It was hours after midnight, and the only sound lurking within the wooden walls of The Wandering Pixie was the rum tankards being washed in a basin of warm water by the tavern's owner, Fae Fauna.

Click, clank, splash. The vocal pattern echoed through a building otherwise hushed into silence. Tables were bare, the lights dimmed, and chairs stowed.

As a woman in her early forties, Fae held a straight posture while seated on a wooden stool behind the bar, her demeanour calm and composed. The task appeared to soothe her.

Her hair, long white strands that glistened like sundew on a spider's web, draped over her forehead and concealed the subtle wrinkles around her eyes and mouth in shadow. Fae's hands worked like a well-oiled machine. Scrub, dry, and repeat.

Her nose twitched at the pungent stench of rum, a scent that fled up her nostrils and wetted her tongue. All was quiet and still, a welcome substitution for the hustle and bustle she endured during the day.

Leaning back on the stool, Fae could almost hear the music again, a complimentary blend of folk and sea shanties.

A warm smile crept across her lips as she turned her head and stared at the wooden stage in the center of the room. The instruments lay dormant, from the smallest flute to the biggest drum.

It was in these quiet, early hours of the morning when Fae remembered her love for the Pixie. It held memories, both foul and unforgettable. It was her home, the final inheritance from a father she never knew.

Fae's clients and staff weren't just faces contributing to the tavern's success. They were her family, a wonderful community that brought hope and love to a woman who once thought she was nothing.

Now she belonged. She had a purpose and duty to the community far greater than fame and fortune. She was a refuge for the lost, those wanting to be found.

Mattering to others in life was of far greater value to her than being remembered in death.

Fae closed her eyes and started to hum her favourite song. She scrubbed her last tankard and prepared to get up.

BANG!

Her head snapped to the left as the front door burst open. With a sharp gasp and jerk of her body, Fae reached under the bar and pulled out a rifle. She propped her elbows on the counter and aimed at the shadow stumbling toward her.

"Get out! We're closed."

Fae spoke the words with initial strength but trailed off. The shadow wandered into the pale glow of a lantern and revealed itself as a young man soaked in blood. He carried a woman in his arms, an arrow lodged in her chest.

Fae went pale. "Doran?"

The young man, whose brown hair lay dishevelled across his face, muttered only a single phrase.

"Help us."

He lost his balance and plunged to the ground. He dropped the woman next to him and rolled over to stare at the ceiling while struggling to catch his breath.

Fae dropped the rifle and ran towards them.

***

The Previous Day

The Wandering Pixie, Close to Midnight

The night was young.

As she eyed the wooden clock strung above the bar with rope, Fae looked around at the crowded tavern and smirked. Voices bellowed laughter, and the band announced themselves with a subtle flourish to tune their instruments.

Dressed in a vibrant orange gown with billowing white sleeves and a black corset loosely tied around her waist, Fae climbed onto the stage and raised her hands to address the gathering. She was the stunning image of casual regal style.

The laughter muted to a whisper and soon silence. 

"My darling patrons," she said. "The midnight hour is upon us!"

Fae spoke with elaborate hand gestures like a conductor instructing her orchestra. With a raise of her right hand, the audience thundered applause, and with a raise of her left, a percussion of stomping feet.

Fae laughed and stroked her hand through her hair, a clump of voluminous white curls. "Leading the dance tonight is a spellbinding young man and a true artist. He has recently earned the sought-after accolade of the most charming Naltesian barman of the week."

A snort of laughter echoed from the crowd. 

"Is it the king?"

More laughter.

"No," Fae said with a smile. She pointed a long finger at the source of the remark, an older gentleman with ragged clothes and silver hair. "But, there will be no blasphemy against the monarchy tonight. So, set aside your politics, and please welcome the one and only Doran of The Wandering Pixie!"

The band played a triumphant jingle as all eyes turned to a red curtain behind the bar. The goblin bartender ignited a lantern and stretched out his arms to introduce the guest of honour, but nothing happened.

Fae chuckled uncomfortably and gestured a hand towards the curtain. "Doran of The Wandering Pixie!"

"It's Doran, the champion of dance," said a voice behind the curtain.

"What?" said Fae.

"Doran, the champion of dance," said the goblin bartender in a high-pitched squeak.

Fae sighed and looked into the crowd with a flat expression. "My mistake. Please welcome Doran, the champion of dance..."

A young man no older than nineteen leaped out from behind the curtain dressed in a loose white shirt and snug black trousers. His chestnut brown hair flicked back with elegance as he embraced the applause and jumped onto the stage next to Fae, where he took a courteous bow.

"Welcome to the party, ye lordship," Fae muttered sarcastically. "Did I get it all right this time?"

"Sorry, Fae, but I've been waiting for this all day," Doran said sincerely. "I want to give the people something to remember. Something unforgettable!"

Fae turned Doran's head and kissed his forehead without missing a beat. She took a step back and smirked. A bold red lip stain tattooed itself on his skin and beckoned for the audience's attention.

Doran was stunned.

"There, darling. Now they will remember you forever."

Doran processed the encounter and laughed. "Thanks."

Fae gave him a pat of encouragement and left the stage.

"Alright, are you ready?" Doran shouted. He put a hand to his ear and grinned when the audience responded.

"Yes!"

"I said, are you ready?"

Fae smiled, tending the bar as the clock above her struck midnight. Ding!

The crowd cheered as the band burst into song. The drummer thumped a beat as Doran twisted in a rhythmic motion. He swung his hips in sync with another beat, and almost instantaneously, the audience joined him as he jumped off the stage and started to dance.

Symbols crashed, flutes flared, and violins bewitched the tavern, transforming the silence into a celebration.

Patrons sprung to their feet and clunked their tankards together while a company of women near the stage sashayed around the room, twirling while they swished their dresses from side to side in cadence with the band's melody.

Doran joined a small group of dancers, and together they strutted through the crowd, sliding across the smooth oak plank floor while they clapped and twisted to the music.  The passion of the moment possessed Doran, entrapping him in the band's glorious rhapsody.

He spun around and prepared to charge back onto the stage for another round.

Then he stopped as something caught his gaze.

A pair of sharp brown eyes pierced him from the back of the room.

It was a young woman, someone he hadn't seen before.  Long flaxen hair framed her ovular face and illuminated her radiant honey-brown skin as it trailed down her spine, creating a captivating portrait of the beautiful stranger.

She wore a simple white blouse and a navy blue skirt, the notable attire of a servant girl, but her feet were bare. She took soundless steps across the floorboards and approached him.

She appeared close to his age and carried herself with grace and slight reservation.

Doran had utterly forgotten about the dance, and just as a hand grabbed his arm to pull him away, he reached out and beckoned for the woman to join him. She stared at him, smiled, and took his hand.

A second later, Doran was tugged back towards the stage. A gasp left the young woman's mouth at the sudden jerk of her body, but it soon turned to laughter as she and Doran joined the group.

They danced for what felt like ages, twirling, kicking, and singing along to shanties and folk songs initiated by the crowd. Then, to the beat of a rapid drum crescendo, Doran took the young woman's hand and spun her repeatedly. She twirled freely without restraint, surrendering to his lead.

When the crescendo ended, Doran pulled her back against him and scooped her off the ground, swinging them both around in preparation for the song's climax. The violins accelerated with anticipation for the finale.

Sensing his next move, the young woman wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and closed her eyes.

Doran secured his partner's waist and allowed her to fall against his arm. The young woman tensed her arms and threw her head back, the pair striking a dramatic pose as the drums delivered their powerful conclusion.

BANG!

Silence.

Doran looked down as the young woman lowered her chin and opened her eyes. They gazed at each other in wonder. Doran gasped for breath, sweat dripping down his forehead. It mixed with Fae's lipstick, and a red drop splattered onto the young woman's cheek, just below the freckle under her left eye.

Fae dried a tankard from behind the bar before catching sight of the pair. Her face warped with awe and surprise as the audience erupted into applause, shattering the quiet atmosphere.

Doran blinked and lifted the young woman onto her feet.

"Who are you?"

She opened her mouth to speak.

Ding!

The clock above the bar blurted a reminder of the time.

When she looked back to examine it, the young woman gasped and quickly pulled away, leaving Doran alone as she dashed into the crowd.

"Wait!" Doran shouted.

He tried to locate her, but she vanished as abruptly as when she had first arrived.