Word Count: 1,441
Written: 7/2/24

"Really?" Brat raised one brow. "You traveled pretty far while following orders for you to not be able to follow them."

I frowned, my eyebrows bumping together in the middle of my head. "You're saying I'm good at following orders? I didn't know where I was going, and I almost died, like, seventy times."

"Charlotte—" Brat trilled, and my skin broke out in familiar goosebumps. This child copied how Headmaster Ralph said my name. Slapping a hand on the cushion with a dull thwap, the Goddess's messenger leaned forward. "As always, everything you say makes me angry." It smiled, pointy canines glooming menacingly. This nymph was supposed to offer guidance under the Goddess's name? Not with a smile like that. "If you can't acknowledge your successes, then how are you ever going to change that self-doubt? You, by yourself, got to the Haspa Mines without dying. That's a success, lady. Take it."

I know I shouldn't turn defensive, but it happened anyway. Crossing my arms, I leaned into the chair behind me until a fluttering of wings slid the seat away as the baby dragon tried reclaiming its space bubble. "So I do one thing right and suddenly I'm not useless anymore? Is that how it works?"

"You. Are such. A pain." Brat's eyes flashed, like, really flashed. It looked like the sun eclipsed its muddy brown irises for a mere instant, but then it was over. I blinked, in case it was my messed-up vision again. "I can't talk to bullheaded elvants like you."

Please. This child was calling me an elvant?

"This is just what I am," I said, pretending my voice didn't crack even once. "You said you knew everything, so you must know that I'm a failure. And yeah, yeah, I get it. That's not an excuse. Whatever. It's not like trying actually helps anyway. I was born this way. I can't change it. It's not something that can be changed. You wouldn't understand because you have everything all figured out, don't you?"

"You just had to turn it on me, didn't you?" Brat rose up onto its knees, the Pixie-made device thudding out of my sight. There was no expression on its face. A spike of fear curdled in my chest, spreading out to all my limbs. I hated those faces the most. Father always wore a blank one, too. How could I brace myself if I couldn't see what was coming?

I bared my teeth. "What of it? What are you going to do?"

A pause was followed by the quiet snuff of the dragon. I glanced behind me to see it rounded into a ball on the cushion. For such a big thing, it sure could curl into a tiny little circle. Soft snores rippled through those furry white cheeks like a blanket swaying on a clothesline.

"I don't have a name..." Brat began, mulling over the words before they left its mouth. Each one appeared to taste sour, though its palette didn't seem to love the acrid twist of tang as much as mine did. "...because I haven't earned one yet."

I blinked. For once, I chose to remain quiet. I pulled my legs up to my chest. Resinee had given me some of her flouncy dresses while I lay recuperating, and none of them fit me. My bags hadn't moved from the doorway—I had been a little busy.

At least Resinee respected me enough to leave my stuff alone.

Each dress had a flower print that made me want to gouge out my eyes. They were all too big in the chest, but not long enough for my torso. My legs were on full display. Since I wasn't moving around much, I was chilled to the core despite the summer heat outside. Heaps of blankets acted as my cocoon.

I pulled them around me now, puddling a chin rest for me. I felt the ball of hair in my bun brush up against a furry something—a wing or a leg, I wasn't sure.

"Most nymph clans recognize more than two genders. My clan has five. They're a combination of physical body make-up and internal essence. Each one fits along a scale: ultimate nymphette on one end and ultimate nymph on the other. My clan recognizes three...milestones, if you will...between the two extremes. In the middle is the perfect medium. A genetic anomaly. A rare one. All of the in-betweens are rare, though they are slightly less rare than the perfect medium. It's the one that most closely resembles the Goddess, for she could not give us life without bestowing upon us the essence of each extreme. Both nymphette and nymph must work in tandem for the world to function. The Goddess is the supreme example which we strive to follow."

I'd never learned about any of this. "Elves are separated into elves and elvas."

"Elven culture is more restrictive than nymphen," Brat shrugged. It was hard to make out the look on its face as I waffled over whether to ask a question that could sound offensive. What if I said the wrong thing? I didn't always want to be an elvaniac, incapable of understanding others.

But my mind stared at two paths, and they looked the same. I couldn't tell the difference between what I should say in a conversation so intimate, versus the absolute wrong thing.

"And you are...?"

Brat blinked, humming a little. It leaned back on its hands, staring at the plain white ceiling. "Oh, I'm not the perfect medium. I'm somewhere between that and the ultimate nymph. They call me a Miralou. I have a little less than what I need to be able to give children to a nymphette."

What a...strange way to say it. "Nymphs have to receive permission from the king to have children, too, right?"

"They don't care what we do," Brat said, unblinking. "You'd be surprised how free from royal control the Femur actually is if you're not an elf."

I thought about that. At first, it sounded like an easier way to live. But if the royal palace didn't care if you were even born, then who was to say that they would care about you when you needed help?

Elves were raised with purpose, their path in life decided before their parents were even given permission to conceive. Nymphs, pixies, brownies, and mermaids were...what?

Ignored?

Used?

Forgotten?

"How do you earn your name?" I asked.

A gentle rain began outside, the rustling of tree limbs dipping toward the ground as a sudden weight poured down on them from a tranquil, peachy sky. The gravel and mud of the walkway puddled into rivers of red and rock, trickling down to the hotel at the far edge of the oasis.

Unbothered, the baby dragon slept on, its gentle snores drowned out by the steady cadence that ebbed and flowed. With the porch, it didn't matter that the front door was left open, bringing with it the scent of rain on rocks. An earthy smell that reminded me of soil, of worms, of mud.

"Achievements, trials." Brat waved it all off. "It doesn't matter to me. I already know my name."

"How do you—what is it?" The steady throb in my ankle abated with the rain, leaving me with the distinct aftertaste of a nap. I felt my lids grow heavy, wondrously heavy. As soon as I'd had the thought to drift off, the sensation nearly knocked me out. I puddled against the chair, knowing if I slept this way, I'd be hurting once I woke up. Also knowing I was beyond caring.

With no hesitation, Brat said, "Emery, like an emery board. I'm a classic household item."

I unearthed a hand from my blanket cocoon, my body growing lax. I pooled against the hardwood, receiving a lovely view of the dust balls gathered underneath the chair. Holding my hand aloft, I said, "Nice to meet you, Emery. Thank you for...everything."

The Hesperide child grabbed my hand. It was warm and dry like a sun-baked stone. "Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I'll take my thanks later, when you've done something you're proud of."

"Will that...make it worth...saving me?" My eyes drifted shut, just a gentle curtain to drown out all the noise, the sights. I almost thought I'd fallen into sleep without hearing a reply, except for a lingering trail of words that followed me into my subconscious.

"You don't save someone just to make them owe you, Charlotte. You save someone because you want them to be saved, and you were close enough to do it. There's no other reason than that."