could find on the subject, speaking to any villager that would stay long enough to have a conversation with her. Whenever she discovered something new, she had Aislinn confirm or deny it. She'd begun keeping a list of true myths, things to remember in case she'd ever need them. Aislinn reassured her that she wouldn't.

"True," Aislinn said. "Almost."

Lis's heart skipped a beat. "Almost?"

Aislinn turned to look at her more fully, stormy eyes considering. "When a human gives us their name, we can use it to capture them. So to speak." She sat up to face her, settling in for a longer explanation. "There exist two realms; that of the humans and that of the Folk. Folk like me can dance between the two, visiting the humans and returning home as we please. Others aren't so lucky. But when a Fae speaks a human's name, that human becomes bound to that Fae. Unable to return to the human realm, permanently trapped in the realm of the Folk. Most Folk take slaves this way."

"So if you said my name –" Lis began, a bud of panic blossoming in her chest. She'd never considered how much danger she was in before, cavorting with Aislinn like this.

"No, no," Aislinn said, grabbing her hands and staring into her eyes imploringly. "No, you'd have to give your name to me." She shared a small smile. "When we met, you told me I could call you Lis. You didn't give me your name."

Lis took a deep breath, panic beginning to abate. "Oh."

"And I would never do that to you," Aislinn said quickly, looking down to where her fingers were twining between Lis's. "Even if you gave me your full name, which is what I would need. But the practice is barbaric, and I would never, never, dream of stealing you from your family like that."

Lis crooked a smile at her, eyes sad. "Not that I have much of a family to be stolen from."

Aislinn answered by pulling her into a hug, and Lis could feel her heart beating against her own, warm and deep and real, and for a moment she believed that maybe one day everything could be better.

That evening, Lis returned home to be greeted by her father's stern face and devastating news.

"Samuel Harrow," he said over dinner. "Has asked for your hand. I accepted his offer."

Lis's fork clattered to her plate, the sound ringing throughout the cavernous dining hall and shattering against the marble floors, the windows, the fragments of her breaking heart. I accepted his offer. You will wed two weeks hence. You have no say in the matter, the words unsaid but implied.

"You've been out of control," her father continued, shoveling greens onto his fork like he couldn't see her world falling apart on the other side of his plate. "Running off into the forest, ducking your escorts, arriving late and disheveled to important meetings. Samuel is a fine man. He will make a good husband, and he will teach you to be a good wife. It's a fine match."

Fine, fine, fine. Lis simply stared.

"I expect you to have your things packed quickly. Samuel and Archibald will be here to collect you in three days' time, and you will join them at their estate in London."

The words hammered into her ears like nails into a coffin lid, shutting out the screams of the occupant that still lived but went ignored by everyone around them. Buried alive. Her greatest fear, come to life.

A marriage would be stifling, she knew. Her father had loved her mother, but even at a young age Lis could see how her mother, bright and loud and unabashedly outspoken, confident, tucked the sharp edges of herself away whenever her husband entered the room. She became the perfect wife, quiet and gentle and deferential, a faded portrait of who she truly was.

Lis could never put herself in that situation. It would kill her.

That night, Lis was already packed.

A simple bag, with only her favorite book and a coat and two extra pairs of boots and gloves. She didn't think she'd need anything more where she was going.

Aislinn was in her clearing, exactly where Lis expected her to be. The forest looked different at night, the moonlight throwing shadows into Lis's hair and turning the brush underfoot into a dark river that she had to carefully pick her way through.

Aislinn was surprised to see her, Lis could tell. She'd never visited at night before, and she'd never brought a bag, and she could see the questions brimming in her eyes.

"My name," she said, and a flash of panic flitted across Aislinn's features. "I give you my name. Elisabeth Hearst."

"What- what are you doing," Aislinn said, taking a small step back as Lis marched towards her.

"I am finally, finally taking control of my life," Lis said, wrapping her arm around Aislinn's waist and pulling her in. "And I want you to do it with me."

Aislinn stared up at her, lithe hands placed gingerly over Lis's collarbones. She looked as if she was searching for something in Lis, in her eyes, her face, the way she stood. She found it.

"Alright," she said, smiling and pressing her lips to Lis's. "Elisabeth Hearst."

And for the first time in her life, Lis felt truly free