Beautiful Little Monsters

He saw the vase fall and shatter from the corner of his eye, the speedy flutter of yellow wings aiding the destructive little fairy's escape by window. The toy maker just shrugged and let it go, and even though he didn't see many faeries with yellow wings anymore, he hashed a plan. His collection was devoid of yellow-winged fairies, and he even double-checked his drawer. Seven pairs of blue wings, three pink, two red...and no yellow. He would fix that tonight after work.

Aggravating him in the most maddening ways possible, the toy maker would loose hiss after hiss, eyes following the tiny creatures. They nipped the noses off of puppets, hid his tools, and untied his dolls bonnets so they fell to the floor and were soiled with dust and stray flecks of dirt. This especially upset the toymaker because the tailor who custom-made dresses for his dolls was not cheap! He didn't have terribly much in the way of money, but he splurged to make his dolls beautiful, though his real passion was in the back room.

Despite all of the distractions, it was not long before the man could close up shop. He was quick to travel to the back room and retrieve his butterfly net as well as a bag full of canning jars - holes poked into the lids. Armadal whistled a merry tune as he locked the door and closed it. His foot steps took him down through the middle of town under the careful watch of the townsfolk. One kid even ran up to him with large eyes, tugging a button on Armadal's coat.

"Mister...where do you go every day with that stuffs?" The man ruffled the youth's hair, squatting to look him in the eye as a smile turned the corner of his cheeks up.

"I catch mischief with this net, and the jar is to keep kids like you from being blamed." As if understanding, the little boy tilted his head back and grinned when Armadal ascended, one of his front teeth missing. The toy maker reached into his pocket to retrieve a peppermint, putting it in the kid's hand.

"Don't spoil your dinner, but don't let your mother see it either."

"Okay mister! Thank you!" The child whistled, putting the candy in his pocket discreetly and winking, causing the toy maker to laugh goodnaturedly. He continued down the road with a wave over his shoulder, still in a great mood because he knew he could add to his collection tonight and he was keeping the beloved children out of trouble with their folks. Why, he was doing the town a great service and they didn't even know it!

His traipse down the road eventually led him toward a path, and he sprinted into the foliage to get away from the stares of the townsfolk. They watched him walk every day on his little excursions, and the fairies never learned.

Some eventually escaped his wrath, but not all of them. Despite his daily visits, they had never stopped gathering in this one clearing. To anyone else, they would appear to be butterflies or dragonflies, but Armadal knew what to look for, so they could never hide from him with their glamor. Maybe they bore no loyalties to each other or maybe they could just let go of their friends easily. It didn't matter to the toy maker because that yellow winged fairy would meet his or her fate tonight as well as whoever else he could catch.

Trudging through the underbrush, Armadal finally came upon the clearing, his heart racing and the blood throbbing in his temples. This was a natural high for him and a sweet, sweet intoxication. They flit about and gallivanted chaotically, dancing around together to the music their wings always seemed to make. It made the toy maker cringe. He hated that sound. To other people it would sound like the sweetest music, but to Armadal? It sounded like screaming, or even worse, like a banshee hissing at his eardrum. No one else ever heard it, but he could hear it always.

Sweat already dampened his hands as he fiddled with the net slowly, walking into the clearing. As usual, the fairies made no attempt to flee. They didn't understand that he was a hunter and they didn't realize that he was a collector, colder and far more cruel than anything they had likely ever encountered.

His eyes searched frantically for the yellow-winged fairy, finally hearing the sound of those wings - more frustrating than the rest. The net swung in a half-arc for the fairy but he missed. In desperation, Armadal reached out and managed to grab the little misfit. She gave a chirp of protest, sinking her needle teeth into the tender flesh of his index finger before he slid her into one of those jars. His finger burned in the spot where she had broken skin but he didn't care.

The toy maker shook the jar violently then, the tip of the little fairy's wing bending delicately as any butterfly wing, hanging there as she chirped tearfully and held her wing at the break. He spit on the jar in distaste, throwing it into his bag, bottling up however many other fairies he could catch and making his way back to the shop while whistling. The buzzing of the fairies in his bag alerted him to conversation in his potato sack.

He joyfully entered his shop and locked it, heading into the secret back room that no one had ever seen but him. His other fairies were locked in their cages, forced to watch what was about to transpire, horror overtaking their tiny faces. They beat against their prisons as their doll-like eyes shined with unshed tears, but were eventually forced to settle down - completely and utterly defeated.

They watched with faded eyes as the toy maker brought out the yellow-winged fairy first, unscrewing the lid carefully and plucking her from the jar by her head. She made an attempt to bite him, but he was quick to thump her between the eyes, causing her to shriek in pain while the other fairies screamed along with her. The yellow-winged one couldn't even think after that, her posture slumping as she accepted her fate.

His thumb held her hips to the table, face-down as he tore her good wing off clean at the base, all of his little dolls shrieking and slamming against their jars. Blood pooled in the wound as Armadal simply chuckled. She could scream all she liked...because it was the sweetest revenge for him.

He left her there, knowing she had nowhere to go without her wing. The table was directly in the middle of the room and was far too tall to survive the jump. When he returned, Armadal seized her, binding her down to the table and slowly skinning her alive. She screamed the entire time until she eventually lost consciousness, the pain too much to bear.

The toy maker worked quickly, placing little patches of skin to the side, marveling at the bloody mess he was making of his tiny victim. She was limp in his palm, which satisfied him, but then he noticed she had more veins than most, and they pumped harder than the others. Carefully, he sewed patches of skin back onto her abused body as she finally broke through her daze and was once more fully conscious.

The little fairy loosed a whimper that was child-like and audible with every needle stick, and she eventually looked like a quilted rag doll, his job nearly done. Tired of her noises, Armadal sewed her tiny mouth shut in little x-shaped stitches, the glow of her eyes flickering. She felt horror coil in her stomach upon realization that in a few days time, she'd lose that sparkle in her eyes. A glance around the room was testament to that fact, gaunt faces staring at her with eyes that held no real signs of life and cheeks looking like skin tightly stretched across bone with little to no padding.

He was about to place her back in her jar when he realized that he had forgotten something very important. Shuffling around in his drawer, he took out a random wing, a green one, and sewed it in place so that she had wings of two different colors. It was shredded, heavy, and cold, giving her chill bumps and making her feel crawly. The only flaw to his design was that after a few days, the wings lost their vibrant colors and were just as devoid of color as the former fire in their eyes.

The toy maker placed the tiny fairy into a small cage then, dumping pieces of the broken vase into the cage as she finally realized what was going on. She was being punished for an accident, and there was no way for her to tell the toy maker as much. It wouldn't matter if she tried anyway, because as he butchered the other fairies and threaded his bloody needle, he whistled merrily. He only ceased when his work was done for the night.

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The first night was the hardest on the little one. She stayed in the corner of her cage, crippled by her pain. Eventually she stood, reaching through the bars and into one of the older fairy's cage in search of friendship, but there was no mutual mood. They wanted nothing to do with anyone. They believed their suffering would never end. Fairies were immortal, but they could feel pain, hunger, and thirst.

The little one reached a second time for her sister in spirit, but her eyes communicated a simple 'what's the use?' Eyes that were faded and gray, no longer the vivid colors they used to be, haunting a darkened countenance. With a wince, she brought her arm back through the bars and tried to cry out, the sound muffled and difficult due to the stitches that sealed her lips together.

These were no longer fairies, but a madman's play toys.

She was thirsty now, her mouth devoid of all moisture, but there was nothing that could be done about that or the intense pain she felt. Some of these fairies had gone for months without food and water, so their needs were far greater than her own...but she did miss the taste of a big strawberry.

Standing, her every step was a painful one, her arms sliding through the bars to look out and into the dim room. There were no flowers, no bees, no wildlife, only a thick layer of dust on abused, splintering wood. As she watched everything with eyes that flickered, she was tempted to take the thread out herself, but she knew better. It was better to have some skin than none. And it was better than enduring the pain the toy maker would inflict when fixing every unnatural stitch.

The newly stitched fairies all tried to chirp at once another, the glow in their eyes already beginning to fade as the little one finally sat on a smooth part of the vase in her cage. She looked at her grotesque hands, fearing her reflection since she could barely stand to look at what she could see of herself. The little one knew she would cry when she saw what had been done to her fully.

Hearing the toy maker shuffling around outside the door, she curled up in the corner and slept pitifully, every stitch burning.

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A month passed. The little one had grown accustomed to her handicaps, though internally, the want for revenge burned like an ember. Her faith in karma remained, ebbing and flowing every passing hour. She felt heavy on the inside, her small stomach wrenching from time to time with hunger spasms.

The little one was no longer a representation of child-like innocence, but rather, more like a demon trapped in a warped doll's body.

They all did his bidding like zombies, fetching his tools and cleaning every room, but when the time came for him to fetch more of what they used to be, they would flee to their cages. Covering their ears, they hoped they could drown out the horrific screams from their own kind. The toy maker locked the doors for them.

Despite being broken souls, they still found it in them to cry for the petite figures that the toy maker butchered. Every stitch, rip, tear, and cut...it was like they felt it all over again. Their petite bodies writhed with remembrance, but they were forever made silent by the cruel threads that bound their lips shut.

The little one, however, was different. Her upset transformed into rage, and she rattled the bars of her cage until it nearly tipped over as she tried to chirp at him in frustration, drawing Armadal's attention.

"What? Would you like a few more designs?" He wiggled the thread at her patronizingly, smiling like he was the nicest man in the world. The little one's face twisted, and all of the faeries were suddenly drawn to her, watching with dull eyes that were far too curious. They continued to watch even as she ripped at the threads on her mouth, her lips and cheeks bleeding from her efforts...but her mouth was free. She screamed at the top of her lungs, a dry rasp from a month without water. Armadal grew annoyed and opened the cage just in time to see the sparkle return to her eyes.

All the rest did the same as the little one, a chorus of high pitched screams ringing through the air like a banshee's wailing, melting the bars off their cages as they mutated internally into what they were externally - beautiful little monsters.

"You're all being ridiculous. You can't escape without my aid. Your wings don't even work anymore." They gathered around his shoes and tugged on his shoe laces until he fell, the glow of their eyes passionate and haunting, casting shadows all around the room. A miniature army encroached upon him, holding him in place.

The little one? Her wings worked, and she grabbed Armadal's knife to fly through the air with mismatched wings, landing after sharpening the knife so much that it could split a hair. This caused her to grin, a flash of white teeth penetrating the darkness through the holes where thread formerly resided.

Some of the fairies helped the new ones escape, but most of them stayed behind to watch the toy maker beg for mercy. He would pay for disturbing their forever and tainting it with evil against their kind. They were no longer fun-loving misfits, but cruel, hateful imps. They all smiled at Armadal as he thrashed to no avail, struggling as most of them held him down.

Meanwhile, the other fairies whistled while threading their needles.