From the Cluttered Archives of My Fairie-Centric Mind

He thinks her name is Aideen. To be honest, though, Dara’s less concerned about her name than he is about her life. Mortals weren’t meant to go through the Awakening Ceremony. Unless she had an uncommonly strong sire, the process, meant to bring fairie blood to full strength, could kill her. Human bodies weren’t able to contain that kind of power.

Aideen stands on the edge of a marble pool, dressed in a simple cotton shift. She shivers, her skinny arms wrapped around her as though keeping something contained. Most half-fairie progeny never learn that they are anything exceptional, but a few, like this girl, have too much magic running in their veins. They were either Awakened or they became insane.

He notices that in-between Aideen’s shivers her eyes are changing color, from a scared stormy grey to a cat’s-eye yellow. She’s much too far gone for one so young. That will only make the risk greater. Even now, the fairies meant to be conducting the Ceremony stand huddled together, unwilling to begin. They know that they might soon have a dead body on their hands.

Aideen collapses, unconscious, into the water. It’s possible she’s merely exhausted, but she doesn’t come back up, forcing the fairies’ hand. They scatter around the pool, arms raised, ceremonial robes and wings aglow. The water melts into roaring fire, ruby red and threatening orange. It cocoons the girl, twisting round her and raising her out of the pool. Her eyes are wide open; she makes no sound. The lines of her body grow blurry, and Aideen herself shifts in and out of focus. Finally, two forms glimmer through the flames, superimposed on each other. One is the Aideen from a few seconds ago, scared, small, and shaken. The other is a new Aideen, taller, stronger, and ultimately inhuman. She is only barely identifiable as the same girl. Her bone structure is more emphasized, her limbs are unnaturally long. Wings flicker in and out of existence, glowing with the heat of the flames. It isn’t long before this image begins to solidify, driving out the older, weaker form. With each new, magic-driven breath Aideen draws in, the flames around her die down and out, lowering the girl until she stands in an empty pool a completely different person. Her newly-born wings flick the remaining bits of molten fire off onto the marble where it sizzles away, and her eyes look out over the crowd. A swooping sensation of power accompanies the blank gaze, and for a second Dara fears that she has forgotten herself. The next instant, awareness floods her gaze, along with innocent exhaustion, and she tumbles unconscious into the arms of a waiting attendant. The court takes a collective sigh of relief, and life moves on with one added member of the Fair Folk.

The Unfortunate Marriage of a Brier Bush and a Dinner Jacket

a/n: Don't remember these kids? Read Beginnings.

Chester tore through the marsh, brambles snagging on every available snatch of fabric. He told his mother lace wasn't masculine enough for him. In fact, all this lace was downright dangerous. It was going to get him killed.
He glanced over his shoulder, gasping for breath. It was definitely still after him. A gigantic, slimy, vine-trailing, moaning, hideous beast. He had only been looking for Twitch. His throat snatched at what oxygen it could find in the air as he realized that the...swamp thing had been lurking just outside Twitch's hollow. Had the beast ensnared him, too? He attempted to put on an extra burst of speed, but only succeeded in nearly falling down a steep embankment and tearing off an entire sleeve of his dinner jacket. He winced. He would pay for that later, probably with a thrashing from his father.
The swamp monster was still after him. He could hear it crashing around just behind him. Chester put his hand to his side, trying to quell the pains issuing from the stitch growing there. He absolutely couldn't run any farther, and if he couldn't run, then he would have to fight.
He scrambled down the embankment, pressing himself into the mud. Above him, the swamp monster came to a lurching halt, vines dangling over the ledge. It snuffled about, trying to find Chester. Chester squeezed his eyes shut, reached for a vine (it was slimy, and cold, and foul-smelling) and pulled. With a mucusy roar, the entire monster came tumbling off the ledge into the sticky river mud. Chester gave a loud yell, and pitched himself onto the swamp monster, fully intending to destroy it before it could choke him to death. He sank a punch into what he judged to be roughly the middle of the beast, and was nearly blinded by a rush of sparks.
He tumbled backward, eyes narrowed from both the sparks and the revelation that came with them. He had seen sparks like these before. On an impulse, he grabbed the largest looking vine he saw and gave a hefty tug. All at once, the vines and swamp mud fell away, revealing a wheezing Twitch, his entire body tinted a dark forest green.
"Got you good!" he croaked triumphantly, laughter creeping into his voice. "I knew you'd scamper!"
Chester drew himself up to his full, not-inconsiderable height (he was ten-years-old, after all). "Gentlemen of note do not scamper," he said haughtily, "I was merely luring you away to an opportune location for an ambush."
"Shyah, of course." Twitch pointed at Chester's jacketless arm. "Was the sleeve supposed to be a directional marker?"
Chester snatched at the sleeve where it dangled on a brier bush and examined the frayed ends ruefully. "I suppose that's all it's good for now," he said.
"Oh, c'mon! Y'look dashing! Like those shipwrecked pirate thingamajiggers you're always going on about."
Chester looked a little more cheerful. "At least my skin isn't green," he said.
"Wot? What's wrong with green? Green is a very healthy color."
"How long are you going to be like that?"
Twitch shrugged. "I dunno. A week, maybe. Whydja ask? You too good to spend time with green people?"
A look of pure mischief spread across Chester's face. "I was just thinking that I know the best way to scare some of the maids at the House..."