Woah, a half baked wholly indulgent au be upon ye.
(^Based purely on the vibes of this photo)
The marketplace isn't quiet by any means. A child calls out to its mother, begging for some trinket or treat. A bout of haggling two stalls down is particularly intense in a way that you envy. Bustling with bodies of all ages and ableness - ‘quiet’ and ‘marketplace’ do not go hand in hand. But it still makes you jump when the end of the shop erupts in shouting and, strangely, a tiny growling. The shop owner, a man you've known since you were as tall as his knees, holds a bedraggled kitten by its scruff high in the air. By the time he's done shouting about the ‘little varmint’ stealing his good produce you've crossed the room.
Astonished, you scold him. It's just a kitten, small enough to carry in one hand, how much damage could it do? But he insists that it's costing him money. People don't want to buy produce with bite marks and torn packaging. So you reach up and assure him that you'll take care of it. He won’t ever have to see it again - you'll keep it far away from his shop. You bundle the kitten against your chest, not minding when it bites and scratches your hands, and slowly pet it until it falls still in your hands.
A bath leaves you with more scratches. Under all that dust and dirt was a soft white coat that you brush and fluff until it's smooth. She's very defensive at first. You expected her to be skittish, but to your surprise (and amusement) she growls fiercely the first few days. One morning you frown and furrow your eyebrows. “Well that's not very nice. I'm just tryna give you your breakfast.” The growling stops, but she doesn't come out of her defensive crouch. You shake your head with a smile and crouch to lower the dish. “Come on, grumpy. Let's see how long you can go without hissing.”
For one month you take care of her. She's too small to get over the barricades you set up by the doors. Instead of acting like a regular kitten she follows you from room to room. She doesn't play, but lets you pet and snuggle and responds with yells when you sass her. And then, a month later, you wake up and look at her bed to find it empty. All but for a piece of paper folded in half with two words written in gold cursive.
You look everywhere for her. Even with the mysterious note, it takes a while before you stop. But after a few days of calling out and hoping, you have to try and move on. Some foraging will do you some good. So you grab your supplies and head out into the woods. You're careful as you pick at berries and leaves and kindling. You watch where you step. You leave more than enough for the wildlife. And you pretend not to see the pale creature off in the distance. No, you're very careful in inspecting your haul and turning around with your eyes on the ground.
“Halt,” a powerful voice calls out. You wince when your body betrays you by listening. And then you start, because it's stepping out from the tree nearest to you.
“I-I mean no harm.” Your words are meek and halting. It- hers, are strong and low.
“I know.” Your heartbeat races as an elegant hand stretches out and reaches a finger under your chin to force it up. You keep your eyes averted as much as you can.
Your eyes dart over golden waves and soft cheeks to a pair of eyes that make you go slack. It's the same gentle blue as the kitten. Only these are accompanied by a wide smile as the fae sees it click. “Oh…”
Her smile softens into a gentle line. "Yes. And I thank you, for looking after me."
You pull away, ducking your head down again. "I didn't know. Please, forgive me-"
"There's nothing to forgive, young one. You helped a creature in need. And now, should you need anything, you may call upon me."
Your eyes go wide. This isn't good. This is bad. This is very, very bad. "You don't owe me anything. There is no debt to be repaid."
“I know.” And suddenly she's gone again.
