Fairy Tales for the Brokenhearted

Once upon a time, I had it all. Then reality hit. So here I am, winging it—literally.

Mar 30, 2025

They say a fairy’s wand only cracks when her heart breaks first. And mine had splintered under the weight of forgotten dreams.

I knelt beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak, Oldwood’s towering guardian, leaves shimmering silver under pale moonlight. The forest breathed gently around me, nocturnal creatures murmuring their quiet lullabies. Crickets chirped, owls rustled softly through branches, but tonight the comfort wasn’t there. Tonight, the forest was watching. Waiting. Holding its breath, as if sensing the first ripple of something darker stirring beneath its roots.

And me…
I was center stage.
With a broken wand.
Great.

In my shaking hands lay the wand, once glowing and strong, now cracked and dull. The crystal at its tip, previously dazzling as starlight, had turned cloudy gray.

No magic. No sparkle. Just a useless stick.

Lovely.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping tighter. My knuckles whitened around the fractured wood.

"Come on," I whispered desperately, voice shaking, barely above a breath. "Please, just one spark. I can't lose this too."

Nothing. Not even a pity spark.

I pressed a hand against my chest, fingers curling as if to grasp something that wasn’t there.

Then the voices chimed in. Of course they did. Ego first. Bossy, loud, and relentless as always.

"Hide your weakness. No one can see you like this. You're supposed to be their strength, their hope."

I opened my eyes with a ragged breath. Shadow spoke next, voice slick as oil, dark as midnight, meaner than necessary.

"Miracles? Your miracles are over. Without magic, you're worthless. Soon, they'll know. Soon, everyone will leave you."

A shiver ran down my spine. Shadow knew exactly how to twist the knife. I stared at the wand again. Splinters bit into my skin, tiny, painful reminders of what I'd lost. Of who I used to be.

"Am I really nothing without this?" My voice was small. Weak. Pitiful.

The forest breeze brushed gently past, lifting my hair, caressing my cheek. Almost like Oldwood itself tried to snap me out of it. I closed my eyes again, letting the breeze pull memories from deep inside me.

Once upon a time, I stood beneath a sky drenched in twilight. The Heart Tree bloomed overhead, petals glowing softly, bathing everything in gentle warmth. Fireflies drifted effortlessly, their tiny lights creating pathways through darkness, guiding lost travelers safely home. Children laughed, pointing upward in delight. My heart swelled as magic flowed freely, naturally.

Everything felt right. Everything felt whole.

And me…

I was enough.

The memory dissolved, drifting away like smoke. I opened my eyes slowly, tears escaping without permission.

"That’s who I was," I cried, voice cracking, grief sharp and sudden. "How did I let her slip away?"

Ego snapped back instantly. "Pull yourself together. They loved your magic, not you. Act strong or lose everything."

Shadow laughed, cruel and cold. "Too late. You already lost everything. Give up."

But another voice stirred, quieter, yet clearer than before. Gentle. Honest. Hopeful. "But what if magic isn’t all I am? What if there’s more?"

Neither Ego nor Shadow replied.

Silence stretched around me, thick and uncertain. Oldwood remained watchful, moonlight silvering its branches. I looked down at the fractured wand again, its cracks reflecting every fractured truth I’d hidden from myself.

No miracles tonight. No neat solutions, no pretty endings.

Just a fairy alone beneath an ancient tree, wondering one thing clearly for the first time:

Without magic, without my wand—did I still matter?

The answer didn’t come. But at least I was finally brave enough to ask.

I leaned back against the rough bark, waiting quietly as the moon sank lower and the first faint traces of dawn appeared.

Dawn dragged itself into Oldwood, stubborn and slow. Sunlight trickled lazily through branches, painting sleepy golden patches that warmed the cool, damp forest floor. Trees sighed around me, completely unaware, or annoyingly unconcerned, by the storm in my chest.

With careful, hurried fingers, I wrapped my cracked wand in green leaves. Twisted vines around it, tight enough that no one might notice the sad crystal hiding beneath. It was an awful disguise, but hey, desperate fairy, desperate measures.

Footsteps crunched softly along the forest path. Fairy voices rose like chattering birds, happy and carefree. Perfect timing, universe. I stuffed the bundle quickly under my cloak, turning just as two bright-eyed Leaflings bounced toward me.

"Lyra!" Lila’s voice chimed cheerfully, auburn curls bouncing as she hopped forward. "We're collecting blossoms for the festival—care to join?"

I forced a smile—totally believable. Right. "Of course! Sounds fun."

Fun. Right.

I took one step. The wand shifted beneath my cloak. My heart jumped, panic fluttering inside my ribcage. Did they hear it? Could they see how fragile I'd become?

Faen stopped, her violet eyes sharp. "Hey, you okay?"

My fake smile wobbled, just a little. "I'm fine," I lied, voice catching slightly. "Just didn't sleep well."

She nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowing. "You know we're here, right? Whatever it is."

Great. Already getting pity. Just perfect.

But before I could answer, a calm, powerful voice interrupted. Elder Nym. Wonderful.

"Lyra," she called gently, silver hair cascading down her shoulders like moonlit water. "A word?"

Faen and Lila exchanged quick glances and drifted off, clearly curious. Gossip incoming.

My heartbeat quickened. "Of course, Elder."

We walked deeper into the forest, away from prying eyes, until trees stood shoulder-to-shoulder, forming a quiet, secret place. Nym stopped suddenly, turning to face me head-on. Eyes steady, piercing, like she saw straight through every lie.

"You carry a heavy burden," she stated simply. No questions. Just fact.

I laughed nervously. "Me? Nope, all good here."

She raised an eyebrow. Who was I kidding? Clearly, not her.

"Lyra."

One word. Gentle, but firm enough to break me open.

Reluctantly, I took the wand out. Carefully peeled back its pathetic disguise, revealing the fracture. Heat rose swiftly into my cheeks, and I looked away, unable to meet her steady gaze.

Nym examined it quietly. "Ah, the Shattering," she murmured, sadness creeping into her voice. "Rare, but not unheard of."

I swallowed hard. "So...what’d I do wrong?"

Her eyes softened, sadness lingering behind their wisdom. "Not punishment, child. An opportunity to reclaim who you really are."

"For what?"

She smiled, eyes twinkling gently. "Finding out who you really are, without this." She tapped the wand lightly. "Do you remember your Rite of Belief?"

Oh, did I ever.

The Heart Tree rose tall and proud, blossoms shimmering like tiny stars. Excitement fluttered wildly inside my chest. Elder Nym approached, placing my first wand in my waiting hands. Smooth white wood, a crystal tip sparkling with starlight. Perfect.

Magic wrapped around me instantly, warm and strong. It fit perfectly. I raised the wand high, pulling shimmering light effortlessly into the sky. Cheers rose around me. Petals showered softly from the branches, blessings falling like snow.

I felt unstoppable. Whole. Enough.

"Felt unbreakable then," I admitted quietly, back in the too-real present. "Never imagined this."

Elder Nym sighed softly, watching leaves drift by lazily on the breeze. "Magic is fragile, Lyra. Belief even more so. Doubt doesn't stay neatly inside, it spills out, infecting everything around you. Look closely."

I did. Wish I hadn't.

Leaves around us had paled, gray creeping along their edges. Grass drooped limply. Air felt heavy, bitter with something wrong.

"Shadowmire," I breathed, fear tight in my throat. "My doubt brought it back."

Nym nodded gently. "Your doubts nourish it."

Shame flooded me again. "I'm doing this? Poisoning Oldwood?"

"Not on purpose," she said kindly. "But pain spreads, Lyra. It always does. You must face the wound that cracked your wand. You can't hide from it."

"Where do I even start?" My voice trembled. Lost. Uncertain.

She touched my hand, calm as ever. "Exactly where you are. Accept yourself, broken pieces and all. Then heal."

She squeezed my hand once, a subtle gesture she'd used since I was a fledgling, then walked away. Leaving me beneath the watchful trees, holding my broken wand in the weak morning light. Splinters caught the sun, glittering mockingly. Shadowmire crept closer, feeding off my hesitation.

But beneath the fear, a tiny voice spoke out defiantly. "I want to believe again."

I had no plan. No clue what came next. But I knew this:

It was time to stop hiding. It was time to heal.

Oldwood’s sunlit paths lost their glow. Darkness crept in like smoke, slow and stubborn. Leaves curled at the edges, brittle, dry, lifeless. My fault. All my fault.

I took the back path. No need for questions. No need for pity. Cloak wrapped tight, hood pulled low. Keep moving, Lyra. Keep your head down.

Then I heard it.

Not birdsong, not cheers. Panic.

A scream sliced the stillness. Sharp. High. Desperate.

Feet hit the ground running before my brain caught up. Heart hammered, throat dry, sweat cold between my wings. The scream tore through the trees again. Closer now. Voices shouting. Fairy children. Small and scared.

I burst into the clearing, nearly colliding with chaos.

A Blackthorn Boar stood snarling at the clearing’s edge, eyes wild and hungry. Brambles twisted along its back, thorns sharp as daggers, fur dark as ink. A nightmare come to life. Shadowmire’s ugly cousin. Three young fairies pressed against a moss-covered boulder, wings quivering, eyes wide and pleading.

They saw me. Hope flickered briefly in their frightened eyes.

“Lyra!" one shrieked. "Please—help!”

I froze.

My wand pulsed uselessly beneath my cloak, broken, pathetic, without power. Panic crashed through me like an icy wave.

Move, Lyra. Now.

I stepped forward, hand trembling. My feet refused to move farther. Fear held me tight. The boar snarled louder, hooves digging into the dirt. Muscles rippling. Ready to charge.

“You’re nothing without magic,” Ego snapped inside my head. “Useless. Weak. Helpless.”

Shadow joined, bitterly amused. “Give up now; you’ll only disappoint them more.”

“I—I’m trying,” I said aloud. My voice was barely audible, choked with fear. “I want to help.”

But nothing happened. No magic surged. No glow, no sparkle, no fairy dust. Just silence.

And the boar charged.

The children screamed. My heart jolted, reality shrinking to a single breath.

Move, Lyra, move now or watch them die.

Something inside me cracked open. No wand to save me. No magic tricks up my sleeve.

Fine. No magic. I'd handle this myself because clearly, no one else was coming.

With a yell born of desperation, frustration, and pure stubbornness, I lunged forward. Arms wide, eyes blazing, wings flared defiantly. No spell, no power, just me.

“STOP!”

My voice echoed through the clearing, clear and sharp and full of attitude. The boar skidded, hooves carving grooves in the dirt, confused and annoyed by my outburst. It tossed its head, snorting angrily.

Yeah, me too, I thought bitterly. Welcome to the club.

I snatched a broken branch from the ground, gripping it tight. It wasn’t a wand, but it’d do. Raising it high, I squared my shoulders, facing down the snarling beast.

“Back off,” I growled. “These kids aren’t your lunch today.”

The boar pawed at the ground. Anger rippled across its bristled fur. Shadowmire burned dark in its eyes, fueling its rage.

“You don’t scare me,” I lied, sass thickening my voice. “I’ve faced worse than you on a bad hair day.”

My pulse roared in my ears. Adrenaline surged. I braced myself for impact.

But it didn’t come.

The beast hesitated. Sniffed the air. Snorted. Then, surprisingly, it backed away, retreating slowly into the darkness of the trees, eyes locked on mine until it vanished completely. My chest heaved. Legs wobbled. Breath escaped in shaky bursts. Relief flooded through me.

That actually worked?

The children stared up at me, eyes wide, mouths open. Awe and confusion mixed in their gazes.

“You...you stopped it without magic,” said the smallest one, voice barely above a whisper. “How?”

I blinked, unsure myself. My shoulders lifted in a careless shrug, attitude masking my surprise. “Guess it wasn't a fan of my charming personality.”

They giggled, relief easing their fear. Yet my heart didn’t settle. Ego and Shadow still murmured darkly.

I turned away, hiding the tremble in my hands.

“Am I truly nothing without the wand?” I asked myself quietly, not expecting an answer. The forest listened, silent, reflecting my uncertainty back at me.

Maybe magic wasn’t everything. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to face that yet.

But I’d faced my first shadow without it and survived. If I wanted answers, there was only one place left to look.

I wasn’t exactly invited.

But desperate times, desperate measures, all that.

The Heart Tree stood taller than Oldwood itself, limbs stretched skyward, trunk silver and smooth. Majestic, some might say. Imposing, if you're feeling sassy. Today, sass felt right.

Its roots twisted around the Whispering Lake. Clear water shimmered gently, cool and inviting, everything I wasn't. Reflections in there never lie. Terrifying, really.

But I needed answers.

I stepped to the lake’s edge, took a breath. Exhaled.

"Alright," I muttered, leaning over the mirror-like surface. "Hit me with your best shot."

The water rippled gently, then stilled, waiting for me to see clearly. My reflection blurred, shifting colors, twisting shapes. Then it sharpened. My breath caught.

A Silent One stared back.

Her wings hung limp, dull, lifeless. Eyes empty. Face hollowed by forgotten dreams. No laughter, no spark, just quiet despair. My future?

"No way," I growled softly. "That's not me."

The water stirred again, rippling with purpose. Another face formed.

Me again. But not me. Wings radiant, eyes bright, no wand needed. Confident smile, easy laugh. She glowed, literally glowed, like sunlight through crystal.

I leaned closer. "Well, aren't you annoyingly perfect."

"Talking to yourself again, Lyra?"

I jumped, stumbling back from the water. Elder Nym stood nearby, eyes amused, calm and knowing as always.

"Nice way to scare a girl," I snapped, embarrassed and annoyed.

"Apologies," she chuckled softly. "I forget how heavy your burden feels these days."

I sighed. "Come to tell me I've doomed Oldwood yet?"

"Hardly," Nym replied. She moved closer, graceful as ever. "You faced a Blackthorn Boar, with courage instead of magic, I hear."

"Gossip travels fast," I muttered. My cheeks burned.

"Be proud," Nym said softly. "Few could stand their ground without magic. Even fewer try."

I drew a shaky breath, fingers tightening involuntarily at my sides. "But I'm empty, Nym. My magic’s gone."

She raised a silver eyebrow. "Gone? Or just hidden?"

I stared at my cracked wand. "What's the difference?"

Nym stepped closer, gaze piercing. "When my wand cracked years ago, I believed I’d lost everything. I nearly did."

My eyes widened. Elder Nym. Powerful, confident Elder Nym, had felt this too?

"You?" My voice was barely audible. "Impossible."

She laughed gently, shaking her head. "Believe it, Lyra. Doubt finds us all."

"But how’d you fix it?" I pressed.

"I didn't." Her eyes twinkled, mischievous. "At least, not the wand."

Typical Nym. Cryptic as ever.

"I don't understand," I said impatiently. "What did you fix?"

"Me," she said simply. "Magic is just a mirror, your true self is the source."

I stared blankly. "You lost me."

She rolled her eyes, patient yet amused. "Magic isn't something you have, Lyra. It’s something you are. The wand was only a reflection. When it broke, I finally had to face myself."

I swallowed hard. "Face what exactly?"

"My fears. My flaws." She looked deeply into my eyes. "And accept them."

My throat tightened. "Sounds awful."

"It was," she admitted, honest and direct. "At first."

I glanced back at the lake. The Silent One waited there, patient, terrifying.

"And if I can't?" My voice shook slightly. "If I fail?"

Nym shrugged lightly. "Then silence chooses you. Or maybe, just maybe, you find something even stronger than magic."

"What’s stronger than magic?" I asked bitterly.

She smiled warmly. "Yourself."

Nym stepped away quietly, leaving me standing beside the lake, alone with my reflections.

The water showed me again. Two choices: silence or strength.

Decision time, Lyra. Better choose wisely. Oldwood wouldn’t wait forever.

Things got ugly, fast.

Shadowmire spread through Oldwood like spilled ink. Trees turned brittle. Leaves shriveled black at the edges. Flowers wilted, petals darkening to gray.

My fault, obviously.

Fairies gossiped as I passed. Eyes watched nervously. Doubt wasn’t subtle. It clung to me, thicker than mud, dripping slowly outward, poisoning everything it touched. The message clear: I was trouble, and everybody knew it.

I pulled back. Way back.

Found myself an old hollow tree, cozy in a gloomy sort of way. Didn’t mind the spiders, they minded their business. So did I. Nice arrangement, really, if you're into gloom and self-pity. Isolation had its perks.

Elder Nym came knocking a few times. Called my name softly, all concerned and gentle. Couldn’t face that right now. Didn’t trust myself. Didn’t trust her not to pity me. Hate pity. Hate even more that some part of me craves it.

So, I stayed hidden.

My hollow-tree hideaway felt safe enough. Dark, quiet, a little rough around the edges, just like me lately. At least here no one stared. No doubts slipping through cracks in doors or between fluttering wings. Just me, a broken wand, and a parade of crawling things on bark walls.

Not paradise, but I’ve seen worse.

I tried fixing the wand, which went about as well as you'd expect. Bound it tight with spider-silk. Nothing. Whispered spells I’d learned as a fledgling fairy. Still nothing. I even gave it a good shake, like maybe magic worked better if rattled around.

Nada.

I bit my lip, jaw clenched, breath escaping sharply through my nose. I tossed the wand to the dirt floor, surrendering to the brokenness I felt inside. I sank down beside it, shoulders heavy.

“Useless stick,” I muttered bitterly.

“We’re quite the pair. Guess we deserve each other.”

Outside, Oldwood groaned softly. Branches creaked in pain. Leaves sighed their misery. Shadowmire had a taste for suffering, drinking deeply from every hidden fear I couldn’t confront, and right now, it was feasting.

Again, my fault.

I hugged my knees tight, wings curled in protectively. Eyes shut against reality. But hiding from the world doesn’t mean it stops turning.

An old memory crept in quietly, sneaky as moonlight. Mom’s voice. Soft and warm, singing in our tiny treetop home.

I was young. Thunder shook the branches that night, fierce enough to rattle my teeth. Scared? You bet. But mom wrapped me tight in her wings, humming gently, like storms were nothing but loud, rude neighbors.

“Lyra, sweet one,” she said softly, “storms make noise, but remember, they always pass. Courage is stronger than fear.”

Back then, I believed her. Back then, belief was easy.

Now her words faded, slipping between my fingers. Courage. Felt far away, an old friend who moved on without leaving a note.

I exhaled shakily, glancing at the wand again. Its cracked crystal seemed to mock me, cloudy and dull.

"I’m sorry, Mom," I cried, tears hot and bitter. "Your brave little fairy isn’t so brave anymore."

The hollow stayed silent, offering no comfort.

Shadowmire crept closer, roots twisting and leaves falling. Doubt thickened, heavy as fog, hungry and relentless.

And I sat alone, deepening the dark. Until a sound sliced sharply through the gloom, jolting me upright.

A scream cut through my pity party.

Sharp, frightened, small. Way too small to be alone out there.

My head snapped up. Another cry followed, echoing through the twisted gloom of the Shadowed Glens.

Perfect.

The very place I’d been avoiding. Nothing like a midnight stroll through your literal worst nightmare.

I hesitated. Of course I hesitated.

Another scream. Closer. Terrified.

Okay, fine.

Feet moved before I could second-guess. Heart pounding like drums, pulse rushing in my ears. I gripped my fractured wand tight, as if squeezing harder could magically make it whole again.

Good luck with that.

Darkness swallowed the forest ahead, deeper and colder than natural night. Trees hunched low, bark cracked and blackened, branches claw-like. A place built from fear, and guess whose fear inspired it?

Yeah. Mine.

"Help me!" The child’s voice trembled somewhere beyond the twisted roots.

"Stay where you are!" I shouted, breathless. My voice cracked embarrassingly. Great timing.

The Glens tightened around me. Thorny vines curled toward my wings, pandering promises of pain. I ignored them. Kept going. Because stopping meant losing, losing more than just this kid. Losing myself.

Then, I finally spotted her. A tiny girl fairy, backed against a jagged stone, wings shivering, eyes wide as moons. Shadows slithered around her feet, dark tendrils hungry and eager.

"Stay still," I called, trying to sound confident. Failing spectacularly.

The shadows turned to me. Greedy eyes, darker than night, sizing me up like dinner.

Time to shine, Lyra. Literally.

I raised the wand high, concentrating, begging, praying. "Light," I yelled fiercely. "Just give me one spark."

Nothing.

Ego roared inside my skull. "Pathetic! Weak! A fairy with no magic? Ridiculous. You're nothing without power."

Shadow laughed cruelly, silky and smooth. "Did you expect miracles, Lyra? Better surrender now. Easier to give up than pretend you're brave."

Sweat trickled down my spine. Hands shook violently. "No," I hissed, hands trembling but fists clenched. "Not this time."

The child whimpered again, eyes begging. Pleading.

"Please," she cried.

Something snapped inside me.

Something fierce, bright, stubborn, and totally fed up with all the noise in my head.

"Enough!" I shouted, voice stronger than I'd felt in ages.

The shadows froze. Ego sputtered in shock. Shadow went silent, stunned.

Interesting.

I stared at the wand. Fractured crystal, splintered wood, a pretty mess that couldn’t save anyone.

Maybe it didn’t need to.

I tossed the wand aside, shattering the illusion I'd hidden behind. It clattered uselessly to the ground. Vulnerability rushed through me, raw and exposed. Terrifying. Liberating.

Just me now.

Stepping forward, empty hands open, eyes blazing, I faced the shadows directly. "Back off," I snapped, voice dripping with attitude. "She's not yours. Neither am I."

They hesitated, swirling uncertainly.

"Yeah, that's right," I growled, taking another bold step. "You heard me."

Confidence surged through me unexpectedly. My racing pulse slowed, breathing steadier now. Maybe courage didn't need magic to back it up.

Slowly, reluctantly, the darkness retreated. Faded into the shadows where it belonged.

The girl stared up at me, amazed, hopeful. "You stopped them," she said. "How?"

I smiled, breathing hard, adrenaline buzzing through me. "Honestly? Maybe believing was magic enough."

Maybe magic was overrated. Maybe belief counted more.

Maybe, just maybe, I'd been enough all along.

No wand. No magic. Just us and the heavy silence.

"Are they really gone?" she asked, still trembling.

"Looks like it," I replied, glancing around carefully. "For now."

But the Glens remained heavy. Shadow still clung to twisted branches. Trees crouched low, watchful and waiting. Trouble hadn’t completely packed its bags.

"What now?" she asked.

Good question.

My mind drifted backward, way back, to safer days. Back when darkness meant bedtime, not life-and-death battles. Mom’s song slipped quietly into my memory. Warm, clear, comforting. If only I could—

Wait. Maybe I could.

Taking a shaky breath, I opened my mouth. At first, just silence. Awkward silence. Seriously, voice, you’re picking now to fail me?

Tried again. Soft notes crept out, cautious, unsure. A few more. Then more still, gathering strength. Familiar words floated into the darkness, steady and gentle, wrapping around us both:

"Fear not the shadows, little wing,
for morning follows night.
Your heart's a star that always sings,
your courage burning bright."

My voice surprised me. Clear, strong, and honest. No wand. No sparkle. Just my voice, strong enough on its own.

And it felt good. Really good.

The air changed. Shadows retreated. The Glens loosened their grip, suddenly uncertain, shifting nervously.

I sang louder.

"Storms will pass and skies will clear,
believe and you will see.
Magic lives within, my dear—
trust your heart, fly free."

The child leaned close, fear melting from her face. She looked up at me, eyes wide and amazed.

"You made them go away," she said, eyes huge with wonder.

No kidding, kid.

Light seeped back into the Glens, soft at first, then bolder. Wisplight birds flitted from hiding places. Tiny, glowing creatures I'd almost forgotten. Wings shimmering like moonlit pearls. Their chirps joined my song, harmony weaving effortlessly between notes.

Renewal.

This moment mattered. Not because of a wand. Not because of magic. It mattered because it was real. Built from memory, courage, and something deeper I’d ignored for far too long.

Myself.

I scooped the girl into my arms, wings unfolding gently. "Ready to head back?"

She nodded eagerly. "Definitely."

Me too, kid. Me too.

There was one place I had to return to. One last choice waiting beneath the Heart Tree.

Full circle.

Back beneath the Heart Tree, broken wand resting in my palms.

Déjà vu, anyone?

The Heart Tree towered quietly. Its branches glittered gently above. Watching. Waiting. Judging? Maybe not. Probably just curious.

No escaping it. Decision time.

At my feet lay a book. Ancient. Dangerous. Forbidden. The kind of magic Elder Nym always warned me about… fast fixes, big trouble. Instant wand repair guaranteed, with a side of disaster.

Tempting, though.

Ego practically purred, excited. "Imagine their faces, Lyra. Instant respect. Instant acceptance. Instant power."

Shadow chuckled softly. "True. And without magic, who are you, really? No one special."

But another voice rose quietly from the chaos inside me. Calm. Clear. Real.

"Are you seriously considering this, Lyra? You’ve already proved your worth without the wand. Remember? Or did your recent heroic performance slip your mind already?"

I glanced down at the broken thing in my hands. Shattered wood. Dull crystal. Once a treasure, now just an object.

A choice, pure and simple. Fake power, or real me.

I could repair it easily. Everyone would cheer, impressed by glittery lies. Maybe they'd never see the cracks inside. But I'd know. I’d always know.

"Forget it," I muttered, feeling something settle deep within me. A quiet, overdue certainty.

I tossed the forbidden book aside. It hit the ground hard, pages sprawling wide. A dramatic little mess, just like everything else lately.

"Enough pretending. Magic built on lies was never real magic."

I tightened my grip around the wand, feeling its splinters bite into my palm. Took a deep breath, steady and calm. Raised it high, and let go.

It hit the earth.

And shattered completely.

Pieces scattered everywhere, fragments of lies, doubt, fear—all breaking apart.

Freedom rushed in like fresh air.

No wand.
No regrets.
Just me.

And for once, that felt more than good enough.

Turns out, fairies gossip a lot.

Word traveled fast. Lyra, wandless wonder. Fairy without a sparkle stick. I got used to the stares. Curious, skeptical, awed. Didn’t care much anymore. That surprised everyone. Especially me.

Without the wand, magic felt different. Personal. Natural. Real. It flowed from confidence, courage, belief. No props needed. No smoke and mirrors. Just truth.

Fancy that.

Shadowmire retreated day by day. Darkness backed off, realizing I wasn’t an easy snack anymore. Trees breathed easier. Flowers lifted their heads. Oldwood thrived. Magic, pure and simple.

Fairies noticed. Started asking questions.
"Lyra, how’d you do it?"
"What’s your secret?"
"Teach me?"

Teaching. Me?!?

Elder Nym smirked knowingly. "Told you so," smugly sipping her tea.

But she was right. Go figure.

So I said yes. Gathered young fairies around the Heart Tree, sat cross-legged in soft grass, and kept it real.

"Listen," I told them, tossing aside the old fairy rulebook, literally. "Forget perfect," I said softly, meeting their uncertain eyes. "Perfect is a cage. You deserve better. Broken can be beautiful, flaws can sparkle. Your magic is you. Not your wand, not your spells, not the applause."

Wide eyes stared back. Jaws dropped a little.

Good.

I stood tall, stretching my wings wide, basking in sunlight. Confidence felt amazing. Liberating, really. I straightened taller, chin lifted, the corner of my mouth tugging into a genuine smile.

"So," I said, grinning. "So, who’s ready to break some rules?"

Hands shot up instantly.

New traditions began. Truth circles beneath the Heart Tree. Stories of doubt shared openly. No judgment, no shame. Wand optional. Sincerity required. Courage essential.

Oldwood bloomed brighter each day. The forest flourished. Real magic had returned, all because a fairy finally got her act together.

No shadows left here.

Just light.

Beneath the Heart Tree again, but different now. Peaceful, stronger, imperfectly whole.

Strange how life circles back.

I sat quietly, scribbling a letter. Words mattered. The right words mattered more. This wasn't just a note, it was a message in a bottle tossed forward through time. A truth bomb wrapped neatly in ink and parchment. A promise I owed to fairies yet to come.

No pressure at all, Lyra. Just carrying every shattered heart that ever needed to believe again.

I took a breath, put pen to paper.

To whoever needs this next:

Magic breaks.
Sorry, but it's true.
Wands shatter. Spells fail. Shadows come knocking, even on sunny days. You'll doubt yourself. You'll hurt.
Guess what?
You're still magic. Always were, always will be.
It's not about wands or glitter.
It's courage when you're scared.
Belief when doubt screams louder.
Light when darkness moves in.
You won't get it right every time.
Good news: you don't have to.
Imperfections make you real. Flaws are beautiful. Strength isn't perfect. It’s stubborn and messy and bold enough to face shadows head-on.
So when darkness returns, and it will, stand tall.
Trust yourself.
You are enough.
Always.

I folded the paper, smiling faintly. Carefully tucked it into a hollow knot of the Heart Tree, waiting for whoever needed it next.

Oldwood shone softly, brighter than ever. Trees lush, flowers bright, air crisp and clean. Wisplight birds sang from branches, their songs clear and strong.

Magic, real magic, thrived here now.

Because belief had returned.

Would darkness come again? Sure. It always did.

But that was okay.

Fear fades. Doubt quiets. Shadows eventually retreat.

Belief, though? Belief stays. Belief endures. Belief is magic.

I stood, stretching gently beneath the branches. Flaws and fears mixed comfortably with confidence now. Perfectly imperfect.

Just me.

And that, finally, was enough.