Page 1 of Cursed Shadows 1

"I will destroy you. I’ll see you on your knees, and you will weep at my feet. You will beg. And when all that is done, you will meet my dagger. This is a fae's promise."

†

Before the darkness took over the realms, a silly light halfling broke the heart of a dark fae. The worlds paid the price for her slight.

This is Nari’s story.

1

the night I first I saw him

Our lands have opposed each other since the beginning of time. Dark and light, dokkalves and litalves, always at war. Until the war stopped, and a treaty was signed.

It’s a shaky treaty, and we do what we can to maintain it. So thisexchangeis meant to be a gesture of union where we welcome the dark fae, their military personnel, their warriors, their diplomats into our land. The light land.

The dark fae—the dokkalves—can’t stay here, of course. The Sun sears the flesh right off a dark male’s bones. It burns and melts them, combusts them into flames. Only their females are unaffected by our beloved Sun.

Still, the invaders—as some of us call the dark ones who dare visit our lands, who sully it with their presence here, who do not deserve to breathe our pure air—come. They stay for some months, hide away during the day; they only come out at night.

This is their third annual visit. I’m glad that it only lasts two new moons, and then they are gone again, back to the dark lands.

But on the third anniversary of the exchange, the Fae Eclipse, we do what has become the start of a tradition. A party, ofcourse, in true litalf fashion. A celebration, not of the dark fae, but of our union. Our peace treaty.

And we welcome them with our tastes, our fruits, our wines, our sweets. And we shower them with our art. Performance, music, dance, song.

I dance.

On the podium, only a foot or so above the midnight field and all the fae lurking around, I dance.

A tattered wrap is tightly wound around my breasts like a blotchy, inked bandage. The shredded skirt, just as dishevelled, starts below my belly button—and I hate that I have one at all. And to mourn the loss of the black phoenixes that lived before the darkness consumed the Midlands, I punch the statement of death, I shout ‘you killed them’ with the feathers glued down my arms.

We are to show them a piece of our culture and traditions with this dance. I chose the black phoenix that their wicked devil sky creatures wiped out. Now, there are no more of them left. Extinct—because of the dokkalves.

Cruel, barbaric fae, I don’t doubt they want us extinct too. Not the light fae, but my kind—the halflings.

My eyes narrow at the thought.

The mask I wear covers my mud-brown eyes but leaves my dark-painted lips free to sneer at any dokkalf that wanders close. My snarl is a quiet one, but I find enough courage to land my gaze on dark fae after dark fae, all those leather-armoured brutes lurking around my land, in my field.

They mingle with light fae, our warriors mostly, but each one of them keeps that air of cold indifference, like all of this—that we do for them—is dull and tedious.

They pay me no mind. I’m a mouse to them. Not just me, but all eleven others on the podium. Twelve dancers in total performing the over-practiced kicks of our legs, snaps of our hips, twists of our wrists, in perfect tune with the racy beat from the concerto.

But then… my scowled face, hidden mostly by a mask, aims ahead at two hunched over trees. My snarl falters. The bravery is quick to leave my eyes with a single blink.

I don’t miss a beat in the dance. It’s muscle memory at this point, second nature I practiced it so much, until my feet bled.

But as I dance, I look at him.

I look at the dark fae who looks right back at me.

The sight of him sends a chill tickling down my spine. I steel the muscles in my shoulders against his gaze. Can’t let him see the shudder of fear—but he’s dark fae, he’s a born predator like no other fae race in existence, and he sees it. Hesmellsit.

My fear.

From across the midnight field, the gleam of his blue eyes spears through me. My breath is knocked from my body. Such fierce blue eyes, encircled by thick lashes and the hue of kohl lines. I’m not breathing. Black hair falls into his face, some strands brush over those eyes—and I still can’t breathe.

Those eyes, those eyes, those eyes.

---