I arrived at the Grace Orphan Home with nothing but the clothes on my back. They were the only memento of my previous life, now only a distant memory. Even those clothes would not last long as we all had a uniform to wear. We could not personalize this one like I could my old one which I had stowed away at the bottom of my drawers. Not like I had the money to anyway.

Needless to say I did not adjust well. I can not imagine any ten year old who got their family killed would to being shipped off to a place that was a constant reminder of the result of their actions. I barely ate, barely slept and cried my eyes out every night for who knows how long. I had to do that quietly though otherwise I would wake up the other girls I was sharing the room with and they had made it abundantly clear they would not tolerate it.

My roommates were not very welcoming to having a younger crybaby invade their space. Judy was the worst of the trio, probably from having to share the bunk with me. In hindsight it was partially my fault from having retracted into my shell and leaving a bad first impression on them, but could you blame me?

They would often mess with my uniforms and do what they could to get me in trouble, probably in the hopes of getting me out of there. They had made me feel miserable enough to blame myself for bothering them and had voluntarily asked to be moved out of the room. To no ones surprise, the Mothers did not care enough. I think the girls eventually found out I had asked and calmed down in their attempts to paint me as a rebel, but it could simply be that they lost interest and accepted that they would have to put up with me.

Despite all this, the one thing I did notice was that no matter what, they never touched my old uniform. It was not particularly hidden, but it was always left the same as it was that first day I buried it. I was actually thankful for that, as whenever I saw my the meager contents of my wardrobe messed with, I always had the fear I would find it missing.

But you are not here to listen about my troubles with the kids at the orphanage. With the scene set, lets move on to when I next saw another fae.

You see, I had arrived at the orphanage about a month before Samhain, or as you might know it, Hallows Eve. That is the time when the passages between ours and the Otherworlds are open at their widest. It is a time for Fae and other Neighbors alike to come and frolick in our world en masse, like an annual festival.

For most ordinary folk this event is no more than an old tradition that predates the Regime. Why it has survived for so long and through so many reforms is that it exists to protect the ordinary folk ignorant of the supernatural, and their children. The reason masks and sometimes even costumes are allowed on this night is to hide the gazes of the children, who are most prone to seeing the fae, and hiding the fae by having constant distractions in the form of said masks and costumes.

Well, the interest for this was pretty split within the orphanage, with those wishing to participate having to make their own masks. The Mothers did not care for it, and neither did my roommates. I was not in the mindset to participate and due to my lack of social interactions with the other children did not have much encouragement.

I often found myself wandering to escape the confines of my bed when the other three were in the room. This was usually in the evenings as they were required to work in factories after becoming twelve to support the orphanage but this Hallows Eve fell on their day off so I ended up spending the vast majority of the day sitting outside in the grassy patches surrounding the building. Once the sun set and temperatures dropped, however, I started seeing them. They would flicker in and out of sight as they darted between the many children granted the freedom to disguise themselves, trying to find one to prey upon. Only years later would I begin to understand how insanely lucky I was that none of them noticed me. I was often told how I had very little presence back then, usually fading into the background.

The fae came in many shapes and sizes but I paid little heed to those. It was the fairies, the ones that looked just like Ethilla who captured my attention. I tried not to think of Ethilla ever since the incident, as it never showed itself to me since my family died. At the time it was as if Ethilla had died with them and was just as saddened to have it gone, as I had blamed myself more than my would be imaginary friend. At least until that night.

Some of the children from the orphanage were playing hide and seek. One of them had decided to hide outside and climbed the only tree in the small yard out back. No one came for him for quite a while and he seemed to have been getting bored of hiding. That was when one of the fairies approached him.

it had sounded just like Ethilla and for a moment I thought it might have been the same one. I heard it asking the boy if he needed help getting down. I remember him refusing and trying to swat it away like he would a fly. Of course it was too nible to be struck by the flailing arms of a prepubescent boy clinging onto a tree branch. But this seemed to have drawn the attention of others of its kind. More started to swarm him and they would all ask him in that same voice if he needed help getting down. When he once did not decline a new one but rather told it to leave him alone, they all switched from politely asking to chanting in unison.

"We will help you down! We will help you down!"

They swarmed him, grabbed his clothes and lifted him up into the air. I can still clearly remember the fear on the boy's face as he rose higher and higher. The chanting only grew louder to cover the boy's shouting a screaming as he flailed. They slowly one by one let go so that he is only getting held upsidedown by his feet. And then he plunged. A quick fall to his death as his skull impacted and neck twisted. All sound seemed to cut out as soon as the thud resounded. I was left frozen in shock and terror looking at his body, too scared to move or shout. Then I heard the laughter. Cold and maniacle is the only way you could describe it. They circled overhead like vultures before splitting to look for more victims.

One of the Mothers eventually came out to check what the screaming was, only to let out one herself when she spotted the twisted neck of the boy. I do not remember the events that followed too well as it was a blur, but hankfully I was noticed and brought inside, otherwise I might have frozen to death in my little spot.

Only after returning to my room much later that evening did I get knocked out of my shellshocked state, as I found the three girls watching amazement as a fairy flew across the room.