The raging sun slid under the horizon just as the darkness of the night sky enveloped them. Tiffany was a fairy. Yes a fairy. Though technically she, with her ever so young age, was considered a pixie. She sat next to her beeeeeeeeessssstest friend; Rosalyn. They had been connected since birth when their wings first emerged from their backs like a how a butterfly's would. They had been the epitome of love and friendship even among their amicable, warm-hearted community. 'had' being the key word. Now from Tiffany's side, it made sense, what happened exactly? It starts with a flashback....

It had been midsummer then, the air thick with nectar and the hum of wings. Tiffany and Rosalyn had been racing dragonflies across the lily‑pond, laughing so hard their voices tangled in the reeds. They were inseparable, indistinguishable; two sparks from the same flame.

Until the moment they weren’t.

It began with a shimmer in the air. A wrongness. A ripple that made Tiffany’s wings falter mid‑flight. Rosalyn had felt it too; Tiffany remembered the way her friend’s eyes widened, pupils narrowing to pinpricks of silver.

“Do you feel that?” Rosalyn had whispered.

Tiffany had nodded, but before she could speak, the ripple tore open — not a sound, not a light, but a pull, as if the world itself had inhaled sharply.

And Rosalyn…Rosalyn had answered.

She drifted toward it, wings trembling, as though some ancient instinct had seized her bones. Tiffany had grabbed her hand — tiny fingers clutching tiny fingers — but Rosalyn’s skin had gone cold, colder than any fairy’s should ever be.

“Tiff,” she’d said, voice thin as frost, “I think it’s calling me.”

And that was the moment.