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“Fiona...”

The voice was like a whisper, quiet and hushed, something she wasn’t entirely sure she had actually heard. It sounded like her stepfather. No. Malcolm? Surely not. It was a voice she recognised. At least, she thought she had. It had seemed so familiar, yet she couldn’t quite place it. It had been so vivid as it bounced around the walls of her bare cottage, echoing as though someone was there, calling to her.

But there was no one here.

The Dark Realm lived up to its name, or it had at first until Fiona’s dreams forced a sun into its sky. Even in the light of the sun, however, the thick, dark ground beneath her seemed to emit shadow like an obsidian mist. She was able to see for miles around, and everything remained as it had been for weeks. Months maybe. Barren. Dull. Lifeless. In the weeks following her arrival, before and after the time of the sun, Fiona had been consumed by more sorrow than she ever believed possible. It was no surprise to her that her mind was beginning to rebel, to create things that could not be real.

“Fiona...”

 

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“You can’t ignore me forever, you know” the voice sounded so much like him. For days it had been tormenting her, driving her deeper and deeper into her despair. Each time it spoke, joy filled the Black Fairy’s heart for the briefest of seconds, until she realised it wasn’t real.

How could it be real?

She assumed it was simply a trick of her mind, but occasionally, in the middle of the night when the darkness was at its thickest, the voice seemed to change its tone, pleading to her. She wondered, during those times, whether it was him after all. Perhaps she was hearing him calling to her through the boundaries between the realms. In those moments, she could hear the grief he felt over her loss, or maybe it was just her own grief projecting.

 

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“You’re not here.” her voice cracked as she spoke after a few more months of torment. How long had it been since she had last used her voice? How long had it been since she had last refreshed her throat with the coolness of water from the stream?

“Of course I’m here. I’ve been here all along..” the voice spoke back but Fiona simply rolled over on the small bed she hadn’t moved from in days, facing the stone wall. She raised a hand, lightly touching the stone and feeling it beneath her palm, it was cold and rough, and it only served as a reminder that she was still, despite her best efforts, alive and trapped in this place.

Above her was the latest of the carvings on the wall, one mark for each day she had been within the Dark Realm. It had been ten thousand days before the cottage had appeared to provide her with shelter, but the walls were now marked with 143,080 marks, counting each of the 392 years she had been alone.

 

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She couldn’t remember a time in her past when she had felt as hopeless as she did now. It had been raining for six days, the kind of rain that sounded as though the very heavens themselves had opened up, with raindrops so round and heavy that they hurt when they hit bare skin. The sound of rain has been soothing at first, and she had fallen into something resembling sleep, only to dream of Malcolm and her son and all that had been stolen from her. When she awoke, the pillow beneath her was damp, but she couldn’t find a single leak in the roof.

The fact that her mood was what was causing the weather was completely lost on her.

How long had it been since she had last eaten? Weeks certainly, but she was sure it was closer to months. She hated that she was still alive, that starving herself did nothing to her but make her slightly irritable and rather sleepy. How many times had she tried to end her life over the last hundred years? She’d lost count. Nothing worked. She had become immune to death.

 

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“Fiona…”

There he was again. It was as though her torment was her only companion. The voice that had broken up the silence for centuries, mimicked her beloved Malcolm as it drove her to the brink of insanity and despair.

“Fiona…”

He sounded too urgent this time. Like he knew she was about to break. She opened her eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the afternoon sun, sitting herself up in bed. When her dark hues finally focussed, they fell upon a familiar face and she felt all of her emotions rush over her at once, like a tidal wave of sadness and relief all at once.

“Malcolm?” There was such hope in her tone and she rose from the bed, moving over to him but as she studied his face, she realised that something was playing with her, and it wasn’t her mind this time.

Not Malcolm.

The creature was the perfect mimic of the real thing only his eyes were as black as coal, and the edges of his form flickered with moving shadows. She recognised what it was in an instant. The Darkness in its most concentrated form. Pure Dark Magic that had been created within her, that was a part of her that only wished to be allowed to do what was in its nature.

“Now that I finally have your attention. It’s time for you to become what you were always meant to be..”

 

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