What if you gave an unseelie fey/faerie your wrong name or a different name so they couldn’t use it against you? Would they know it’s not your real name?
“Clever thing,” the unseelie said softly. It sounded less like praise and more like dangerous on the fey’s lips. They circled the human, eyes bright as a cat’s in the darkness of their personal urban jungle. “You know your fairy tales.”
The human tracked their movements, heart pounding in their chest. It would be foolish to assume being nameless kept them safe. It just kept them from being stolen. Puppeted.
The unseelie’s head tilted. “Of course,” the fey continued. “I’m sure the stories also tell you that my kind are not fond of being lied to.”
“You asked me if you may have my name. I answered - with all due respect, you may not. My name is my own.”
The unseelie laughed them. Maybe it was a little bit praise. Maybe a little bit of praise was in itself a little bit of dangerous, when it fed the fey’s attention and that hungry, appreciative look on their face. The unseelie came to a stop in front of them and held out a hand to shake.
“Not so clever that you didn’t come here though,” the fey said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance then.”
Politely, the human shook. Up close, the unseelie smelled like frost, or a forest after rain, or maybe the earth after a lightning strike. Some subtly powerful and nebulous thing that exposed their true nature.
The unseelie bowed their head, eyes still fixed on the human as their lips brushed with some old-time courtesy over the back of the human’s knuckles in a disarming kiss.
“The pleasure is all mine,” the human murmured right back. “I’ve heard a lot about your work. I’ve brought payment, I hope it will be enough.”
The shop was a rickety building, unassuming from the outside, and filled with every manner of musical instrument in the world. All fey had their skills and preferences for arts, but the unseelie in question was famed for their instrument craft.
The fey smiled, all teeth. “You’ll know if it isn’t.”
The human resisted the urge to swallow. Simple cash didn’t tend to work with this particular retailer, and it was tricky at any given time to say what would, though there were always rumours.
Most people didn’t find it worth it. Some fools came for curiosity. Others came because the unseelie’s skill was unparalleled. A fey piano never needed tuning again, their strings never snapped, their music was somehow impossibly sweeter. All of the best musicians had come here to find their piece.
“Play me something,” the fey commanded. “Then we will discuss your payment.”
The human released a breath, a steadying shiver of nerves. They looked around the shop at all the beautiful and sometimes strange pieces, intricately carved, exquisitely made.
They settled by the piano.
There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere in the store, and the pages of the music book rustled open on their own.
The human sat down upon soft velvet, ghosting their fingers over the keys with a sharp longing.
The unseelie’s attention was intent on their back.
The human closed their eyes and began to play.
The fey was silent after, and the human didn’t dare look back at them, breathing hard as if they’d just ran a marathon.
“Such a clever thing,” the unseelie whispered, in the darkness. Then their voice was normal, as much as a fey’s ever was. “Come by tomorrow night, twilight. I will have what you need.”
“And the payment?” They glanced over, finally, and was very glad they knew their fairy tales. The look burning in the unseelie’s eyes told them they would not have walked out again. They would have stayed here, played forever, played until they couldn’t, until their bones broke or they went mad for it.
“One day,” the unseelie promised, “you will not be so clever.”
theartofmadeline
stormborns
izzy806
