Have you ever wondered why they call ‘em fairy tales? It’s not because they’re all about fairies, I can tell you that. In fact, we’re featured in far too few, if it’s my opinion you’re seeking which it probably isn’t. Most people won’t spare a thimble of Guinness for a good Fairy’s turn of mind. Pardon me, for a wee person’s turn of mind. I believe that’s what they be calling us nowadays.
There I go again, prattling on ‘bout fairy rights when I swore on the blessed bones of St. Paddy I’d tell you a fairy tale. All right then. Settle yer bones down by the fire, sip yer Guinness slow, and listen close because this fairy tale is as true as ever there was one and it just so happens to be about me.
You remember all that bollocks from years ago ‘bout fairies stealing human bairns? Changelings they called ‘em. Weren’t no such things.
How do I know? you ask. Because the mirrors told me.
That’s right. Mirrors. What good is a fairy tale without a speaking mirror in it? You are the fairest in all the land and all that tomfoolery.
I had two mirrors in me bed chamber in the Fairy Castle where I lived as a spirit child, and they talked at me year after year but with pictures not words. At night I’d curl up under me flower petal quilt. I saw me first steps when I fell on me arse and me tenth timeout when I cried ugly snot down me face and me hundredth spanking when me face turned to stone and the light went out of me eyes. I were so scared I crawled under me quilt and hoped flower petals were as welcoming of tears as they were of morning dew.
They were.
The next morning, me Fairy Nanna brushed me hair ‘til it ran like rivers of molten copper down me back and pointed at each mirror where a family ate breakfast together. “Have you decided, little Jewel?”
I looked from one mirror to another mirror. Husband. Wife. Daughter. All related. They were mirrors of each other while I were naught but the shell of a girl who dinna belong. I had but to choose a family in a mirror and – poof – I’d be a real girl with a real home…and an almost real family. I shook me head ‘til Nanna cussed and started to brush again. I dinna know how to tell Nanna that being almost real were worse than not being real at all.
Nanna plaited me hair, weaving in love and the hope for a good future she believed awaited me beyond the Fairy Castle. “Maybe tomorrow, little Jewel.”
But tomorrow never came for me. Oh, the years arrived with the vengeance of a winter storm in the Scottish Highlands with naught but a kilt to wear, but the day of a right and true decision? No, lad, that day never arrived and so I stayed in the Fairy Kingdom ‘til it was I who brushed the spirit children’s hair in the morn after they’d cried themselves to sleep watching their lives in the mirrors.
Fairies stealing bairns? Mammy, mother of God! ‘Tis the fairies who try to do right by the bairns and give ‘em the choice they always should’ve had! Why many’s a happy morn I’ve heard a wee one say Yes, Nanna! That there’s me family! And just like that, I’ve watched ‘em turn to smoke and float right into the mirror that showed one last image of a smiling child before turning into the most beautiful of portraits.
I know what yer wondering. Do I ever wonder if I made a mistake not choosing? Truth is, I don’t think on it. Oh, I still have the mirrors, but they don’t reflect much to me anymore. Shadows move every now and then but that’s all they are really. Shadows. And I’d much rather brew a cuppa hot lemon tea and sip it by the fireplace while I look at the thousands of portraits of smiling children that hang in the Great Hall of the Fairy Kingdom.
~ Juliann Rich
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