I was seven years old the day the fairies attacked John Nally. He was teasing me on the playground, making fun of my pigtails and holding my book high above his head so that I could not reach it even if I jumped. I sat down on the edge of the playset and stared at my feet, swinging them in air as I tried not to cry. That only caused John to start calling me a crybaby. I clenched my teeth and bottled up all my anger and frustration deep inside me in my secret box, just like momma had told me to. I had done in a hundred times before, when a teacher sent home yet another note because I was not paying attention in class or when the other kids laughed at me. But this time was different. My box was filled to the brim and I could not close it. I forced it shut and latched it with some difficulty—only I had not gotten all of it.

I leapt to my feet and whirled on John Nally. "Give me back my book," I screamed at him.

He stumbled back a pace, eyes wide with shock as meek little me suddenly grew teeth and was biting back. I balanced myself on one leg as I pulled the other one back, ready to slam it into his kneecap if he did not give me my book back. But they beat me to hurting him first.

I honestly do not know where they came from. One minute the air was clear and the next, swarms of these things were flying around the two of us. They divided into two groups with one holding me back while the second pinched John anywhere skin showed. He hollered in pain as tiny hands pulled his hair and tiny bruises appeared on his face, legs, and arms. He dropped my book and jumped off the playset, still screaming with his arms wrapped around his head in a futile attempt to protect himself.

I knelt down to pick up my book when they landed around me. They were tiny, only about as tall as my palm with tiny hats and clothes made out of leaves. They looked at me, murmuring amongst themselves as I stared with wonder at the dragonfly wings on their backs. The leader—at least I thought he was the leader—turned to me and bowed briefly before they all took to the air again.

That was the first time the fairies came to my aid. The second time I was a junior in college, studying engineering. They saved me from some guys who thought I was a tempting target, walking back alone from the lab late one night. I was trapped against the wall of the science building and there was no one in sight. "You don't want to do this," I told them, trying to sound brave.

They laughed and shoved me around a bit. As I was crouched on the ground, falling after a particularly vicious push, the box in my chest crept open again. Only this time, I did not want to shove my anger away inside. I took control of my anger, reining it in so that it became a strength rather than a weakness. I kicked out suddenly and a grunt of pain told me that I had connected with my target. I scrambled to my feet and knocked over another one as I tried to run away.

I did not get far. One grabbed me by the waist and pushed me back against the wall. I saw his fist and closed my eyes, waiting for the impact that never came.

They were armed with little swords this time and slashed at my attackers until the three men were covered in tiny cuts and blood. Anytime they tried to get away, more showed up, boxing them in. A smaller group gently herded me away from the scene, letting me pause to pick up my bag and books before continuing to guide me back to my dorm. I heard the men's screams of panic long after the science building was behind me.

There was a tap on the glass of my window as I was crawling into bed. I opened it, careful not to wake my roommate. The leader of the fairies stood on the other side, waiting for me. I knelt down so that my face was level with him and held out a finger. "Thank you," I whispered.

He reached out and touched my larger finger with his own tiny one before bowing and flying off into the night.

The third, and last time the fairies came to protect me was after my mother died. She had been sick for a long time before from breast cancer so it was hardly a surprise. Still hurt though. I stormed around my apartment, throwing the biggest temper tantrum I had ever thrown in my life. My box was flung wide upon and all the anger, frustration, and fear that I had collected came out in full force. Finally, I was sitting against the wall, sobbing, not caring that the shattered pieces of the cat statue my brother had given me was lying just a few feet away.

I do not know how long he was standing there, watching as I tore apart my home. The first I knew he was there was the pressure of him standing on my knee. I raised my tear-streaked face and looked at him. "I'm sorry," I said hoarsely as I took in that fairies were perched all around the room. "There's nobody to fight this time. There's only me."

He looked at me kindly and jumped onto my shoulder, patting my cheek in sympathy. I sat there for a long time, with him on my shoulder, surrounded by the rest of them.

They left me alone after that. Sometimes, I would see something fly past in the corner of my eye but when I looked there was nothing there. I went about my life, settled down and raised a family while having a successful career. I guess after my breakdown after my mother's death, I had passed a point in my life where I no longer needed my winged defenders. I had nearly convinced myself that I had dreamed it all except that I no longer used my box anymore though it was still there.

And then, on the day I died, I saw them one last time. He sat down on the pillow next to my head and ran a small hand through my hair with his people spread out around the hospital room, some on my bed and others perching on the instruments surrounding me. They were the last things I saw before I died.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw him standing over me. Only this time, he was bigger than me. He smiled in delight when he saw I was awake and picked me up, cradling my body in his arms. I waved my baby fists in the air and gurgled happily.

It was interesting, growing up again with all the memories of my previous life. Learning to fly was a new experience for me, though. And then, I stopped growing. The knowledge that I would never grow old again gave me pause for a moment—but only for a moment. I had already experienced the aches and pains that had come with time and I had no wish to do so again in my new life.

And then, one day, he named me his queen. And on that day, I discarded the box in my chest. I had no more need for it.

--fin--