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What’s in a Name? A Faerie Tale Gone Wrong.

by dark_stars_angel


Somewhere in an invisible tower high above Faerieland, a council of faeries was beginning to gather. History was in the making as Neopia’s most well-known winged denizens congregated in one of the Faerie Queen’s secret chambers in her hidden tower. Fyora had a fondness for secrets, and being Queen of Faeries sometimes allowed her to exploit it to a ludicrous level. Thus, her own invisible tower. But that’s not what this story is about.

     There was a council of faeries gathering, and the only thing they had in common was that they were all disgruntled. About what, no one was entirely certain at this point in time.

     “We need a story about ourselves. Not about a faerie randomly appearing with a million Neopoints to some poor pet off the street, but a real story. Just about us. Let’s write a story about ourselves,” said Fyora abruptly, turning away from the window and fluttering her wings in annoyance.

     “Yes, let’s,” said the Snow Faerie brightly, nearly blinding in her white fur coat. She looked dazed and more than a little confused from the warmth of the room, and her usual gentle wit was sorely lacking. Evidently unbothered by the wellbeing of the fur-trimmed faerie, Fyora paced three quick steps in each direction with a frightful scowl on her lovely face.

     “I’m sick of people only knowing that I like purple. I don’t even like purple anymore. I like orange. I’m tired of purple. Why can’t people see that there’s more to me than the colour purple?”

     Jhuidah stared at her blankly, looking momentarily as confused as the disoriented Snow Faerie.

     “Right then,” said the Fire Faerie briskly, taking a seat and falling to the ground moments later as her chair scorched into ashes beneath her. Fyora stared at her maddeningly for a moment, then sighed and waved her into another one.

     “Who will write it?” asked the Water Faerie, dripping all over the Faerie Queen’s nice wood floor and priceless carpets. There was seaweed stuck in her hair, but no one had told her and the other faeries were too polite to mention it. The fashionable Air Faerie averted her eyes—kelp was so last season.

     “I will!” volunteered the Fire Faerie eagerly, her own hair fairly smoking in her eagerness for the task. This time when she sat the chair held firm beneath her, and her golden lips curved up in a satisfied smile.

     “What should we write about?” asked the Earth Faerie, following up with the next most logical question.

     There was silence. Fyora looked nonplussed, evidently having not thought this far ahead. The Water Faerie dripped on the carpet, and the Ice Faerie looked on the verge of collapse.

     “I want a name,” said the Grey Faerie suddenly, entering the conversation for the first time. “Not any of those crazy ones that writers give me. I want a real name.”

     “Right,” said the Earth Faerie reasonably. “So we’ll write a story about giving you a name, and Fyora can have a cameo role to tell people she hates purple.”

     There was a murmur of agreement from the gathered faeries, lounging indolently around Fyora’s chambers, except for Jhudora, whose only input was to cackle evilly from against the far wall. No one had particularly expected anything more productive out of her.

     “A name,” Illusen prompted, glaring at her counterpart. Fyora was thankful the Battle Faerie was not present, else her lovely expensive furniture would have surely been ruined by the end of the day.

     “Asphixia?” suggested the Air Faerie, glancing quickly between Illusen and Jhudora to make sure that if they attacked each other she would be well out of the way.

     “No. It sounds like I’m going to suffocate,” answered the Grey Faerie, wrinkling her petite nose morbidly. Illusen nodded sympathetically, but Jhudora just grinned.

     “Seraliphis,” said the Earth Faerie.

     “What am I, a snake?”




     “No, no. I want something nice. Something simple.”

     “Mania? Trillia? Jannian? Faerius?”

     Jhudora hooted with laughter. The Grey Faerie put her head in her hands, looking ready to cry—she was very good at that. Her battered grey wings drooped mournfully, and several ragged and seedy-looking animals appeared from nowhere to comfort her. Strange things like that always seemed to happen when she was around.

     “I think we’re going in the wrong direction,” said the Faerie Queen wisely, always keen to the whims of her subjects, but more intent on the dirty grey feathers on her nice lilac floors. A single glance from her lavender eyes sent the grubby animals scurrying again. The Grey Faerie watched them go mournfully.

     “Brenton!” exclaimed the Snow Faerie brightly. The faeries stared at her briefly, shook themselves, and ignored her.

     “Cold’s gone to her head,” muttered Jhudora under her breath, looking more than a little pleased with this announcement. She smirked evilly, this being one of her more famous expressions, one currently undergoing review in the Neopian Patents Office.

     “Balia,” said the Water Faerie. The Grey Faerie looked at her in disgust.

     “Do you think I’m a disease or something? Ugh, no! That won’t do at all.”

     “Well, what kind of name are you looking for?” asked Jhuidah, the voice of reason in the gathering of color-coded winged individuals. Her coconut bustier rattled as she sat, and a few ferns fell out of her hair. The Earth Faerie picked them up and pocketed them with great interest.

     “I don’t know. I’ve always liked the name ‘Sara,’” said the Grey Faerie hesitantly. Jhudora looked disgusted; Illusen looked equally nonplussed, but nodded and smiled brightly for fear of being on the same side as her enemy.

     “Sara. That’s the best you can do,” said the Darkest Faerie, appearing momentarily in the corner. Jhudora scowled at her and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘color-thief’ under her breath, and Illusen smiled.

     “Fine then,” said Fyora with a sigh. “Sara it is.” Sara grinned brightly; Jhudora looked away in disgust at seeing someone so happy. Her purple eyes narrowed malevolently.

     “Think of it this way,” muttered the Water Faerie to the Air Faerie. “She could have chosen something like Bridget.”

     “I was almost named Bridget!” said the Air Faerie, offended, and stomped her petite foot in a puddle just to annoy the other. Her delicate glass slipper shattered on impact, and she said something most impolite and unfaerie-like in disgust.

     “How shall we start the story?” asked the Earth Faerie, eager to get things back on track. The Fire Faerie sat up a little straighter in her chair, sensing her time coming; the Snow Faerie scooted away from her, looking flushed and uncomfortable in the warm of the room.

     “‘Once upon a time,’” said Fyora dreamily, billowy lilac dress fluttering and violet eyes soft to the point of insipidity. “All stories should start like that.”

     There were groans of disgust and dissent from the gathered faeries. “I hate that beginning,” muttered an anonymous voice from the back of the group.

     The Fire Faerie, who had already begun writing, stared in bewilderment as her official Neopian Times Quill turned to char in her hands, and the Red Notebook she had been using scorched to bits on the desk. This might be complicated.

     “Don’t worry; it was a tatty old notebook anyways,” said the Water Faerie, looking at her sympathetically, and passed her a new Lord Kass Quill and a flame-retardant Scorchy Notebook. The Fire Faerie frowned in confusion—it had certainly looked Red to her! Across the room, Illusen glared at both of them as though the very sight of the purple quill was offensive.

     “Oh, I know just how to start it!” said the Snow Faerie suddenly. Jewel-like eyes turned towards her in apprehension and gossamer-thin wings flittered nervously. Jhudora snickered. “Once upon a time!”

      The Water Faerie patted her sympathetically and took her from the room, murmuring something about taking her to the Healing Springs to cool her down a bit.

     The Fire Faerie turned aside from the bickering faeries to the blank parchment before her, setting the quill to the page very quietly and beginning to write. As Jhudora taunted Illusen in the background and Fyora complained about the state of her carpet and the colour purple, the first words appeared smoking on the page from beneath her steady pen, and a devious smile appeared in her eyes:

     “Let’s write a story about ourselves,” said Fyora abruptly, turning away from the window…

     The End

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