There was an interesting little house. It had an interesting little roof, with an interesting little porch.

Her wings expanded from her shoulder blades, spreading out in a large butterfly silhouette. Their colors mixed with the day blue sky, making it almost impossible to see where her wings were, causing her to look as if she were suspending lazily in the air. Her eyes were just as cerulean, her skin exquisitely pale and smooth, and her lips pink and full.

She was looking at the interesting cottage before her, wondering what it was doing in this unnamed forest, in this unnamed world.

Slowly, yet cautiously, she flew up to the interesting little porch. She gazed at the wood, and noticed the small gold specks in it.

This is wood from our forest! She thought. There were carvings in it, although she couldn’t quite understand what their purpose was. Then she looked up at the door, and tilted her head.

It wasn’t open a minute ago.

She landed on the golden engraved wood and stood upright. Her hair had a small green leaf in it, her cheeks touched with glitter. With wide eyes she walked to the door, her steps more powerful than what one would have figured for something so petite.

The inside of the cottage was cozy and clean, but cluttered. It was a single room, the kitchen to the left of the door, two beds, small in size, huddled next to the fireplace, and a large desk and boxes piled into the right corner of the cottage. The sun poured in through the small kitchen window, sucking the color from the floor.

The window was open and a small wind was catching the curtains, making them flutter about. The entire cottage was immense to the little fae.

Her footsteps made nothing but the sound of raindrops dripping onto a flower petal: soft and sweet, as she walked to the middle of the floor, between the kitchen and the bedroom.

She looked at the beds; the small fire crackling merrily, and then to a portion of the room that had jars and boxes.

She walked closer to the jars, wanting to look into them. Something seemed not right about it, since a miserable shadow seemed to be looming over that side of the cottage.

She fluttered her wings up to the countertop and peered into the first jar. It was empty. Shadows seemed to be hovering over the countertop as she looked around. It got a little draftier and her skin pricked with the cold as if someone were breathing on her back.

But she couldn’t keep her curiosity contained from looking into one of the boxes. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, jumping into her throat as her stomach churned, as she gazed closely. She felt choked, her thoughts screaming, No, no, this can't be reality... She gasped in horror as her eyes set upon faeries hanging from nails on a board, from seeing other faeries in jars, elves' ears, and Sycamerette feet. She gasped with the effort to wonder, why would someone want to hurt such creatures of beauty and wealth?

Why would someone wish to harm them?

She stumbled then; a yellow pallor passed over her complexion. Past lovers hung from nails like dead twigs, family laid in jars with no air, their wings curled, thin, readying themselves to crack and fall into pieces like broken glass. She spread her wings wide, crouching and readying herself to soar up high…

But then she found herself trapped, and her breath limited. Her wings fluttered but the jar was too small and packed. Soon the oxygen was used up, and her wings became heavy with dewdrops of perspiration.

Then a large person flipped the jar, put a lid on it, and poked holes into it the jar lid.

“Dad! Dad! I got another one! Come see!” He was blonde, with big green eyes and dark rimmed glasses. A grin split his face as a tall man walked in through the door, smiling down at the lovely faery. She glared back up and him and hit the glass, as if in attempt to fight.

He smiled proudly and ruffled the young boy's hair. “She's gorgeous. Just look how her face glows… Keep this one alive to observe.”

He thought for a moment, then said, "I think I’ll set her on the window. Can I give her some of my pie?”

“You may.”

So now she sits and gazes out the window, her glittering face dull, her bright blue eyes gray and gloomy, her shining blonde hair bland and brown. The boy gives her outside things. Leaves and flowers, but he won’t set her free. He won’t let her breathe the real air...

She looks at the larger man chopping the magical wood, and then carving those odd symbols into it, ruining its beauty. She wondered if he could see that with every scratch he made, the wood became duller. He carved one for her and put it in front of her jar, facing out the window. She looked at it, but she couldn’t make out what it said.

The sun lost its golden shine on her, and her face became old and dreary. Soon she would only lie down and wish to die, her wings and body curled up at the bottom of the jar. She had no thoughts, except for the thought of freedom. After a while, apathy claimed her. Nothing matters if you can't enjoy your own life and the grass between your toes, she would think to herself.

She forgets the truth that she may never set her feet on the mysterious soil, that she’ll never be able to smell the first blossom of spring ever again.

The only beauty she gains is the beauty of looking out to the sunshine and the nightfall. She never sleeps; she hardly eats. Her skin's soft touch lost and its wonderful paleness now turned to a melancholy yellow.

One day, as the father was carving more symbols into the wood, he glanced at the faery and said grimly, “Nathan...” He gestured towards the faery. The little boy, who was sitting at the table eating and observing an ear of some kind, looked up surprised. The father gazed at him wearily.

            Nathan shook his head, big tears forming in his large green eyes.

“But...”

“Don’t argue Nathan, just do what you have to.”

The little faery thought they were going to set her free, but it was far beside that.

Gently, the little boy reached his hand into the jar, and she stepped up delicately. She was surprised to see how much grace she had lost in the time that had passed, and how her wings had shrunk and hardened, the moisture vanished. She couldn’t flap them as the boy lifted her from her cage and set her down onto the counter. She swayed before falling to her hands and knees, feeling weak and ruined.

“Let me go…” she whispered sympathetically. But they didn’t hear her, for the little boy grabbed another dreadful jar and put it over her, flipping it up to get her on the bottom of it.

He enclosed the jar, and did not poke holes into it, not knowing that if he'd only set her free, she'd become healthy again.

Instantly she felt the air sting at her lungs. She couldn’t breathe and started to stumble around as if there were going to be some invisible air pocket. There was none.

In her last minute, with the bright sun shining onto the free creatures outside, she fell to her knees and looked at the boy with those green eyes.

She wished him death for this, and she hoped no other faery would go through what she was then.

She curled up and felt her wings dry; felt them curl and crack, shattering. Her face went pale, and with wide eyes, she lain on the bottom of the jar with the remainder of her shattered glass wings splashed around her, her chest stopped moving, and her eyes fell disturbingly dull.

The little boy sobbed in a whisper, “Dad did you see that? She looked right at me...”

“She…” The father just shook his head in dismay. He set the jar on the very top shelf, looking at it for a moment or two, and then he turned his back to it, swallowing his tears and picking up a bag. He retreated to the door, slinging the pack over his broad shoulder, turning his head to utter to his son, “I’m going hunting.”

The boy nodded silently, shortly, looking up at the jar on the shelf he could not reach.

His father walked out, and set up a trap behind the bushes to catch something interesting.

He hid in the brush and watched very quietly, trying not to rattle the leaves and mint wood.

He had seen a golden furred little creature that had a long snout and claw earlier. Maybe he could catch it now and give it to his son for a sort of pet to experiment on.