The endless rain that swept across the Scottish Highlands made the fire burning once again within the hunter's cabin glow all the more brilliant.
Brought inside by Favia, Baobhan Sith felt—for the first time in so long—the warmth of a flame.
Yet, perhaps because of everything that had just happened, the fairy girl still sat with her head bowed, her hand gripping her shoulder in silence.
Favia watched her closely.
Her hair, soaked by rain, clung to her temples.
Bruises marred her face—old ones not yet healed.
Her hair, damp and unkempt, showed the telltale signs of neglect: split ends and brittle dryness.
The silver-haired boy's eyes flicked to the scar at her neck, then he rose and said quietly,
"Sorry… I scared you earlier."
At his words, Baobhan Sith trembled faintly and lifted her head.
Her hollow, cavern-like eyes carried confusion.
"That crying you heard earlier, and the handwriting that suddenly appeared on the walls—
that was me. I only wanted to frighten you a bit… make you leave this place."
Baobhan Sith buried her chin into her arms and stared blankly at the words still faintly visible on the wall—
'You're doomed. Stay here three days, and you'll die.'
After a moment of dazed silence, she murmured,
"But… there was… no magical… reaction…"
It was only then that Favia noticed how hoarse her voice sounded—
scratchy, painful to hear.
Perhaps her throat had been cut or damaged by something,
and never properly healed.
Out in the rain, with her sobbing so loudly, he hadn't realized it before.
With a quiet sigh, Favia got up and walked to the corner of the cabin.
He picked up a turtle and a hedgehog that had been resting there.
In front of her eyes, he fed the hedgehog sugar water—
and it immediately began to let out cries that sounded eerily like a child's weeping.
As for the words on the wall,
they had been made using the turtle and carbon ink.
Most people imagine that medieval scholars wrote using quills.
Indeed, they did.
From ancient Rome to the Middle Ages,
every educated person knew how to make and use a quill.
Since the 12th century, the best quills were said to be made
from the fifth feather counting inward from the tip of a goose's or swan's outer wing.
But the true soul of a quill was its ink.
In the Middle Ages, there were many recipes,
but only two main types of ink existed—
carbon ink and metal ink.
Just as in modern times, medieval scholars would write corrections in red,
to mark mistakes and warn later readers.
"So scary… humans are so scary…"
Baobhan Sith muttered under her breath.
It was this elaborate, non-magical trickery that had terrified her half to death earlier,
driving her to flee.
Even now, after Favia's calm explanation,
she still feared the human world that could perform such things without magic.
"Um…"
As the warmth of the fire seeped through her body,
the fairy girl suddenly remembered—
in human storybooks, when someone helps you,
you're supposed to thank them.
Yes, she realized—
she should thank this human who had brought her in from the rain.
She had never done such a thing in the fairy realm before,
but somehow, the thought came to her naturally now.
Maybe it was because Favia hadn't hurt her,
hadn't yelled, hadn't looked down on her.
"Th… thank…"
But again, her tongue froze and knotted—
just like it did long ago,
whenever she tried to refuse the fairies' cruel demands.
Why… why can't I speak properly?
Why can't I sound beautiful, or confident?
Panic and shame swelled inside her.
Unable to stop herself, she looked up to steal a glance at this human who was so utterly foreign to her.
And then she saw—
his eyes seemed fixed on something.
Following his gaze, she realized it was her legs—
specifically, the deer hooves that had been hidden under her skirt but were now accidentally exposed.
Baobhan Sith froze.
She remembered, vividly, how long ago it was that everyone began treating her differently—
after seeing her heels shaped like hooves.
Did she hate them for beating and tormenting her back then?
No.
She thought it was natural.
If she were them, she would probably do the same.
Her hands shot down to cover her feet, gripping them so tightly it was as if she might crush them.
Hiding this—
this thing that made others uncomfortable—
had been her lifelong habit since the day she first learned what it meant to be "sensible."
Now, imagining that this human might react the same way as the fairies,
the cheek that had recently been struck suddenly burned again,
as if those fairies were right there before her,
scolding her—
Don't forget what you are. Know your place.
"I—I understand… I'll leave… please don't hit me… I'll go, I'll go…"
Her voice trembled, careful and small.
To her, her face, her mind, her very being were all ugly—
there was nothing lovable about her.
If someone saw her deformity,
being beaten and ridiculed was only what she deserved.
Perhaps fearing that her voice might anger him,
she began inching toward the door,
trying not to let her footsteps creak on the wooden floor.
The cabin was utterly silent now,
save for the sound of rain against the windows
and the crackling of the fire.
As she moved quietly, her gaze drifted toward the window.
There, in the faint reflection, she saw her own face—
bruised, scarred at the throat and lips,
hair tangled and dirty,
eyes dull and hollow.
…Of course. If I were them, I'd hate me too.
The fairy girl closed her eyes and turned away,
quietly moving toward the door.
But no matter how tightly she shut them,
that reflection stayed burned into her mind.
How laughable, she thought,
that she still had the nerve not to want pity.
If only I could become like the princesses in those human tales.
Even if not a princess—
just someone like that.
She had thought this countless times before.
If she could—
then her ugly face, her stupid mind, her gloomy soul
would surely change.
But that would never happen.
The more she thought about it, the more it hurt.
Maybe… it's better if they just cut off my legs…
Then… everyone could finally be happy again…
Her vision blurred.
She tried to hold back her tears,
afraid the human who had seen her deformity would be angered by her noise.
Grief surged over her like a wave,
tightening her throat until she could hardly breathe.
"Hey."
The sudden voice beside her made Baobhan Sith flinch violently.
She turned, startled.
The silver-haired human who should have been sitting by the fire
was now standing just a few steps behind her.
His head tilted slightly,
and on his lips was what looked like a faint smile.
He's going to hit me.
Please don't hit me… I won't come back again…
She wanted to beg.
Because back when the fairies beat her,
they had laughed—
forcing her to smile even through her pain.
So now, whenever she feared she might be struck,
her lips twisted instinctively into a submissive, fearful grin.
"About this rain—"
Favia still wanted to say something more, but when he saw the way Baobhan Sith instinctively showed that obsequious smile—that same fearful, servile expression that spoke of deep-seated terror—he stopped. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a soft sigh slipped from him.
Were all fairies like this—
both those of Proper Human History and those of the Lostbelts?
Or was it only the fairies around her who behaved this way?
In Favia's impression, the fairies of Proper Human History were at least a little better than their Lostbelt counterparts. Mischievous, perhaps, but not outright cruel.
But then again, thinking deeper—
though humans who interacted with Proper Human History's fairies rarely died,
most never returned quite the same.
There was, for instance, Azaka Kokutō from The Garden of Sinners—after being spirited away by a fairy, she lost all memory of what she had seen.
And in The Case Files of Lord El-Melloi II, the hidden culprit, Heartless, had lost his heart within the Fairy Kingdom—though if not for a fairy's help, he might never have survived his frame-up.
There were exceptions, of course.
Take Norma Goodfellow, the heroine of Fate/Labyrinth—guided by her grandfather, she once encountered beautiful, genuine fairies in a hidden glen of Ireland.
But whatever the case, when he saw how pitifully this red-haired fairy had been abused by her own kind—and the way her heels ended in delicate deer hooves—
Favia began to suspect who she was.
She was likely Baobhan Sith, the blood-sucking fairy of Proper Human History.
He hadn't expected her current state to mirror that of her Lostbelt counterpart before she was adopted by Morgan—
equally tragic, equally forsaken.
At least the Lostbelt Baobhan Sith had Morgan to protect her.
This one… had no one.
And so, after a quiet sigh, Favia smiled gently and said,
"Come to think of it, I did help you out a little, didn't I? It wouldn't be very nice of you to leave without saying anything, would it?"
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…"
"In that case," he said lightly, "why don't we make a trade?"
That's coercion, she almost blurted out, but the words caught in her throat and were swallowed back with her saliva.
She didn't understand how the two ideas—help and trade—were connected.
Still, she forced a sycophantic smile and said,
"A trade…? But I don't have anything worth trading…"
"I don't need an item in return," the silver-haired boy replied, smiling. "I only want you to tell me something."
"Tell you… what?"
"Your name is Baobhan Sith."
"E-eh…?"
The fairy girl blinked in confusion.
Why does this human—someone I've just met—already know my name?
"Now then, as part of the exchange," Favia continued with disarming sincerity, "you must tell me my name. It's a trade, after all."
Baobhan Sith froze, staring at him.
It made no sense.
Why did this human know her name—and demand his in return?
Was it some trick?
A pretext, so that when he started beating her, he'd have a name to curse while doing it?
A storm of questions swirled through her mind—
until, amid the confusion, a faintly curious warmth welled up inside her.
Without realizing it, her lips curved ever so slightly.
"I don't know. I don't understand. I don't even know who you are…
and yet you somehow know my name. Have you… been secretly watching me all this time?"
The words came out smoothly for once, though the movement of her throat and the scar at her lip burned with pain.
But still—she wanted to say it.
"Hmm… that's a tricky question," Favia replied, pressing a finger to his chin in mock thought.
"Because, well—you're right. I have been secretly watching you.
Didn't expect you to find out so fast, though.
But tell me—was my acting really that bad?"
He made an exaggeratedly conflicted face, then brought his hands together in a pleading gesture.
"Since I've failed my big reveal, could you please return the money I left here earlier?
Please? Let's just call that the exchange, forget the rest.
Knowing my name isn't as important as survival—and without that money, I won't be able to get by.
I might even starve to death."
For a moment, Baobhan Sith could only stare.
Then—
a strange, long-forgotten sensation stirred in her chest.
Was this supposed to be funny?
She could tell he was joking, that he was pretending to beg.
And yet…
for some reason… she wanted to laugh.
Before she knew it, a small chuckle slipped from her lips.
"Hehe… you're ridiculous."
"Exactly. Isn't it good to laugh?"
As he said this, Baobhan Sith found herself slowly lifting her head.
In the firelight, his face was calm, kind—
and for the first time in her memory, that gentleness didn't feel cruel.
"Yes," she whispered, still smiling. "It's good. Really good."
"Hm?"
She made a small, questioning sound, but Favia's expression remained serene.
"You see, Baobhan Sith—when you smile, you're actually quite pretty."
Her cheeks flushed instantly.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't embarrassment either—
it was something lighter, warmer, like her body might float away.
She'd never felt anything like it before.
She knew she wasn't someone others wanted to protect.
And yet—she couldn't stop herself from feeling this way.
As for Favia, of course, he saw every reaction clearly.
But rather than joy, a quiet heaviness stirred in him.
Because in truth—it wasn't happiness that filled him when he saw such innocence.
Think of it this way:
a person with only one eye calls themselves unfortunate,
because humans are meant to have two.
But if people were born with only one eye,
none would ever feel sorrow for lacking the second.
In that world, the one with two eyes might instead feel defective.
Baobhan Sith's past had been so cruel, so deprived,
that even the smallest act of kindness could move her to tears.
He didn't need to touch her or promise her anything—
a few gentle words were enough to make her happy.
But pity alone was not what he wanted for her.
To see suffering and wish to help—
that was only natural.
When a dog or a cat cries in pain,
humans feel sympathy and love all the same.
Yet rather than letting Baobhan Sith bask in fleeting comfort,
Favia wanted her to stand on her own feet—
to live without depending on anyone else.
So, after a moment of silence, his voice turned serious.
"Anyway, let's set that aside for now.
We agreed to an exchange, didn't we?
I already know your name, Baobhan Sith—and you've even taken my money.
But you know nothing about me.
Doesn't that seem a little unfair?"
You're completely unreasonable.
The words rose to her throat again—but once more, she swallowed them.
"...Mm," she murmured softly.
And yet, despite her obedience, a faint irritation lingered in her chest.
"So," Favia continued with a faintly teasing tone,
"until you've paid back what you owe me,
you won't be going anywhere.
You'll stay here and work a bit to make up the difference."
He said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe—
the irritation Baobhan Sith felt wasn't really about his absurd words.
Maybe it was that the fear in her heart still refused to fade—
the fear that, with her face, her mind, her entire being so ugly and worthless,
there truly was nothing in her that deserved to be loved.
Not even a little.
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