The fae stares on, the slightest shimmer of mischief in its silver eyes, as it hovers beneath the shade of the twilight-lit brush. âRemain there a moment, would you? I think I have just the thing you need.â The little fae flits closer, and the shapeshifter turns their head weakly to look. Heavy swirls, inlaid fractal designs, and the slightest glimmer of blue embossed the wings and dress that covered the fae. Small in general, the little creature twice as big as a butterfly lands several feet away before growing to the size of a normal human.
The shapeshifter keeps their lips sealed tight to hide the curses that spring to their mind. They had come out to the forests expecting a pixie, something that they could turn in to the humans for a sizeable income without drawing too much attention from either side of the divide. Yet, standing before them now was a selkie, a powerful magic user and shapeshifter from the fae planes.
The thought that they were staring down an entirely different entity than what they had prepared for rings every mental alarm that told them that it was time to start running. Yet, a part of them fears that this selkie would take the opportunity to attack, and from there anything was possible. Worse yet, it was possible their true form would be recognized, which could spell doom at ten paces, especially near a being from the Unseelie Courts.
As the shapeshifter runs through the possible options they have, the selkie revealsa small gourd capped with a cork stopper, shaped crudely by human hands. As he uncorks it with a snap of his fingers, a small, golden glow begins to emanate from its mouth. The selkie holds out the drink, mock earnest in its voice and gestures. âHere, take a sip of this. Itâll fix you right up!â
The shapeshifterâs eyes narrow. The glow made it obvious, the selkie was offering him fae wine, a rookie maneuver but one that worked a solid 99% of the time. The shapeshifter recognized that normal convention required that they deny the potion, lest they fall victim to the inhibitive effects of the wine that most humans would suffer. But, the shapeshifter tells himself, this is far from a normal scenario. They lean forward towards the drink, and motion with their head that they would like a sip, much to the selkieâs pleasure.
The selkie quickly offers the rest of the drink, which the shapeshifter guzzles down greedily. The magic brew forcibly heals the last of their injuries, returning them to the rather diminutive stature that they had presented. The selkie, for his part, sat back on his legs and did his best to contain his pleasure. âWow, you sure took a beating. What happened to you out here, misterâŚ?â
For a moment, the shapeshifter struggles to return a response as a cold wave of magic washes over them. It was ineffectual, flaccid and poorly constructed, one that served to make the target more susceptible to trickery or deceit. He could tell from the glamour, its ornate patterns and near-perfect sky-blue hue, that the fae was nothing to scoff at in terms of spellweaving, yet here it was, throwing out a spell that even a low-level pixie could shrug off. The shapeshifter suppresses their fully satisfied smile and returns a more pleasant, grateful fake one instead, affecting the most plain-sounding Irish voice they could to match the pseudonym they relied on so often.
âAndole, Andole Schiodchan. Iâve got to say, you really saved my hide there, mister uh-â
The selkie was quick to respond, which surprised them. Normally, fae would seek to point out faults in respectful discourse, in part from habit, yet he didnât so much as bat an eye. The shapeshifter could tell, though, from the glint in his eye and the smile brushing at the edge of his lips that it was a purposeful action. âYou can refer to me as Verity, if it so pleases you. Whatâs a person like you doing in the woods here?â
âVerity it is, then. Itâs mighty kind of you to have offered your help like that and all, Iâm lucky you were around to make up for my stupid mistakes. I thought I could cut through the fens to shave an hourâs travel, but a wild boar caught me off-guard and- well, you know the rest. Maybe I could repay the favor by walking you back into town? My wife was planning to hold a little feast for my sonâs first birthday, and sheâd be grateful for the company.â
The selkieâs eyes light up and his back straightens as a beaming smile spreads across his lips. âThat sounds fantastic! Iâve got just the wine to bring to the party, and I probably have something for your son, too!â He hopped up to his feet, brushing off the bottom of his dress in a mock-attempt at convincing cleanliness, and helped the shapeshifter up to their feet. The shapeshifter silently recalls the small home where they were staying, the bedroom they slept in and the babyâs crib their mother had passed on to them after her death. It was all they could to do suppress their satisfaction.
As the two walk, the selkie sings fae songs, songs the shapeshifter remembered from the warnings of their grandfather and grandmother. The shapeshifter replies with folk songs, crooning horribly enough to pass the selkieâs minor inspections, just as theyâd seen other victims of fae abductions do so many times before. At this point, they think to themselves, they didnât truly need to keep up much of a charade anymore, as the selkie had already believed it had won everything and more from this naĂŻve human.
Yet, the truth as far as the shapeshifter could see it was that the game had ended the moment the selkie had agreed to walk back to their house with them, as accepting the invitation was a binding contract- and a death sentence. The pair near the shapeshifterâs house, which was dark and lifeless. The selkie, not one to shirk the responsibility of politeness, offers a compliment nonetheless.
âI must applaud you on your beautiful home, Andole Schiodchan. Despite its diminutive size, itâs very cozy and warm-looking. May I step inside?â The selkie asks. The shapeshifter cuts a terse nod and opens the door for the selkie to step through, gloved hand wrapped firm around the iron door handle.
âThanks kindly for the compliment, madam, but it appears that weâve missed the party by a few hours.â The selkie flinches at the shapeshifterâs thanks, but keeps his disdain hidden behind his smile. The shapeshifter goes on, smiling to himself. âDamn shame, too. You would have loved my wifeâs apple pies, theyâre the talk of the town. Everyone comes around now and again asking after my wife, all to see if sheâll bake them another pie. Actually, if you make yourself comfortable, I can look around to see if we still have one.â
The selkie wanders around the small frontroom, which doubled as the kitchen, and nods, taking in the furnishings. On the wall opposite the front door was a pair of similarly-shaped wooden doors, one of which led directly into an outhouse of sorts while the other led into their bedroom. On the near wall, by the door and stretching right along the wall and the wall adjacent was a long, wooden countertop nailed into the wall, as well as several well-made cooking utensils and an ironcast oven and stove. Against the far wall sat a fireplace, and above it the head of a boar, mounted and preserved as a trophy. âOoh, itâs even cozier inside! Iâll be happy to take an apple pie, if you do have one. Do you mind if I look around a bit? I was hoping to meet the rest of your family, after all.â
The shapeshifter turns their back to the selkie, yet takes care to watch him through the silver platter hanging against the wall. âGo right ahead, though I should warn you that my wife may be sleeping. The door on the left, that leads into the bedroom we share with our son. If heâs awake, you can say hi to him too.â They grins to themselves as they rummage through the cabinets and boxes, faking the search for a pie that didnât exist while they reach for the iron knife stained gold in fae blood.
As they does so, they hears the door creak open gently. The selkie pushes through the door and steps into the dim room, lit only by their presence and a single candle next to the ancestral crib. As he steps out of sight, the shapeshifter turns away from their false search and makes slow steps across the floor, soundless and weightless.
As they lean against the wall, they could hear the selkie making cooing noises, a preemptive motion to calm a child down right before itâs taken. This was followed by silence, lasting only a few seconds yet long enough for the shapeshifter to fear that their planning was for naught. Perhaps they had misread how well they had convinced the fae. Perhaps the fae had grown suspicious and caught on to the deception just in time to turn on them and kill them with whatever enchantment she likely placed on the wine. Yet, when the sound of screaming split the air, their fears dissipated, and they were spurred on to action.
They leaps from their hiding spot into the room to see a large, monstrous creature, sharp spines jutting out from thick, brown fur that alternated between lush and full to sickly and falling out, only growing worse by the moment. The creature bore little resemblance to the selkie that had entered their house, yet they recognized the monster for what it was, having shed its glamours and revealed its true form to them.
The fae lets out a shrill roar before slashing at the shapeshifter. The attack was weak, haphazardly thrown, the shapeshifter wastes no time as they lung directly forward with the iron knife, driving it straight through the selkieâs heart. As they did so, they locked eyes with the creature and shed their form, shapeshifting themselves into the same type of monster that stared back at them.
The selkie recoiled, both in immense pain and immense shock. âYou- youâre fae! But thatâs impossible, the iron-â
âHas no effect on humans drinking fae blood. Think of this as payback for the children you took from this town, selkie. I hope your death will be enough of a message to your people to remind them that this town is protected.â The shapeshifter gives the fae a wide, sharp-toothed grin, and the faeâs slumping, weakening body could do little to fight what was coming next. The shapeshifter, with a raised, clawed paw, drives down into the faeâs body, finishing it off for good.
By the time the shapeshifter had disposed of the carcass thoroughly, the full moon had passed and a neat little grave to signify the leftover fae bones sat freshly-dug behind the shapeshifterâs house. As they sit at their kitchen table, sharpening the iron knife they had used, they grin to themselves, the machinations for their next hunt already taking form. They could only salvage another monthâs worth of fae blood, though it was a much better prize than simple pixie gold. Still, the gold was important, as their human side did require bread, cheese, and meats to allow him to continue hunting. It would take a month, perhaps, but if there was anything the shapeshifter could do, it was wait. After all, theyâd been in the game for a thousand years. A month meant nothing to a creature like them.
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