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Writer's pictureMark Sanders

Chapter 17: Ornament


Within moments, the pale, white trunk of the Ornament Tree was adorned with what Osric surmised was the faerie equivalent of a coat of arms, a color and pattern representing each family. It seemed a logical explanation. He spotted his escaped faerie approach the tree and imprint her lace pattern in lavender. To his good fortune, it looked low enough for him to reach without assistance.


Once the whole city had decorated the column, it was transformed into an object of indescribable beauty. Emotion welled up from Osric’s stomach, through his chest, and into his head, tears of joy spilling down his face. His mind could barely comprehend the majesty of the object in the clearing, its colors reaching into the sky.


As much as he admired it, he was also determined to get back home. Her lace pattern had brought him here, and he planned to see if it would take him to her location now. When the festival ended and everyone left, he walked alone into the clearing.


Her ornament was above his eye level but easily within reach. He pressed his hand upon it, bracing for a pull or a shock, but he received neither. Instead, the sensation was like floating in water with a dizzy spin in his head as reality became a rush of dark colors. In an instant, he was transported to the edge of a deserted city, the hulks of crumbling ruins sprawled ahead, and the faerie hovering an arm’s length away.

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