Pulling myself out of my revelry, I focus on my discontent as flower sprites take flight all around me and I marvel at their unique beauty. Most are less than ten inches tall, their willowy bodies are all differing shades of green and their wings are a range of a multitude of colors. So many things in Faerie are majical and different from The Mortal Realm, and I take comfort in the beauty around me. Take me for instance, as an elven goddess I reached maturity by age seventeen, but I’m also a panther shifter and that side of me will not reach maturity for another year or so. My first shift will come soon and that side of me could be awakened sooner rather than later.
As children, my mother would tell us about a majical story of a boy that never grew up and a place called Neverland. I want to find my very own Neverland before it’s out of reach. Maybe if I can find where I’m supposed to be it will help me figure out what’s been eating away at me for so long now. I’m tired, so very weary, and I fear that I’ve lost my chance, it’s not that I want to remain a child, I don’t. I haven’t been a child for a long time now. I’m just afraid that if I can’t figure out who I’m supposed to be, I will fail those that I’m supposed to help. I huff out a breath as I look around me and I acknowledge that my physical Neverland is right in front of me, but the proverbial one is far beyond my reach. How I want it so, but it’s not to be. Faerie is so much more intriguing than The Mortal Realm, but I find that I gravitate toward the chaos and destruction of The Mortal Realm while my twin is content here. I don’t understand why I find all the chaos so captivating, but I do. Then there are times when I crave a quiet beautiful meadow full of flower sprites. I’m a constant writhing mass of contradictions and it's driving me insane. All I know is that I need to getaway. I need to put some distance between me and my family, and I fear that my decision will not be taken well, especially by Da and Lachlan. They’re so overprotective of me.
Cara whines beside me, and I reach over to absently stroke and reassure her, running my fingers through her silky soft fur. I lean into her welcoming form. She’s my fennec fox, so beautiful. I love her overly large ears and her mischievous pointy face. As she grew, her white fur developed a sandy beige over layer that never reached her eyes, the tips of her ears, or her feet. I adore that her solid dark brown eyes and button nose are showcased by her white fur. Her size is unusual. We all thought that Cara and Ban had reached adulthood and stopped growing when we were mere toddlers, but everyone was wrong, as Lachlan and I grew, so did they. Cara is an abnormally large female fennec fox, just about twice as big as her brethren but still just under ten pounds. She is my constant companion, my spiorad ainmhí, or spirit animal. We have been connected spiritually for almost as long as I’ve been a living, breathing person in The Realms. I can’t imagine my life without her, but she can’t come with me when I’m transporting souls and I’m not sure how I will be able to bring her with me to The Mortal Realm, but I’ll figure it out, and she whines again, not liking that we may need to be separated. Then there is my panther. She has been lying just beneath the surface for some time now. My life and my world are so utterly whacked! It’s now or never.
My mind made up, I stand and so does Cara. I pick her up to caress the top of her head before tracing us home to Glenndale Loch. For some reason, I’ve always loved the terrace just outside the library. It overlooks the waterfall in the distance on the mainland that surrounds our little island Keep, and that is exactly where we appear as we step out of my trace. I admire the tranquility of the day for just a few moments. This is home, so why am I pulled to leave it for The Mortal Realm? I love the sights, sounds and even the scents of the cool water, grass, and the surrounding forest.
I’m startled out of my quiet contemplation when I hear, “Where have you been, baby girl?” My mother smiles and rushes toward me to pull me into a hug. Holding her close, I return her welcoming embrace, and my torn heart warms in the love she so freely offers. I stand about four inches taller than she does, which is not saying much because she’s tiny at five foot nothing. For just a moment, I snuggle into her hug, not sure if what I’m about to do is the right or wrong call. Sensing that something is wrong, she pulls back, her delicate face etched in concern and her amber eyes narrow as she assesses me, before asking, “What’s going on, Lillie Joanna?”
“Mother, I’m an adult, right?” I ask cautiously, suddenly feeling like a little girl again.
She huffs, “I liked it so much better when I was Mama to you, Mother is
