Shora

She walked down the trail of scorched earth, ignoring the wind which clawed at her dirt-flecked hair. The silver headdress rippled in the breeze, casting moving shadows over her teary eyes. She did not want to be a Shora, forced to live amongst the humans and heal their troubles. She belonged in the mountains, with the rest of the Faeries. Humans and the Magic-folk did not belong together. But it was not her choice.

“Aquilegïa,” her father spoke to her quietly, taking her in his arms. “Aquilegïa, I love you.” But it was not enough. He could stop this; he could change her fate, but he wouldn’t. He called it an honor. Aquilegïa said nothing, but walked past her father and up to the alter.

Another Eliite, this one a man hooded in black, removed her wings and headdress. “You will be human, Aquilegïa, though still part of the Eliite clan. You will help the mortals with their trouble, and shall return here every ten years to report on the status of human-life. You shall always wander, living a frugal life, searching for the needy. Aquilegïa, daughter of Gandille, you have been named a Shora.”