The moon shines, bright and strong, its brilliant light wrapping around me. It smiles, its great white face crinkling, and I cannot shake the feeling that the moon and I share a bond, a sacred one. I walk on through the pitch black darkness, following the luminous glow. My mother’s words echo in my head. “Come home before twelve. You never know what’s out there.” I shiver. It is definitely past midnight. An owl hoots, its sage golden eyes peering down at me. Be wise little one, it seems to say, listen to your heart. I will my feet to stop as I come across a line of dark evergreens. They loom up against the dark sky, tall, stately, and unafraid. My heart thumps against my rib cage, threatening to leap out of my chest. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Then, I melt into the darkness.

I move quickly now, my feet crunching against the leaves. I know that any minute he could emerge. I grit my teeth. I knew this would not be easy, but it had to be done. I reach into my pocket feeling for the familiar round shape of my moonstone. I gasp. It is not there. I reach down deeper into my pocket, desperately grabbing for something, anything. It is not there. I sink down to the ground, scrabbling frantically on the ground. I must have dropped it, it must be near. I can feel tears pricking from behind my lids. No crying, I tell myself. You did not come this far to cry.

I freeze. Footsteps sound behind me, light and dainty, but still clearly audible. The sound of bells rings through the air, and a small girl steps into the clearing. She giggles, peals of laughter bursting from within. I growl, a low sound in my throat. To outsiders, she looks normal, even pretty. Her fair hair shines from the glow of the moon and her bright green eyes are lively and attentive. But if one were to look closely, one would see that around her irises are not those of a normal human being; they are black and lined with a bright crimson. Her ears are pointed at a steep angle, to a greater extent than is considered normal. Without even glancing at her closely, I knew what she is: a pixie. “Lord Raven is not able to come today,” she tinkles in a clear, high voice. “He asked me to come and take your message. Have you made your decision?” Her face is smooth, but I can see the predatory look of wolf deep inside her black eyes. She seems calculating, contemplating, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. I swallow a lump in my throat, ignoring my mother’s voice, reprimanding me in my head. “Yes,” I say, my voice wavering. “Yes, I have made my decision.” I repeat my words again, this time supporting them with strength. “Very well,” her thin red lips curve up into the slightest trace of a smirk. Her expression seems smug. “Come with me. Lord Raven will be very pleased to see you.” Something about the way she phrases her sentence sends uncomfortable chills creeping up my back. I am not certain I am making the right decision. She beckons with one hand and I snarl. “I will not be your servant,” I say. She laughs, but her eyes remain frozen. I follow her anyway.

She moves fast, her feet as fast as the wind, and I struggle to keep up. She seems amused. “For a girl who spends all her time going on runs with her daddy,” she says, “you are quite slow. I bite back the urge to punch her. Soon the trees thin, and I find myself standing on a branch bridge, peering down into a bustling little village below. At first glance, it seems almost normal, as normal as a village inside a forest, that is. But as she begins to lead me down the sinuous, bumpy path to the little town, I see that the village’s inhabitants are just like her: black red eyes, sharp, pointed ears. The pixies all seem to ignore me; I am a trivial leaf in their enormous tree. I am relieved but slightly unsettled; did they not rarely receive human visitation? By now, my pixie escort seems impatient. She flits through the crowd, a blur, and I have to sprint just to keep up.

With every step, I can feel my heart beating louder, stronger, with more desperation. Finally, she slows, and I find myself standing in front of an enormous, majestic tree house. I gasp, then quickly cut off the sound. I do not like the pixies. I do not like anything about the pixies, I repeat to myself. Despite my inward utterances, I find myself boggling at the beautiful pieces of furniture inside the tree palace. Each piece of furniture is ornately carved, adorned with leaves of all colors, and embellished with the pixie emblem. The pixie leads me up a few flights of stairs, through a long corridor, and finally into a grand room. By the time I arrive, a sheen of sweat covers my skin. The pixie bows, nearly kissing the floor. The sarcasm and disrespect evident in her voice previously is now replaced with an air of admiration and awe. “Your Majesty,” she croons, “your human has arrived.” I shudder. Your human? It is hardly a comfortable way to be addressed. Perched atop a tall wooden throne is a big man, drowning under several layers of silk and velvet. His head is lifted haughtily, and it seems to pain him to have to glance down at me. “Ah, Lady Emilia, how nice of you to join me. Please, please, have a seat.” He gestures to a plush chair beside him. “Esther, bring in Gerald.” My pixie escort, Esther, smiles and disappears out a door. As soon as she is out the door, Lord Raven’s tone hardens. “Emilia, I presume you have accepted my offer.” He did not wait for me to answer before continuing. “As you know, the pixies have been searching for a messenger for some time. You are aware of the risks and trade, are you not?” Once again, he does not pause to let me have a word. “Complete service to the pixies in exchange for the cure of your mother’s sickness?” I waver, once again questioning my decision. But my heart is set. I nod once, firmly. “Very well. Your duty shall start today. You may not visit your mother anytime during your service to the pixies. I presume you will follow rules as expected.” He smiles. Like Esther’s, it is not a friendly one. Something in his eyes tells me that defying his order was not something to be attempted. I ache for my moonstone, its smooth touch usually comforting and reassuring.

A pair a voices introduces the arrival of Esther and Gerald. The two pixies stand at the far end of the palace. “Gerald,” Lord Raven booms. Gerald, a tall, striking pixie, smiles feebly. “Yes, my Lord?” “Tea for Lady Emilia and me?” he says. It is not a question; it is an order. “Yes, my Lord.” Gerald bows his head and hurries to the corner where the tea station stands. Swiftly, he pours a hot, steaming golden liquid in two wooden cups and rushes over the Lord’s side. He presents his platter to the Lord, bowing once again. “Thank you, Gerald,” Lord Raven says, carelessly snatching a cup off the platter. Gerald rushes to my side, and I gratefully take a cup off the plate, flashing him a smile. He arches his eyebrows with surprise, but hurries away quickly, as the Lord turns to glare at him.
I am just lifting my cup to my lips, when the shrill sound of a bell rings in the air. Heavy footsteps sound outside the throne room, seconds before the doors burst open. The grand room is suddenly filled with pixie men, clad in metal armor and brandishing swords. For the first time since I have met him, Lord Raven’s eyes fill with alarm.