Page 30 of Lux

Niamh

“...The beautiful, the mesmerizing, the indescribable Minchae!”

Until now, I hadn't experienced such emotions. What jealousy can do to your soul and make parts of you sting and burn. How it can sit like poison in your chest, weighing down your heart with every breath. It can corrupt and change everything you thought about yourself.

At the same time, it instills within you a hunger. One I never felt in the archives while I watched the other fae interact or while I saw Day wander the halls unchallenged, with his head held high. I looked at them and felt shame for what I lacked.

Never once, did I stare in seething envy and wonder…

How do I do this?

How do I unfurl myself from a strip of painted wood hanging from two strings above a massive, cavernous space filled with spectators? How do I move as though their gasps and thrilled murmurs don’t affect me? How do I manipulate my bodythrough the air, as though in flight, without ever needing a pair of wings?

I watch Minchae, wide-eyed, open-mouthed and shame or guilt isn’t what I feel. A burning, itchy need takes root in my limbs instead. I need to move like that. Carry myself the way she does. I want to fly in a way that no one can ever bring me down to earth again.

“Found wandering the jungles of the far east, this beauty is a creature unknown to this realm, whispered about in legends and rumors. The spawn of myths. A siren of incomparable grace. I give you…”

A thudding sound comes from nearby—the result of a man dressed in bright orange clothing beating on a round object with a taut end.

As Cyrus stands in the center of the ring, Minchae slowly undulates her hips until only her bent knees bind her to the wooden bar above.

My heart stops as a cold sweat prickles up and down my spine. There has never been a time when I have been so captivated. Not even as Day told me rare stories of his day-to-day life in the fae section of the Citadel. The story intrigued me, but I didn't sit glued to my seat, waiting for the next twist with bated breath.

Then…

“I give you a breathing, flying, real, live fae!”

Suddenly, Minchae comes to life. Wings spring from her costume—delicate ones made of wire and fabric. As a result, her glowing eyes and shimmering skin are every bit as captivating as the sight of a true fae in flight.

In this moment, as she glides through the air, leaping effortlessly from wooden rod to wooden rod, she is flying. No one could tell her otherwise.

And I…

I will not stop until I am able to do so myself.

Yet, as enraptured as I am, the novelty has worn off for most of this crowd. Some boo. Some snicker and make snide remarks as to the body of the woman above them. What other ways could she “use those knees,” they wonder.

Such careless sentiments make me angry and bitter. How dare they? Don’t they know…

Don’t they know that some souls spent their whole lives merely dreaming of witnessing something so remarkable? Souls who could never even imagine what it could feel like to be so damn free?

My heart aches the longer I watch her. When she is finally lowered to the floor of the arena and takes a bow before Cyrus, I am in tears.

“The incredible, Minchae, everyone!” he bellows.

Despite their loud clapping and hollering, the crowd's accolades ring hollow. As Cyrus proclaims, “And next, a spectacle sure to dazzle your senses…I bring you, the fighting goblins!” The reaction is much more ecstatic.

Fools.

Idiots.

Dumbasses.

Caspian would declare them all worthless imbeciles and worse.

I am not so inclined. These people are spoiled and rotten. They know nothing of beauty when they see it. Most of them would stand in a museum and yawn. Or see a fae grace the sky with real wings and crave bloodshed instead.

“Was I really that bad?” an amused woman wonders.

---