The morning sun filtered through Ali's bedroom window, casting long shadows across her unmade bed and the scattered contents of her closet. She had been awake for hours, watching the play of light change as dawn crept into day, unable to sleep as the weight of the upcoming summer pressed heavily upon her thoughts. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of her first summer with the fae, and despite her mother's careful preparation, Ali felt woefully unprepared for what lay ahead.
She rolled onto her side, studying the way sunlight caught the delicate silver bracelet on her wrist—her mother's parting gift from her own time in the Summer Court. The metal was warm against her skin, and tiny engravings along its surface caught the light, transforming simple scrollwork into something that seemed almost alive. Her mother had pressed it into her palm last night, eyes bright with unshed tears and memories she wouldn't share.
"It will protect you," Danae had whispered, fastening it around Ali's wrist. "The fae... they respect certain traditions. Certain symbols." But when Ali had asked what the symbols meant, her mother had only shaken her head, hair falling forward to shield her expression.
Now, Ali traced the unfamiliar patterns with her fingertip, wondering what secrets lay encoded in their whorls and curves. The bracelet was beautiful, yes, but there was something else about it—something that made her skin tingle when she focused too hard on the designs. Her mother had spent six summers in the fae realm, from age fifteen until she turned twenty-one. Six summers of secrets she rarely spoke about, though Ali had spent years trying to piece together the truth from overheard conversations and her mother's occasional unguarded moments.
The sound of dishes clinking downstairs pulled Ali from her thoughts. She sat up slowly, pushing back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her room looked different somehow in the morning light—both familiar and strange at once, like a photograph slightly out of focus. Everything was exactly where it had always been: her bookshelf crammed with well-worn fantasy novels, the cork board above her desk pinned with ticket stubs and photos of friends, the pile of clean laundry she hadn't quite managed to put away. But knowing she wouldn't see any of it for the next three months made it all seem somehow distant, as if it were already becoming a memory.
Ali stood, padding across the cool hardwood floor to her closet. She had packed and repacked her bag at least five times over the past week, agonizing over what to bring. Her mother's advice had been frustratingly vague: "Pack light. Nothing too modern. Nothing that might offend." But what exactly would offend the fae? Ali had no idea, and her mother's responses to specific questions were evasive at best.
The bag sat ready by her door—a vintage leather satchel that had belonged to her grandmother, worn soft with age and use. Inside were carefully rolled sundresses in muted colors, a few pairs of cotton pants, loose blouses, and simple flat shoes. No synthetic fabrics, no bright patterns, no electronics of any kind. Even her hair ties were natural cotton rather than elastic.
Ali caught sight of her reflection in the mirror hanging on her closet door and paused, studying herself as if trying to memorize her own features. Pale hair fell in waves past her shoulders, still tousled from sleep. Green eyes stared back at her, wide with apprehension in a face that looked younger than her fifteen years. Would she look different when she returned at summer's end? Would three months in the fae realm leave some visible mark upon her?
The questions tumbled through her mind as she got dressed, pulling on a simple cotton dress in a soft shade of blue. Her mother had approved this one specifically—"It's appropriate," she'd said, though she wouldn't explain why the color mattered. Just another mystery in the long list of things Ali didn't understand about the world she was about to enter.
The scent of coffee and toast drifted up from the kitchen, along with the quiet sounds of her mother moving around downstairs. Ali took one last look around her room, trying to fix it in her memory exactly as it was in this moment. Then, squaring her shoulders, she picked up her bag and headed downstairs to face whatever this day—and this summer—might bring.
The kitchen was filled with morning light, turning the worn wooden table into a landscape of honey-gold warmth. Ali paused in the doorway, watching her mother move between counter and stove with practiced grace. Danae's own pale blonde hair—so like Ali's—was pulled back in a simple braid, and she wore the same kind of understated cotton dress she'd insisted Ali pack. Had she always dressed this way in the summers, Ali wondered, or was it just another concession to the approaching fae deadline?
"I can hear you thinking from here," Danae said without turning around. She was at the stove, carefully flipping what smelled like cinnamon French toast—Ali's favorite breakfast, which somehow made this morning feel both better and worse at once. Of course her mother would make her favorite food today. Of course this ordinary morning ritual would become something heavier, weighted with meaning and memories yet to be made.
"I wasn't thinking," Ali said, setting her bag down beside the door. "I was just..." But she couldn't finish the sentence, wasn't sure what she'd been 'just' doing. Memorizing? Hiding? Preparing?
Danae turned then, spatula in hand, and gave Ali a long look. "The dress suits you," she said finally. "Blue is a good color for your first day. It suggests..." She paused, that familiar hesitation crossing her face. "Well, it suggests the right things."
Ali slid into her usual chair at the table, fingers automatically going to the silver bracelet on her wrist. "What things? Mom, how am I supposed to navigate all these hidden meanings if you won't explain them to me?"
Her mother's expression softened as she brought a plate of French toast to the table. "Some things can't be explained, sweetheart. They have to be experienced. And some things..." She set the plate down and brushed a strand of blonde hair from Ali's forehead. "Some things are safer if you discover them naturally, rather than going in looking for them."
"That doesn't make any sense," Ali protested, even as she reached for the syrup. The French toast was perfect—golden brown and crispy on the edges, soft in the middle, with just the right amount of cinnamon. "How can it be safer not to know things? Isn't knowledge supposed to be power?"
"Not with the fae," Danae said, sitting down with her own plate. "Knowledge isn't just power there—it's currency. It's obligation. It's..." She sighed, stirring her coffee thoughtfully. "The things you know create bonds, Ali. The things you say, the promises you make, the secrets you keep or share—they all have weight there. Real, tangible weight. Sometimes it's better to go in without preconceptions, without too much knowledge that might... bind you."
Ali cut into her French toast, watching syrup pool in golden puddles on her plate. "Is that why you never talk about your summers there? Because talking about it would create some kind of obligation?"
"Partly," her mother admitted. "And partly because some experiences can't be properly put into words. The fae realm isn't like our world, Ali. The rules are different. Reality itself is different. Trying to explain it in human terms would be like... like trying to explain color to someone who's never seen it. The words exist, but they don't really convey the truth of the experience."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the gentle clink of forks against plates and the distant song of birds in the backyard. Ali tried to focus on each bite, on the sweet-spicy taste of cinnamon and maple syrup, on the comfortable familiarity of their kitchen. But her mind kept wandering to what might await her in the fae realm. Would they have food like this? Would she sit at tables and use forks and drink from cups? Or would everything be completely foreign?
"Will I..." Ali started, then stopped, unsure how to ask what she really wanted to know. "Will I still be me when I come back?"
Danae set her fork down carefully. "Oh, sweetheart. You'll always be you. But..." She reached across the table and took Ali's free hand, squeezing it gently. "Experiences change us. That's true whether they happen here or in the fae realm. You'll be different when you come back, yes. But not because the fae have changed who you are—because you'll have grown and learned and experienced new things. Just like you'd change over any three-month period."
"But you changed," Ali said quietly. "I've seen the pictures from before your first summer. You were different when you came back. Harder to see in photographs. Like you were somehow... less solid."
Her mother withdrew her hand slowly. "The camera thing... that's just a side effect. It fades after a few weeks in the human realm." But she wouldn't meet Ali's eyes as she said it, and her fingers went to her throat where—Ali suddenly realized—she always wore a silver chain with some kind of pendant that stayed hidden beneath her clothes.
"Mom—"
"Finish your breakfast," Danae interrupted gently. "We need to leave in an hour, and there are still things we need to discuss."
Ali wanted to protest, to demand real answers about the changes she'd noticed in those old photographs, but something in her mother's tone stopped her. Instead, she focused on finishing her French toast, trying to memorize the taste and texture, the weight of the fork in her hand, the way the morning light played across the familiar surface of their kitchen table.
When both plates were clean, Danae cleared them away and returned to the table with a small wooden box Ali had never seen before. It was made of some dark wood, weathered with age, and had intricate carvings along its edges that reminded Ali of the patterns on her bracelet.
"There are rules," Danae said, placing the box carefully on the table between them. "Rules that must be followed exactly, without exception. Some I've already told you—never give your full name, never make promises lightly, never accept food or drink without first observing others partaking of it. But there are others, and I need you to listen carefully now."
Ali sat up straighter, her hands folded in her lap, the silver bracelet a comforting warmth against her skin. Her mother opened the box, revealing a collection of small objects nestled in dark blue velvet: a silver thimble, a small mirror in a bronze frame, a handful of smooth pebbles that seemed to shimmer with their own inner light, and what looked like a dried flower preserved somehow in clear glass.
"These are tokens," Danae explained, touching each object in turn. "They carry no obligation, no debt. They're tools, nothing more. The thimble will help you speak truth without revealing more than you intend. The mirror will show you things as they truly are, not as they wish to appear. The stones will warm when magic is being worked nearby. And this—" She lifted the preserved flower. "This will help you find your way home if you become lost in their realm."
"Lost?" Ali's voice came out smaller than she intended. "I thought we were staying in the Summer Court?"
"The Summer Court is vast," her mother said, carefully wrapping each token in squares of silk and placing them in a small velvet pouch. "And sometimes the paths there don't lead where you expect them to. Keep these with you always, but don't let anyone see them. Don't speak of them. Don't acknowledge them if asked. They're mortal tools, and while they're not forbidden, exactly, their presence might be seen as... distasteful."
Ali accepted the velvet pouch, which was surprisingly heavy for its size. "Is this what you meant about knowledge being dangerous? Because now I know about these tokens, but I'm not supposed to acknowledge them?"
Her mother smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Clever girl. Yes, that's part of it. The fae... they operate on rules and obligations, but also on what remains unspoken. Sometimes the most important truths are the ones we never say aloud." She closed the wooden box with a soft click. "There's power in silence, in keeping certain knowledge hidden away where it can't be used against you."
"I don't understand," Ali admitted, tucking the pouch carefully into her bag.
"You will," Danae said softly. "Sooner than I'd like, probably." She stood, smoothing her skirt with hands that trembled slightly. "We should go soon. We need to be at the crossing point before noon."
Ali stood as well, suddenly reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of their kitchen. "Mom? Are you... are you afraid for me?"
Danae was quiet for a long moment, her back to Ali as she stood at the sink. Finally, she turned, and there were definitely tears in her eyes now. "Terrified," she admitted. "But also proud. And hopeful. And..." She crossed the kitchen and pulled Ali into a fierce hug. "And certain that you're stronger than I was at your age. You'll do better than I did. You'll be smarter about it."
"Mom—"
"No." Danae pulled back, wiping her eyes quickly. "No more questions. No more explanations. It's time to go." She managed a smile, though it wavered at the edges. "Your first summer awaits, my darling. Let's not keep the fae waiting."