A Feywell

That Halloween night, a Feywell awaited her — though she did not know it yet.

They were invited to the neighbors’ house that evening. Her mother had dressed her as the princess from her favorite storybook. She had even added a touch of light, colorful makeup; the area around her eyes shimmered with glitter. A soft wind stirred outside, carrying with it the rustle of dry, golden leaves gathered along the fences and lawns. Paper ghosts swayed from the porch rails, their soft rustling echoing the laughter of children running from door to door. The scent of pumpkin spice hung in the air, mixing with the chill of autumn and the faint hum of distant music, wrapping the night in a festive warmth.

When they arrived, the yard was filled with carved pumpkins, each glowing with a gentle amber light. The closer she walked to the door, the calmer she felt, as though something soothing whispered through the air. Even the decorations seemed alive with happiness.

The door opened, and everyone shouted, “Surprise!” The living room burst with familiar faces—relatives, neighbors, and friends dressed as the heroes and creatures from her favorite books and cartoons. “I told you I had a surprise, my beautiful girl. Happy Halloween,” her mother said, hugging her tightly. It was one of the happiest moments of her life. Everyone she loved was there, their laughter warming the house like the flickering glow of a thousand pumpkin lanterns.

Her classmates ran toward her, each wearing a costume from the same story she loved — “A princess, a prince, brave knights, and all the enchanted creatures of the forest.” After a while of running and playing, she grew tired and sat on the little chair across from the door.

Just as she was catching her breath and thinking about joining the games again, a girl a few years older sat beside her. She had silver-blue wings and a soft, graceful voice.

“Hello,” she said gently. “You might be the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen.”

With her arrival came the faint, woody scent of freshly opened pages, like a new story just beginning. The little girl felt as if a fairy from one of her bedtime tales had stepped right out of a book to visit her. She smiled and asked, “You look beautiful too. Are you a fairy?” For a fleeting moment, she thought she had seen this fairy before — maybe in a dream, or in one of the stories her mother used to read at night.

The fairy nodded and glanced around the room. “Would you like to see a little magic?”

Before the little girl could answer, something changed. Her eyes widened as if caught in a spell. Costumes began to shimmer and come to life. Colors deepened, stitches disappeared, and the decorations transformed around them. In one corner, a paper forest spread into towering trees; in another, castle walls replaced the wallpaper. Knights raised their swords, dragons lit the candles with warm flames, and witches stirred their cauldrons full of sweets. Everywhere she looked, her favorite worlds were alive—the ones she had read about, dreamed about, fallen asleep to. She felt as though the real world had slipped away.

“How did you do that?” she whispered in awe. The fairy only smiled gently.

The girl wandered through the house, laughing and talking with people she had always known but now saw as storybook characters. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely happy. Later, she returned to the fairy, thanked her, and wrapped her little arms around her.

The fairy leaned down and whispered, “Would you like to go somewhere filled with magic—just like this?”

The little girl’s eyes brightened. “Yes!”

“Then we should begin our journey,” said the fairy. “Where we’re going, it will feel like a beautiful dream that lasts a long, long time.”

They stood, hand in hand, walking slowly toward the door. Before opening it, the fairy paused, knelt down, and said softly, “Before we go, you may ask me one question—anything you want.”

The little girl thought for a moment. “I do have a question. I keep asking it, but no one ever answers me. I thought only old people lost their hair. Why don’t I have any?”

A tear glimmered on the fairy’s lashes. “Because you are a very special child,” she said. “You have earned the right to visit a world full of magic.” Her tone grew tender, thoughtful. “You know, I am glad you asked that. It made me realize something. Where we’re going, no one owns a comb. I promise I’ll make one myself—just for you and your new friends. You’ll all have the most beautiful hair there.”

Behind her gentle smile lingered something quiet and sad.

The little girl did not reply. She simply nodded, her lips curving into a small, trusting smile.

“You asked me earlier how I did all this,” the fairy said, catching her breath. “The truth is, I didn’t do this all by myself. It was the people who love you. I only added a touch of magic. They sewed the costumes, painted their faces, and filled this house with laughter. Never forget how special you are to them.”

Then the fairy turned her head toward the door. “Do you hear the music?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Yes! It’s my favorite song!”

“Come on,” the fairy said, “let’s go see where it’s coming from.”

The girl squeezed the fairy’s hand, and together they opened the door. They stepped out into the gentle hush of the night. Inside, all the heroes and creatures she had known turned toward them, smiling and waving goodbye.

The night grew still again. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if listening for one last echo of laughter that would never fade. The little girl stopped for a moment, turned back, and said with a bright smile, “See you in the magical world.”

And as they went to find the source of the music, they left behind a long, tender silence.