I once tried to get a normal job.

  “And what are your skills?” asked the dryad in front of me, her lovingly long green wings fluttering behind her.

  Nothing like mine, torn and grey.

  “Um,” I said, “wielding the dagger?”

  Turns out that wasn’t the correct answer for the job of a forest keeper. So that’s how I wound up here.

  I look around myself.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Under me, bodies of other fae are piled up. I stand above them all, victorious, my dark cape flutters behind me, hiding my frail moth-like wings, ripped and fragile. My gray skin shines in the sunlight, barely withstanding it. Short red hair is nested atop my head, covering my little horns.

  I am so much smaller than all of them, yet they are on the floor, and I stand victorious.

  A pixie. They were beaten by a pixie.

  Ten of competitors, one winner. Who will be the next personal guard of the Spring Lord?

  It’s me.

  “Show yourself,” the Lord commands me.

  I smile and pull my hood down, then look at him.

  There is a gasp between the gathered fey lord and ladies.

  “A changeling!” someone screams.

  “A member of the Unseelie Court!” Another shocked yell.

  I laugh.

  My name is Nyx.

  Do not forget me.

  Please.