#dosiphea

When I was twelve years old I found a fairy in the woods behind my house. That was nearly seventy years ago now, but I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. She was so small, so fragile, and could sit quite comfortably in the palm of my hand, but she wasn’t a young, pretty fairy. She was old and withered, like I am now.

I found her drinking from a dirty puddle; it had rained the night previous, and she looked so tired and desperate, so I carefully came up to her.

“Hello,” I whispered, trying to stay quiet so as not to frighten her away.

She turned to me slowly, her squinted little eyes peering up at me from where she crouched. She fluttered her beautiful blue, iridescent wings, just enough to bring her to her feet and asked me my name.

“Miranda,” I whispered. “What’s your name?”

She smiled bemusedly at me a moment, before answering. “My name is Dosiphea.” She had a pretty voice, like a quietly tinkling bell. “Miranda, could I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything,” I answered excitedly. It wasn’t every day a fairy asked a favor of a human after all.

“Could I trouble you for a small drink of milk and sugar?” Her voice quivered as if she were embarrassed of the request.

“Of course!” I stood hurriedly, and ran back to my house, pausing momentarily to pick up an acorn cap.

When I returned minutes later, I found Dosiphea sitting by the puddle, her knees pulled up to her chest. She was crying silently into her hands.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, carefully placing the milk-filled acorn cap beside her.

She glanced from it to me and smiled tearfully. “Nothing to trouble you with, dear.” She picked up the acorn cap and sipped from it like it was a bowl.

“Please tell me,” I whispered, tucking my legs beneath my skirt.

She didn’t reply for a moment, only sipping at her sugary milk and staring wistfully across the muddy puddle water. Finally, when there were only a few drops remaining in the cap she sighed, putting it down and whispered, so softly I could barely hear; “I’m dying.”

My heart dropped. How could something so beautiful die? “My mother died last year,” I whispered. “It was horrible. The last few days she couldn’t even talk.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully, wiping her cheeks on a blade of grass.

“Do you have cancer?” I asked.

She smiled at my naiveté. “No, Miranda. Fairies can’t get cancer. I’m just very, very old.”

“Oh,” I whispered, biting my lip.

“I just wish…” she sighed and looked away, across the puddle again.

“Yes?”

“I just wish I could see the ocean, just one more time before I die.”

“Why don’t you?” I asked, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

She fluttered her wings. “They can’t carry me anymore. Not like they used to. And my legs are far too weak, and it would take to long anyway to walk.”

“What if I helped you?” I asked, feeling suddenly excited.

She looked up at me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Would you?”

“Sure!” I scrambled to my feet. “Let’s go!”

She chuckled, but then her smiled faltered. “What about your family? Wouldn’t it be far? They’ll worry.”

“My da’ isn’t home,” I explained. “I take care of myself when he goes away for work. Besides, I go to the ocean sometimes when I’m sad. It’s not so very far, only a few miles through the woods.”

“A few miles,” she laughed. “That’s a very long way for a fairy.”

“Not for me,” I replied proudly. I knelt down and offered my hand to her. “I bet we can get there by sundown.”

She eyed my fingers a moment, before carefully fluttering to her feet. Her tiny, slender fingers touched my thumb, and she clambered into my hand. I could barely believe it. It was what I believe holding a cloud must feel like, as if there’s nothing there, yet a small sense of something too.

We went on our way, and traveled for a while in silence. Dosiphea fell asleep and didn’t wake for a few hours, until the sun began to creep beneath the trees.

“Are we close?” she whispered, blinking up at me and rubbing her eyes.

“Not far now,” I replied, glancing down at her.

She nodded resolutely and rested her head against my thumb. “Miranda,” she murmured after a moment.

“Yes?”

“I would like to give something to you,” she said, speaking methodically.

“You don’t have to,” I replied politely, even though I was intrigued by the idea of having a special gift from a fairy.

“I would like to.” When I didn’t reply she went on. “When a fairy dies, they shed their wings one final time.”

I nodded, having heard the stories of the mystical glens where fairies went to shed their wings the many times during their lives.

“When my time comes I would like to give you my wings,” she said, offering me a watery smile. “You know what fairy wings can be used for, don’t you?”

“They have healing powers… Don’t they?” I asked.

“They can cure any human illness,” she confirmed.

“Even cancer?” I asked.

“Even cancer.”

“I wish I’d met you last year,” I whispered tearfully.

“They can’t bring back the dead,” she said, running her little hand over my palm reassuringly. “But they can keep you from knowing more.”

It was dark when we reached the shore. The choppy water glimmered in the moonlight.

“Dosiphea,” I whispered to my new friend. “We made it. We’re here.” I smiled down at my sleeping friend. She’d been quiet since our conversation hours ago.

“Dosiphea,” I tried again, looking down at her, cradled so carefully in my hand.

She didn’t stir. My heart fluttered nervously. “Dosiphea,” I whispered, prodding her shoulder gently with my little finger. She didn’t wake, nor would she.

“We made it,” I whispered, tears falling down my cheeks. “Please wake up.”

I sat in the cool sand, cradling the little fairy in my lap and cried quietly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, gently running my finger over her fair grey hair. Her wings glittered in the dim light, and I touched them carefully. It was then that they fell away from her back. I bit my lip, trying to hold back more tears.

I buried her there in the sand, using a muscle shell to mark where she lay. And after a while of crying bitterly to myself, I made my way back home, through the dark woods, holding her wings in my hand as I’d held her just a few hours before.

I kept Dosiphea’s wings for many years. Not even my husband knew about them. And then, almost twenty years after that night when I buried my little friend, I used them. My baby had scarlet fever. The doctors told us he would die very quickly. But I took Dosiphea’s wings that night and crushed them up in the kitchen until they were a fine, iridescent blue powder. I mixed them in with my baby’s formula and he lived.

It's been a bit more than two years since I created my Tumblr account. So here are the most beautiful, talented and amazing blogs I've had the good fortune to follow in these past two years:

FRIENDS

joey naomi mouse bianca kat olga

A-H

aesthesos aryasnark baratheom beverlekatz billwiggins brokenfates canaill canalcat caterwauled chlton cloudplays crieff cumberbatchs curties deerstalks demonter dosiphea dracares draculahs edmound frankanstein flghtclubs heisenberge hifas htchcock 

I-P

johnwatsone klueing konzei lucrezas memnger mikkkelsen mindpalace monsieurwatson mozsart myecrofts nahares narcissvs niqhtvales noyees nymiera pianti plizm pop-that-bubblegum-heart 

Q-Z