#faewriting

(A bit of supernatural/fae stuff going on, based on a weird dream and an abundance of butterfly necklaces. I’m not making that part up.) 

One Christmas, about five years back, I was gifted a butterfly necklace. The chain was thin and shone silver, a small butterfly pendant sparkled with small purple rhinestones. My grandmother got it because she thought my birthday was in February and amethyst is the birthstone for that month. I was born in January.

We weren’t close and she didn’t know many things about my life. The necklace was small, sweet, both things I had wanted to be but wasn’t. Still, she tried, and that was what mattered to me. This was the first butterfly necklace. 

The second butterfly necklace, was gifted to me by my mother. Bejewled, golden, with hot pink and glassy coating. It was ridiculously over the top in sparkles, and also ridiculously more me. This is my favorite of my collection.

A close friend gave me my third necklace in my collection. It was at this point I realized the strange trend in gifts. It was also beautiful, silver, but made by her own hands. 

Now, I never claimed butterflies to be my favorite, nor did I have a particularly large interest in jewelry. So, once I had at lease eight different butterfly necklaces, all gifted to me by people who had next to no contact with each other, I thought it a curiosity.

There wasn’t much I could do with this curiosity though. Not until I found out why. Not until I met him. 

My college held an art fair, a large portion of the students were artists (myself included). This was when I first met the man with silver eyes. 

The smell of fresh cut grass was a comfort added to the warmth of the summer sun. Crowds of people moved through the neat rows of art displays and small shops. As I passed a folding table filled with photographs, I came to a new exhibit. 

White wired displays held up the most beautiful pieces of jewelry. Shining in various metals, twisted and wonderful and fantastic. All were themed in nature, and many were themed in butterflies.  

The man who was behind the cash box flashed a grin at the customer he was talking to. As he was busy, I moved into the display area. My hand drifted to my mother’s butterfly necklace that I was wearing, and looking to see if there was a ring or bracelet that might match. If I was going to find one, it’d be here. Strangely, no prices were listed anywhere near the items. 

“Hello, see anything you like?”

“Oh, everything is beautiful.” I turned and saw the man who was previously helping the customer.

He offered a smile, “I appreciate you saying that, I created most of it myself.” 

His eyes drifted to my necklace. It was the kind of thing that was difficult to miss. “I could almost have mistaken that for one of my own, where’d you get it?”

“It was a gift. I’ve actually gotten a lot of butterfly necklaces over the years, it’s just a strange trend in the thought process of my family I guess.” I kept rambling, it was difficult not to, “Not that they are strange, well maybe a little, we’re mostly artists so that merits a bit of oddity, I think. I don’t usually speak this much at once.”

He laughed a bit, and when he did I noticed his eyes were a peculiar silver. “Don’t worry, I tend to have that effect on people. May I have your name?”

“My friends call me Jay.”

An emotion flashed across his face before I could identify it. “I see.” 

“Did, um, did you have prices listed anywhere? I didn’t see any.” 

He moved to the rings I had been looking at. “These are most likely what you’ll want.” He picked one up and surely enough the one he had chosen matched my necklace rather closely. “You’re an artist, correct? Then this will cost you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Art for art. Equal value ideally.” 

I laughed, “The only thing I have on me right now is my sketchbook.” I was joking, clearly. This must be some kind of bit. 

“Let me see.” He held out his hand. 

I paused for a moment, maybe I should just leave? Apologize? He looked serious, though. What was the harm, I had a dozen sketchbooks at home, hoarded like dragon’s treasure. 

“Ok,” I dug through my backpack and grabbed a small sketchbook. “I just started using pastel pencils though, so don’t judge too harshly.” 

Wordlessly, he took it. And as his hand curled around it I noticed his nails were came to sharp, clean points. 

He flipped through the pages, his lack of expression making me nervous. I knew some of the pages were filled with nonsense. A doodle of a raccoon wielding a flamethrower, a crocodile crawling out of a cauldron. That was what sketchbooks were for though, practice and nonsense. 

He came to a page that broke his expressionless face with a laugh though. His silver eyes looked back up at me. “This is acceptable. A ring for your sketchbook. Do you accept the deal?”

At this point I kind of had to. “Yes. That sounds good.” 

“Excellent.” He turned quickly, dropping the ring into a white box and then into a bag before handing it to me. 

As I turned to leave he said something that stuck with me. 

“Perhaps those necklaces made their way to you for a reason.”