Fiona sat at the edge of the forest, staring out at the moonlit field, her breath heavy with dread. She had heard the stories, the warnings, the hushed voices of elders who cautioned her to never, ever play the Fairy True and False Game. But she was here anyway. In the heart of Ireland, surrounded by the silence of the night, the trees whispering their dark secrets, and the ever-present sense that something was watching.
She had always been curious, too curious for her own good. Stories of the old days, of magic that clung to the land like mist, of creatures that danced just beyond the line of sight—these things had haunted her thoughts for years. But now, standing here, she was beginning to feel that they weren't just stories. They weren't just old wives' tales meant to keep children in bed at night.
No, they were real. They were waiting.
Fiona didn't know why she had come tonight. Perhaps it was the reckless thrill of it, the need to prove that she was brave enough to face the unknown. Or maybe it was because of the bitter loss she had suffered just days before—her younger brother, Eamon, taken by some illness no one could explain. He had slipped away from her, and there was nothing she could do. Maybe this game, this ancient ritual, would offer some kind of closure.
Her fingers twitched at the thought. She wanted to call out his name, to beg the air to return him to her, but she knew better. No one would answer. And yet, the land, the moon, the silent breeze seemed to call to her.
It had begun innocently enough. The stories from her grandmother, half-remembered, half-forgotten, had stuck with her. "If you ever find yourself at the edge of the wood, beneath the pale moonlight," her grandmother had said, "and if you hear the sound of small feet tapping, or see lights that shouldn't be there, then you may play the Fairy True and False Game."
The rules were simple. You would ask a question—one that could be answered truthfully or falsely. But be warned: the game was dangerous. If the answer came as a truth, you would be safe. If the answer came as a lie, the fairies would take something from you. Your heart. Your soul. Your life. It was always something. And they always took more than you bargained for.
Fiona was about to break the rules when she heard it. A tap. Soft, quick, almost like a child's footsteps. Her heart skipped. She had known it would come to this. She had known, deep down, that something would call her, would drag her into the game. She couldn't turn back now.
The tap was followed by another, and then another. The steps were getting closer. She didn't know whether she should stand or stay seated. But the moonlight flickered off something shiny in the distance, just beyond the trees.
"Do you wish to play?" a voice, barely audible, came from the shadows.
Fiona didn't speak at first. She didn't trust her own voice. Her throat was dry, her mind whirling. But in the end, she had to answer. She couldn't resist. She had to know.
"Yes," she said, barely more than a breath.
The air around her shifted. It was no longer cold, but heavy, thick with something she couldn't name. The silence became deafening. The wind held its breath.
A figure emerged from the trees. A tiny woman, no taller than Fiona's waist, with pale skin and dark, wide eyes. Her mouth twitched upward in something that might have been a smile, but Fiona wasn't sure. The figure wore a dress that seemed to shift, like it was made of shadows and light, woven together in a way that shouldn't have been possible.
The figure spoke again, its voice sharp, like nails scraping against stone.
"The game begins now."
Fiona's heart pounded in her chest as the figure extended a hand, a small gesture that seemed almost innocent. But Fiona knew better. She had heard the stories. The fairies did not play by human rules.
The tiny woman tilted her head. "Ask your question, child."
Fiona swallowed hard. She could feel the weight of it now—the terrible pull of the game. She could feel the fairies watching her, waiting. She had to ask the right question. A question that would end this, that would send her home, that would bring her brother back.
She thought of Eamon, his face when he had fallen ill. His frail body, his eyes wide with confusion. She thought of the way she had failed him, the way she hadn't been there in the end. Maybe this game could answer the question she had never dared to ask aloud.
"Is my brother Eamon at peace?" she asked, her voice shaking, though she tried to keep it steady. She couldn't believe she had asked it. She couldn't believe she had let the words slip out.
The figure's smile widened.
"True," it said, the words so soft that Fiona barely heard them, as though they had been breathed into her ear.
Fiona froze. The relief was almost unbearable. Eamon was at peace. He had to be. He deserved it.
But then, the figure's smile disappeared, replaced by something darker, something that shouldn't have existed. It took a step closer, and Fiona felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
"You've asked the question," the figure said, its voice now colder, harsher. "Now the price must be paid."
Fiona tried to move, to run, but her feet felt like stone. Her heart pounded, deafening in her ears. She could hear the faint sound of small feet moving toward her, tapping, tapping in rhythm with her heartbeat. She tried to call out, to scream, but the air was thick, choking.
The figure reached out, and Fiona felt a chill spread through her chest, a hollow feeling like something was being ripped from her.
The tiny woman spoke again, but the words were not meant for her ears. "False," it said.
The ground beneath Fiona's feet gave way, and she fell, not into darkness, but into a place that shouldn't have existed. A place where the shadows writhed, and the air was thick with sorrow. There was no sound here, no light. Only an endless stretch of nothing.
And she knew, in that instant, that she had made a mistake.
The game was never meant to be won. It was always about the price. The fairies never gave anything without taking more than you could bear.
Fiona's body trembled as the cold wrapped around her, the fairies' eyes watching from the dark corners of her mind. She had asked the wrong question. They had given her an answer, but it was false. She had thought it was true. She had thought her brother was at peace.
And now, she would pay.
Her heart was already beginning to wither. Something was being torn from her, piece by piece. But she had no voice left to scream. She had no tears left to shed. The silence around her was suffocating, and the weight of her mistake crushed down on her.
In the distance, she could hear the faint tapping again. The fairies' steps. And she knew, with terrifying certainty, that they were coming for her. Slowly, deliberately, as they always did.
There was no escape.
Fiona's last thought was of Eamon, of the peace he had never found. And she wondered, with a sickening clarity, if he had been taken for the same reason she would be now. Because the game was never about answers. It was always about sacrifice.
And as the tapping grew louder, Fiona's final breath escaped her. The fairies had won.