The Faery Circle That Wasnāt
They will tell you it began with music.
That is how LIGHT prefers to start its catastrophes:
softly, beautifully, with absolutely no warning label.
Spark heard it first ā a sound like joy being practiced. A little glen. A ring of faeries. Eight⦠ten⦠maybe more. They were dancing, āmaking merry,ā as the polite histories will claim.
And Spark ā sweet, curious Spark ā did what a flying frog always does when the world offers wonder:
He went closer.
Here is the part they leave out:
The circle was not a circle.
It was a mouth.
The moment he crossed the edge, the air stopped being air and started being⦠pull.
Not wind. Not gravity.
A decision.
Down, down, down ā a vortex with manners.
And in the white tubular smoke ā oh yes, there was smoke ā he saw them:
Eyes. Dark red, black. Watching like theyād been waiting for him specifically. ļæ¼
Then the chanting began.
Not a song. Not a spell.
A demand.
āSpark⦠we know you are hiding something⦠give it to usā¦ā
Now, here is where my personal favorite detail arrives ā the universeās sense of comedy, which is both elegant and cruel:
Spark doesnāt awaken in a dungeon.
He awakens in a version of his home that feels like a dream misfiled in the wrong drawer ā same shapes, wrong colors, all purples and pinks and light blues.
And there, like a sugar-coated omen, is Spoof⦠baking cupcakes⦠in a bright yellow dress with a frilly apron.
If youāre wondering whether thatās normal, the answer is:
It becomes normal the moment you stop asking.
And then ā because LIGHT does not tease forever ā the booming voice arrives like a door being slammed by the sky itself:
āIf you ever want to see your precious Spoof again, I need the lost potion!ā
SLAM. SMASH.
Spark falls through the ceiling of his own life, onto the wreckage of his painting, and whispers a sentence that should have been impossible to know:
āBy the powers of the nasty Apovilā¦ā
So here is the off-shoot question that matters:
What if the faery circle wasnāt trying to summon Sparkā¦
What if it was trying to test the lock?
And Spark ā being Spark ā simply flew into the keyhole.
Now tell me, traveler of LIGHT:
When the music feels too perfectā¦
Do you dance?
Or do you count the eyes?
- Zosimos












