Addison put her face between the palms of her hands, leaning her elbows on the tree stump in front of her.

“It won’t be so bad,” the faerie queen said, the pitch varying up and down.

It created a sound that was almost a soft song, but it always hit Addison in the space behind her eyes. She shuddered, not bothering to hide it in her frustration.

“I know it won’t. Matilda is a step up above the demons. Several steps, actually,” Addison responded without moving her face. The words came out garbled, but the queen didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

She did flap her long wings, sending a glittery breeze in Addison's direction.

“The witch wanted a daughter. Instead, she got a timeshare. Her work is hard and she grows tired,” the queen said, moving to sit down on the ground next to her daughter. “We are all doing our best-”

“Given the unusual arrangement.” Addison cut her off. “I know.”

She pulled her face out of her hands and straightened out her spine. “I’ve been feeling restless. The rules, and the travel…”

“You know…2 more years and you can choose.”

Addison turned her head toward the queen and lifted an eyebrow.

“Where to live. Who to serve. What powers to master,” the queen reached a pale hand out, letting it lightly touch the human's shoulder.“You can choose the realm of the Fae or the Witch. Soon.”

Addison felt her eyebrow rise even higher than it had before. “I get to choose? I get powers?” she asked.

The queen laughed, the sound carrying in the air around them. “Of course.”

Addison opened her mouth to speak again when her vision began to blur. The objects around her began to swirl together, and the faerie queens smiling face faded into nothing. She closed her eyes as the bile in her stomach began to boil upwards toward her throat. Just when she thought she would lose it, the ground beneath her settled.

Her mind stopped reeling, and her inner ear stabilized again.

When she opened her eyes the lush grass and willow trees of the fae were gone, replaced by cabin logs and a dusty floor beneath her.

“You’re late,” Matilda growled from behind her.

Despite nausea having barely subsided, Addison whipped her head around to see the Witch sitting at the long and heavy kitchen table. The cauldron sat atop it, cold and sturdy as always.

“Then you’re late bringing me here,” she muttered as she stood up. Her hands swept across her pants to remove the dirt and dust from her clothing.

“That creepy winged woman could have sent you here.”

“And if they had clocks and calenders nailed to the trees, I would have asked her to,” Addison combated, her voice louder and angrier than the last comment.

“Addy,” the witch started, and then let out a sigh of pure exhaustion. “It doesn’t matter. You are here now, and I need some nightshade.”

“Of course. And I suppose I am meant to walk to the village?”

“I would go,” Matilda said, “but I would rather not be poked with pitchforks today.”