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Candles in red and orange hues laced the throne room. A music box in the corner chimed an eerie, ancient melody, which sounded like the clicking of the wings of a metal bird.
Ivy stood, naked in the centre of the room, with a knife in her hand. Despite the candles, it was cold.
Today was the day of the long promised ritual that would rip Nettle of half of her magic and thus her life, and bestow it onto Ivy. Such a thing could not be undone, but they were certain they wouldn’t regret it.
“First,” Nettle said. Her eyes were white - she’d calted a spell to blind herself until midnight. It proved trust, and was necessary for the spell to complete, “you need to cut my hair.”
“Cut your hair…?” Ivy asked, and crossed her legs, despite the only other party being blind, “why… that?”
“Fairies have ridiculously slow growing hair,” a smile flickered over Nettle’s face, and she splayed her arms, “a haircut is the ultimate display of trust and dedication. I have full faith in your artistic talents.
Ivy made a ‘hmm’ sound. She certainly didn’t have ‘full faith’ in her artistic talents. Still, she approached Nettle and raised the knife to her orange locks, pulling one out to its full length.
Nettle’s hair was surprisingly long when it wasn’t coiled up - longer than Ivy’s own, in fact, which was surprising. Ivy began to trim, inch by inch, lock by lock, all while smoke from the candles filled the room. By the time she was done, the stone floor was dusted with orange, and Nettle’s hair looked considerably worse. But she didn’t have to know that until later.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Nettle spoke in a deep language that Ivy didn’t recognise, yet still somehow understood, “take my hands,” she murmured in a standard tongue, lifting her hands above her shoulders. Ivy obliged - those small palms were warm, and ethereal.
“Take heed this moment, bound by blood, take heed this spell cast, charmed by love, take heed this action, proof of light, in our painful world, despite darkest night. But affection and cheer are born from pain, a sacrifice must be given in order to gain, slash the flesh of your lover, the blood from no other will do - and pour the sweet crimson liquid all across you.”
“Cut you?” Ivy’s fingers trembled over the knife, her heart felt heavy and her eyes suddenly burnt. She’d done some bad things in her life; she’d done some horrible things in her life - but to harm the love of her life? This was… beyond all of her past actions.
“You’re taking half of my life, ” Nettle twitched with laughter, “honestly, what’s a little bit of blood?”
“It doesn’t feel right!”
“Hmm,” she sighed, and let silence fill the room, “think about it this way. You give blood every month - something I wasn’t aware of until recently, and have never gone through. This is… no different.”
“If you… say so,” Ivy wasn’t entirely convinced, but she so wanted this ritual to go well (Nettle’d gone to great lengths with all the candles) so she closed her eyes, and pressed the knife into the flesh on Nettle’s arm. Saying a silent prayer, she pulled back in one fluid motion.
The warm flow of fairy blood over her hand was immediate. It was thicker than human blood, yet thinner at the same time. When Ivy opened her eyes, she saw that it glittered nicely in the flickering light.
Trembling, she cupped her hands under the wound while Nettle kept her arms held up. “You’re doing well,” she muttered.
Once enough blood had pooled, Ivy brought her hands up and tipped it over her head. It fell over her eyes like a healing balm. All light vanished in an instant, yet somehow, in a way, Nettle was still clear as day before her. It only lasted a moment, then there was this incredible rush - like a waterfall of adrenaline - then it all faded.
But after that, she always felt lighter, stronger… more… magical.
Ivy blinked, then Nettle collapsed (the wound having closed) and landed in her arms, limp as a ragdoll. She opened one eye, wearily, “did it… work?”
“I think so?” Ivy said, testing the muscles in her shoulders, as if expecting to find invisible wings.
“Good,” Nettle said, falling asleep at around the second ‘o’.
“Good,” Ivy repeated, standing up with the fairy in her arms, “now, I think sleep would be a good idea.”