My so-called 'sister' – and wow, that's still weird to think about – leads me through corridors that seem to breathe. Every step reveals new impossibilities: staircases that rearrange themselves like a magical Rubik's cube, windows that open onto different seasons, and doorways that whisper ancient secrets in languages I somehow understand.

  "Your old chambers are just as you left them," she says, gliding forward with that otherworldly grace I'm apparently supposed to possess. I'm too busy trying not to trip over my own feet, which isn't made any easier by the fact that I'm now significantly taller than I was an hour ago. My uniform strains uncomfortably across my chest, and my hair – now falling well past my waist in a cascade of black silk threaded with starlight – keeps getting caught on everything.

  "Left them?" I mutter, tugging at my too-tight collar. "You mean when I was apparently a magical princess? Because I'm still processing that part." My voice carries that same hint of sarcasm that got me through basic training, but there's an underlying tremor I can't quite hide. "Actually, let's talk about that. How long have I been gone? Because I've got twenty-six years of memories that say I grew up in foster care in Boston, not..." I gesture at the impossible room around us, "...whatever this is. What age was I when you supposedly sent me away to play human?"

  The question hangs in the air like one of those floating crystals, sharp and demanding. Six years of military service taught me to gather intel before making decisions, and right now, I'm operating completely blind in enemy territory. Even if the enemy happens to be my supposed fairy sister who looks like she just stepped out of a fantasy novel.

  áine's graceful steps falter for just a moment, and something ancient and sad flickers across her face. "Time flows differently here than in the mortal realm," she says carefully, each word measured like precious gems. "For us, it's been... three centuries since you were taken from us. You were barely four hundred years old – just a child by our standards."

  She reaches out as if to touch my face, then lets her hand fall. "We searched every realm for you, little flame. But whoever took you, they hid you well. The glamour that concealed you was..." Her voice catches. "It was powerful enough to fool even Mother's scrying. We didn't know if you were dead or imprisoned or..." She trails off, those aurora-filled eyes distant with old pain.

  "Hold up," I interrupt, my head spinning. "Four hundred years old? Centuries? I'm twenty-six, not some immortal fairy kid who—" The words die in my throat as I catch another glimpse of myself in a passing crystal wall. The ethereal creature staring back at me certainly doesn't look twenty-six. Or human. Or sane, for that matter.

  "Your mortal age is an illusion," áine explains gently. "Part of the glamour that kept you hidden. In truth, you're nearly seven hundred years old now, though still young for our kind. The lost princess of the Summer Court, finally returned." Her voice carries a note of bitterness on those last words, though whether it's directed at me or someone else, I can't tell.

  The corridor opens into a chamber that makes my heart stop. It's like someone took a sunset and built a room around it – walls of amber crystal catch and hold the eternal twilight, casting everything in warm honey-gold light. A massive bed draped in autumn-colored silks dominates one wall, while the opposite side features a weapons rack holding bow and arrows that seem to be made of living flame.

  "This is..." The word 'impossible' dies on my lips because really, what isn't impossible today?

  áine pauses before a door that seems to be made of living moonlight. "You always did have a peculiar fascination with mortal entertainment." Her smile carries a hint of fond exasperation. "Though I must admit, I don't understand half of what you're saying anymore."

  The door opens at her touch, and I forget how to breathe. The chamber beyond defies physics and common sense in equal measure. The ceiling is a living map of constellations I've never seen, their light casting soft shadows that dance across walls of opalescent crystal. A bed that could comfortably sleep a dozen floats – actually floats – in the center of the room, draped in fabrics that shimmer between colors that don't exist in the human world.

  "The wardrobe still responds to your touch," áine says, gesturing to what looks like a waterfall of liquid silver. "You might want to change. Your... uniform seems uncomfortable."

  I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror that might actually be a frozen piece of night, and do a double-take. The reflection stares back at me, familiar and foreign – still me, but stretched taller, more ethereal. My eyes now swirl with golden light, like someone bottled a sunset and poured it into my irises.

  "Great," I mutter, tugging at a strand of my new starlit hair. "I look like I fell into a vat of cosmic glitter. Though I guess this explains why my drill sergeant always said I had an 'otherworldly' attitude problem." I pause, squinting at my reflection. "Wait, does this mean all those times I got written up for insubordination were actually just my repressed fairy princess showing through? Because that would explain so much about my military career."

  As I stare at my reflection – this stranger with my face stretched into something ethereal and impossible – I can't help but wonder: if I'm really this magical princess they claim, then who was the person who served in the Army? Who was the woman who earned her stripes, who built a life and friendships and a whole identity? Was any of it real, or was it all just an elaborate glamour, a costume I'm now supposed to shed like last season's fashion?

  "This is..." I wave vaguely at my reflection, at the room, at everything. "I mean, you can't just drop 'Hey, you're actually a fairy princess' on someone and then go straight to the house tour. There should be some kind of orientation packet. A PowerPoint presentation. Something."

  áine's laughter sounds like wind chimes in a summer breeze. "Oh, little flame, sarcasm is such a mortal trait." She waves her hand, and the walls around us shift, becoming transparent. Beyond them stretches a kingdom that makes my head spin – floating islands connected by bridges of light, forests of crystal trees that chime in harmony with the wind, and in the distance, a horizon that seems to contain multiple suns, each a different color.

  "This is Tír na nóg," she says, her voice full of pride and something deeper, something worried. "The realm of eternal sunshine, where dreams take form and magic flows like water. And it's as much your home as it is mine."

  I press my hand against the crystal wall, watching as it ripples like water under my touch. "And we're at war," I say quietly, remembering her words from earlier. "With who?"

  Her expression darkens like storm clouds gathering. "That, sister dear, is a conversation for after you've settled in. For now, let's focus on getting you out of those mortal clothes and back into something more... suitable for a Princess of the Summer Court."

  As if on cue, my uniform's seams groan in protest, and I hear a distinct ripping sound. "Okay, yeah," I concede, "wardrobe first. Existential crisis and magical war briefing later."

  áine leads me through corridors that seem to be made of living crystal, until we reach what I assume is some kind of royal dressing chamber. The wardrobes don't just stretch upward – they spiral into infinity like a galaxy of clothing, each piece emanating its own subtle melody. As áine waves her hand, the gowns don't simply float – they dance, each one performing its own elegant ballet in the air. The starlight dress she offers catches stray beams of light and fractures them into impossible colors, sending prismatic patterns skittering across the walls like aurora borealis in miniature.

  I eye a dress that seems to be made of actual moonbeams and morning dew. "Quick question – do these things come with tactical pockets? Because I've got to tell you, that was the one thing the Army got right. Pockets. Lots of them. For... you know, important princess stuff." I pat my current uniform's pockets reflexively, realizing I don't even know what a fairy princess would need to carry. Spare pixie dust? Royal ID card? "Also, please tell me you have something that won't make me look like a disco ball threw up on a Renaissance faire."

  áine's face falls slightly. "But you used to love these dresses. I remember how you would spend hours choosing just the right one for each occasion."

  I grab one of the floating gowns and hold it up against me. It's gorgeous, I'll give it that – all flowing silk in shades of summer sunset, with golden leaves that actually rustle when they move. "Look, it's beautiful. They're all beautiful. But I've spent the last six years in combat boots and ACUs. I need something practical." I pause, suddenly aware of another pressing issue. "Also, um, underwear? Please tell me fairy princesses wear underwear."

  "Oh, little flame, I've missed your strange humor." She laughs, the sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze. But I notice the slight furrow in her brow, the way her eyes search my face as if looking for traces of the sister she remembers.

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  "I'm not joking," I say, dead serious. "If we're at war, I need clothes I can fight in. Something that won't get me killed because I'm too busy untangling myself from yards of magical silk."

  áine sighs, but waves her hand again. The parade of floating ballgowns retreats, replaced by a selection of more practical attire. Still beautiful, still clearly magical, but at least these look like something I could run in. "You've changed, sister. The Kaliana I knew would have seen these dresses as works of art, as expressions of our court's magic and beauty."

  I select a pair of fitted trousers that seem to be made of some kind of leather that shifts colors like a forest in twilight, and a simple tunic that feels like water against my skin. "Maybe that's not entirely a bad thing," I suggest, testing the stretch of the fabric.

  The golden lights around my hands pulse brighter, and for a second, I swear I can feel something ancient and powerful stirring in my blood. It's like that moment right before lightning strikes, when the air crackles with electricity and possibility. "You know," I say, trying to keep my voice steady as sparks literally fly from my fingertips, "in the Army, we had protocols for everything. Somehow they forgot to cover 'what to do when you suddenly start shooting sparklers from your hands.' Serious oversight in the training manual there."

  áine POV

  The moment I saw her transformed, I knew something was terribly wrong. My little sister stood before me in all her fae glory – starlit hair, golden eyes, skin that captured twilight – but the spark of recognition I'd been waiting for never came. The magic had restored her true form, yes, but where were her memories?

  She should remember me. Even if the glamour had hidden her away at four years old, even if the mortal realm had claimed her for years, she should know her own sister. The transformation spell was meant to bring everything back – but her memories remained locked away, hidden behind a barrier I couldn't understand. I had followed the ancient texts to the letter, had woven the unbinding spell with my own heartstrings as the grimoire demanded. The magic had flowed true, I felt it. So why did Kaliana still look at me with a stranger's eyes?

  "Your old chambers are just as you left them," I say, leading her through the ever-shifting corridors of our home. I watch her stumble, trying to adjust to her restored height, her newly awakened grace fighting against decades of mortal muscle memory. Each clumsy step is a knife in my heart. My sister – my Kaliana – had once danced on moonbeams and raced through these halls as if gravity was merely a suggestion.

  The chamber around us hums with ancient magic, responding to Kaliana's presence even if she doesn't recognize it. Little motes of golden light dance around her head – her own magic, remembering even if she does not. A bitter smile tugs at my lips as I watch her marvel at the simplest fae enchantments. Perhaps this memory loss is a blessing in disguise. Without her past, without knowledge of her true power, Mother will have a harder time molding her into the weapon she desires.

  I pause before her chamber doors, crafted from captured moonlight and ancient promises. "You always did have a peculiar fascination with mortal entertainment," I say, forcing lightness into my voice. The truth is, she had never cared for mortal things before her exile. This new version of my sister, with her military bearing and human colloquialisms, is a stranger wearing familiar skin. A stranger who might just be safer for it.

  When she asks my name – my name – it takes every ounce of courtly training not to shatter the nearest window with my grief. Instead, I laugh, the sound hollow in my own ears, and tell her stories of our home while my mind races through possibilities. Who would dare? Who could dare? And more importantly, what do they gain by keeping a fae princess from remembering her true self?

  Something was terribly wrong. Unless... unless someone had interfered. Unless someone had wanted Kaliana to forget. The thought brings equal parts worry and relief. A sister without memories cannot be twisted into Mother's perfect weapon, cannot follow Maeve's tragic path. Perhaps this loss is actually protection – though the cost tears at my heart.

  I force my features into careful neutrality, a skill honed through centuries of court politics. The magic pulses at my fingertips, waiting. It would be so easy – one gesture, a whispered word, and she would sleep peacefully while I hunt down whoever dared tamper with her memories. She would be safe from court intrigue, from our mother's disappointment, from her own dangerous ignorance of our ways.

  The weight of centuries presses down on me as I watch my sister examine her new form. I find myself caught between duty and desire: duty to our realm that desperately needs its lost princess returned whole, and my selfish desire to protect this new version of my sister, who seems somehow freer than she ever was before. There's an openness to her now, a willingness to question everything – even me – that the old Kaliana had lost long ago under Mother's exacting tutelage.

  "Your strange humor," I had said earlier, but the truth is, I envy it. Centuries of court politics have stripped away my own ability to speak so freely. Every word I utter must be weighed, measured, considered for its potential impact. Even now, as I long to simply embrace my sister and tell her everything, I find myself calculating the risks, considering the consequences. The Summer Court has ears everywhere, and Mother's spies rarely sleep.

  Perhaps that's why I find myself drawn to this new version of Kaliana. She reminds me of how we both were once, before the weight of our titles and Mother's expectations changed us. Before Maeve's betrayal taught us the price of defiance. Her military bearing may seem foreign to our kind, but there's a strange honor in it that feels more genuine than all our courtly machinations.

  But is it right? To take away her choice, even to protect her? The irony of considering such an action – to strip away her agency just as someone else stripped away her memories – is not lost on me. The magic fades from my fingertips as I make my decision. I cannot protect her by becoming another person who rewrites her reality without consent. But even as I begin another careful explanation, I pray I won't regret this choice. Mother's patience grows thinner with each passing day, and Kaliana's current state makes her vulnerable to those who would use her for their own ends. I can only hope I'm strong enough to shield her from what's coming.

  "The Queen?" Kali asks, still studying her transformed reflection. "I should probably meet her, right? Since she's apparently my mother and the Queen. I need some answers."

  áine's reflection appears beside Kalis’ in the mirror, her expression carefully controlled. "Queen Titania can wait," she says, her voice carrying the weight of command that seems to make the very air vibrate. "You need rest after your transformation. The magic... it takes a toll."

  The guards exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. One steps forward, her crystalline armor chiming softly. "Your Highness, the Queen's orders were explicit—"

  "There's been a change of plans." áine draws herself up, power crackling around her like summer lightning. The temperature in the room rises, and I swear I can smell ozone and sun-warmed flowers. "We will not be meeting with Mother today. I take full responsibility for this decision."

  Kali POV

  I turn to áine, questions burning on my tongue, but she's already moving toward the wardrobe, her movements sharp with barely contained tension. "Come, little flame. Let's find you something more suitable to wear. That uniform..." She waves a dismissive hand. "It belongs to a life that's no longer yours."

  The tremor in her fingers doesn't escape my notice, nor does the way her shoulders carry a weight heavier than her crystalline armor. Whatever game she's playing with the Queen – with our mother – I'm somehow both the prize and the pawn.

  And I have a feeling I'm not going to like the rules.

  "Rest?" I scoff, pushing away from the mirror. "I've been 'resting' in the trunk of a car for hours. What I need are answers." I stride toward her, my newfound height making the movement more dramatic than intended. "Look, this has been... fascinating, really. The magical makeover, the floating furniture, all of it. But I need to speak to the Queen – our mother, supposedly – and figure out what's really going on here."

  Something flickers in those aurora-filled eyes, and suddenly I can feel her anxiety rolling off in waves, like static before a storm. The sensation is so strong it stops me in my tracks. Since when can I feel other people's emotions?

  I plant my feet and cross my arms, channeling every ounce of sergeant authority I possess. "Okay Snow White, clearly someone's in charge of this fairy tale gone wrong." Golden sparks dance between my fingers like fireflies, making my next words catch in my throat. "Either your magical HR department made one hell of a clerical error, or..." I stare at my glowing hands, "...everything I thought I knew about myself is a lie."

  áine's perfect mask slips for just a moment, and in that fraction of a second, I see something that chills me more than any fairy magic – fear.

  "I mean, seriously!" I wave my now-glowing hands in the air, trying to mask my rising panic with humor. "I'm literally sparkling like a disco ball. There has to be some fairy bureaucrat somewhere who checked the wrong box on their supernatural transformation form. And hey, while we're at it, your extraction team deserves a raise – very polite, solid 5-star kidnapping experience, would definitely recommend on Yelp."

  "Kaliana—" she starts, but I cut her off.

  "It's Kali. Just Kali." The words come out sharp, frustrated. "And don't feed me any more lines about being a fae princess or these being my chambers. I need real answers."

  A muscle ticks in áine's jaw – the first crack in her perfect composure I've seen. "You're exhausted from the transformation. You're not thinking clearly—"

  "Oh, I'm thinking perfectly clearly." I take another step forward, and the golden lights around me pulse brighter, matching my rising anger. "In fact, I'm thinking you don't want me to see the Queen right now, or ever. Am I wrong?"

  Her hand moves in a graceful arc, too fast for me to dodge. "Always so perceptive, little flame," she murmurs, "even without your memories."

  "What are you—" The question dies in my throat as she throws a handful of silvery powder in my face. It sparkles like diamond dust in the eternal sunshine, and for a moment, it's beautiful. Then the world starts to spin.

  "I'm sorry," I hear her whisper as my knees buckle. Her arms catch me before I hit the floor, and I feel myself being lifted as if I weigh nothing. "I'm so sorry, but I can't let anyone know. Not yet."

  My thoughts turn sluggish, like honey in winter. I try to fight it – years of resistance training kicking in – but whatever this fairy dust is, it's stronger than any sedative I've encountered. The last thing I'm aware of is being laid gently on that floating bed, while áine's voice drifts above me, tense with worry: "What am I going to do with you?"

  "Oh, that is so not fair," I manage to say before darkness claims me. "Using... fairy dust... is definitely... cheating..." Then I fall into dreams of summer days and golden halls, where the sun never sets and magic flows like water.