Introduction

The Fae are an incredibly beautiful and diverse people. Swirls of glitter decorate their bodies. Those that have wings are the most revered and they know it.

When I asked mother why I didn't have wings like her, she told me it was because I was special. She never used the word "different" though I felt the barbed whispers of it aimed at my back anytime I left my house. I don't have many friends. It's just Mother and I in our little cottage on the edge of Elder Wood. It's always beautiful and sunny and the nights are just cool enough to ward off mosquitoes and just warm enough to entice you outside.

The nights are my favorite. That's when the campfire stories are told. Snarkle, the old Fae that seems to know everything, is the best at telling stories about "The Others." He claims that, long ago, when he was just a little Fae, The Others would sneak into his town and attack and capture its residents. He told us once that his younger sister, who could shape shift into a squirrel, was taken from her bed in the middle of her night. He woke up and surprised The Other that held his sister in its clutches. Apparently The Other hacked at him with a sharp, long object that burned his skin relentlessly for days. One time he showed us the scars, gnarled and ropey, crisscrossing his left shoulder and back.

Legend has it that Snarkle's little sister got so scared that night, she changed into a squirrel and couldn't figure out how to change back or find her way home again. The Fae were too scared to search for her for a long time. She's probably still in The Others' world; the Fae live for a very long time.

Tonight, the young Fae are already begging old Snarkle for another gripping story. He huffs and shrugs them off for a bit. I notice that his moss green eyes and matching teeth look particularly unnerving tonight. He seems to sense my discomfort and grins wickedly at me. He's never liked me. I don't know why he doesn't because I mostly keep to myself and never bother him intentionally.

He finally gives in and begins to tell the tale of The Changeling. Everyone already knows that changelings are our own kind. We've all heard tales of them growing up in The Others' world; wreaking havoc and eventually returning to hero's welcomes and festivals. The young ones start to complain that they already know this one but Snarkle holds up a gnarled finger and their whining ceases. "No," he snarls, "you do not know the whole story. Yes, we send our own Fae into The Others' world. We usually send the sick or deformed in hopes of making The Others' lives miserable. It's only fair retaliation for the Long Wars of our past. But what you miserable brats don't know is that when we leave one of our own, we take one of theirs."

He lets that sink in for a minute. The children's eyes are huge now and they all stare at him with rapt attention. I cannot look away from his crooked smile.

"You can tell we have an Other among us because they look like nothing you've ever seen before. Their skin does not sparkle and is mostly unmarked. They do not have wings or powers of any kind. They are slow and dumb and reclusive compared to the noble Fae. Most don't even realize that their time here is a lie."

"But why do we take them in if they're horrible?" squeaks a little Fae sitting close to his left knee.

"Long ago, our elders thought it would be a good idea to let some Others grow up in our realm and learn our ways in the hopes that, when they returned, they would spread wisdom and understanding among their own kind and halt the persecution of the Fae. A lofty and ridiculous ideal if you ask me."

"Are there any Others among us now, Snarkle?" The angelic little Fae boy questions just two seats away from me to my right. His eyes glow yellow in the firelight and his beautiful blue wings nearly reflect the moon. There is no question he's Fae but he looks around self-consciously as if an Other was going to leap out from the woods and capture him.

"Time moves quickly here but we don't age as fast as The Others as you all know. The last Changeling was sent sixteen Other years ago to a little village not far from here. One of their Changelings has been among us since then."

He's looking at me again, but this time his gaze is so intense that all the other Fae in our circle begin to follow his lead. I watch a dozen little eyes put two and two together before it finally clicks in my head.

I can't breathe.

Pinned by their stares, it's all I can do to not pass out. It all makes sense now. I don't have powers or wings. I don't look like Mother, I don't fit in with the town, the elements are all wrong for me, I'm allergic to everything and have to wear a special suit Mother spent months making. The suit helps me look more like them but, beneath it, my unblemished and bland skin is smooth and pale and dull.

It's amazing how fast they all move away from me, how quickly I become the social pariah I've felt like my whole life. And now I know why.

I am an Other.

I am the Changeling.