Life is like a storybook, they say. It comes in chapters, each with a lesson to be learned. It comes with a cast, people who come and go in your life. It promises adventure, heartache, joy, laughter… tears. But it’s always got a happy ending. Or so they say.
…
I don’t view life like a storybook. I think of it more like a series of roads we’re all placed upon when we’re born. We walk it, as there’s nothing else to do, and bump into each other when our roads intersect. Our roads may even be the same road for a while before they part and we are forced to bid our farewells. But at the end, our road is simply our road-- no matter the people we meet, the bumps along the way… no matter where it ends.
When I left my home, I never thought I would go back. Growing up in that lonely little forest in a place better off forgotten was not my idea of a good time. Sure, I would return to visit the family that stayed behind there. But such visits were fleeting and infrequent. “Home” was not home to me anymore; not since I dipped my toes into the human realm. Things were always happening with the humans. Cool trends, delicious food, fun people to meet—Earth had everything I could have asked for. Why would I have ever gone back to that old dusty manor?
Let me set the scene for you. At 149 years young, it was normal for a dragon like me to be living by myself. I had my own flat in a quaint little town not too far from a big city that never slept. It was perfect for me. But life did not think so; what was perfect quickly became very not-so-perfect but that’s a story for another day. All that matters is that by the time our story starts, things were not going well. I was jobless and, worse than that, I was depressed. My days were spent in a cycle of booze, video games, and brooding. No matter how hard I told myself to shake off my misfortunes and keep moving forward, I simply was stuck. It was as though an invisible hand held me down, fixing me to that period of my life. I was too tired to fight back, too worn thin. So I stayed in that bitter rut of sadness—angrily so.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), fate always comes knocking when you’ve hit your lowest low. And if it’s not fate at the door, it’s the mailman. That’s what I learned that evening as the waning sun painted a blood-red sea into the sky. I was stretched out across the couch with a mostly-eaten pizza still in the box nearby and a can of beer on the coffee table. Some documentary was on TV—I’ll be honest, I wasn’t paying much attention to it. The bright lights gave my eyes something to look at while my mind continuously cranked out thoughts. None of them were good, they never were in those days.
There was a knock at the door and the sigh that huffed out of my mouth was almost enough to spark a little green flame. I thought about ignoring it but a second knock came. It sounded more urgent this time so I relented. With a crack and a pop to my back, I picked myself up off that couch and made my way to the door. My brain was too clouded with thoughts to check the peep hole before I opened it. I think if I had seen what was on the other side, I would have marched straight back to that couch but a momentary lapse of judgement sealed my fate.
I opened the door and heard the unmistakable whir of wings zip past my left ear. It took a moment for me to process what had happened.
“Not again!” I exclaimed, spinning around and shutting the door behind me.
Down the hall flitted a tiny figure, her cyan aura emanating brightly down the darkened hall. By the time I had reacted, she had already made it to my mess of a kitchen. She danced about in the air on translucent wings that beat faster than my eyes could keep up with. In her hand was a letter—a normal-sized one that flopped about awkwardly as she waved it about. Upon the envelope, I could see my name and my teeth gnashed in realization.
He clearly didn’t get the message last time that I’m not interested.
“Delivery!” she said to me in a sing-song voice.
“Get out of here!” I yelled in return.
Whoever’s idea it was to have pixies be Avalonnia’s mail service deserves a kick straight in the ass. The fae used to be known for being tricksters but I’m pretty sure that was in a time when humans were less developed and more prone to making stupid choices (hard to imagine some days, I know). Every pixie I’ve met has been such an airhead that I’m convinced their species have somehow managed to evolve to the point where they no longer need brains.
The poor specimen in front of me was no different. She flittered and fluttered about, dancing just out of my reach as I tried to grab her out of the air. A growl built in the back of my throat as she waved the letter, a sinister-sweet giggle resonating from her.
“I don’t want any letters!” I snapped at her.
“Too bad, so sad, Mistress Solaris!” the snide creature retorts. “And he paid extra for a verbal service. So perk those little ears of yours and listen up to what he wants to say!”
“Gah!” I snarled at her. “I said I didn’t want to hear it!”
She cleared her throat anyways, opening the envelope deftly with a letter opener that I’m not even sure where she was storing all that time. As she cast the envelope aside and unfurled its contents, I lunged forward. Yet she was too nimble; the pixie slipped through my fingers. With an outraged snarl, I began my pursuit across the apartment. Completely unbothered by my hunt for her, the pixie began to read forth the words that I knew were coming. The words I did not want to hear.
“Dear Mistress Solaris,
You clearly know why I am writing to you at this point as you have ignored the last five letters I have sent to your address. Because of your lack of correspondence, I have elected to pull funds from the Solaris Family Vault and use them to pay for a verbal reading service offered by the mail pixies. Please forgive me but I feel it is necessary.
Amalia. It has been a year since a member of the Solaris family has occupied Solaris Manor. According to Article 5, Section 2b, written and agreed upon in the year of 0 PF by Percival vita Solaris— ‘A member of House Solaris must occupy the Shard hosting the forest commonly known as Avalonnia. This must be done for the safety of’–”
My hands found her before she could finish the rest, squeezing her until her pretty blue eyes bulged from her head. She squirmed in my palm as I made my way towards the window, sputtering and protesting. I didn’t have to crack the window open much in order to chuck her out. A single high-pitched note was screamed before she crashed into the bushes outside and I slammed the window shut.
“Thank God,” I breathed and made my way back to the couch, sliding back miserably onto it.
It occurred to me then that my beer can was empty, the television show was done and the credits were rolling. Midnight chimed on some distant clocktower across the town. I sighed, face half-snuggled into the armrest of the sofa with my tail draped off the other side, spilling into the floor. My eyes darted to the half-eaten pizza on the table, the aroma of melted cheese both enticing and appalling. My stomach gurgled its discomfort at me and I mused over how perhaps a diet of Papa Don’s for the last week was probably not the best idea. What seemed like a better idea was calling a pest exterminator but I thought better of the idea; after all, I wasn’t sure if fae could be treated the same as gnats in this regard and I didn’t exactly want murder on my hands.
I sighed out my frustrations and looked dully to the television screen, wondering how long it would be before the next attempt was made to contact me. The letters had become more frequent over the last two months. I had done everything I could think of to stop them—mailing back a very succinct “no”, burning the letters and then sending the ashes back in an envelope, and even not replying at all. Nothing deterred him. I thought about what it would take to disappear off the map entirely. It was probably more effort than it was worth, I concluded after some contemplation.
A part of me knew that at some point, I would have to accept the contents of those letters. But that did not mean that it would have to be today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. At some point, my stubbornness would break and maybe that was what he was waiting for.
He was right, though, someone had to go back and take care of the old family manor now that it was empty. But that person did not have to be me. In fact, I would have argued that whoever took ownership of the house should definitely not have been me. There were other members of the Solaris household he could have reached out to. Glumly, I realized he probably had already reached out to them. But none of them were available and so he insisted on pestering me instead.
Despite the dryness in my mouth, another beer sounded good. I sulked my way to the fridge, grabbed one, popped the tab open, and took a swig. It tasted horrible but at that point, I did not particularly care. When I took another drink from it, I tried to tell myself that I was justified in my feelings. Life was not being kind but that did not mean I needed to throw what I had away. Especially not for some old contract made by my ancestors thousands of years ago.
Another knock at the door tore me from my doldrums momentarily. My nose wrinkled as I thought about how it was likely the pixie again and I returned to the couch. Another documentary had begun to play, this one about a great betrayal between two business partners. My stomach churned, but this time it was not from the beer and pizza. Remote in hand, I began flipping through the channels. A second and third knock came and I ignored it. And then the fourth, although, this one was more akin to a raucous thud than a knock. I felt a part of my flat tremble and my head swung into the direction of the front door. A thought crossed my mind, something to the effect of “Damn, that pixie has a punch, doesn’t she?”
I went to the door, this time to deter her from doing whatever it was she was doing ever again. Once again, I did not check the peep hole and once again was I met with immediate regrets…
… and a shotgun barrel pointed directly at my face.
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