I look like a Fae princess.
Because apparently I am one.
Or something close enough that my magic has decided to dress me accordingly.
I cringe at my own reflection.
The expression breaks whatever spell the mirror had cast, transforming mesmerized observation into the particular horror of someone who has just discovered something they didn't want to know about themselves.
I turn to Nikolai, my transformed features arranged in what I hope is appropriately appalled expression.
He snickers.
The sound escapes despite obvious effort to contain it, one hand rising to cover his mouth in a gesture that fails entirely to hide his amusement. His eyes—still carrying the aftermath of recent tears but now sparkling with humor—dance with delight at my apparent distress.
"I'm not necessarily laughingatyou," he admits, the words muffled by fingers that aren't blocking anything effectively. "But your expression is fucking hilarious."
The statement makes me huff with indignation that's only partially performed.
"Change me back!"
The demand emerges with the particular authority of someone accustomed to having commands obeyed, my voice still carrying those unexpected musical qualities that make the imperative sound more like a request than the order I intended.
Nikolai arches an eyebrow, the expression carrying amusement that borders on insufferable.
"Sorry, little Solstice," he says, the nickname landing with weight that suggests he's already decided it's permanent. "But I don't think I'm the culprit of you changing."
Not him.
Then who?—
My eyes cut to Grim, accusation forming before conscious thought can intervene.
"How about Grim!" I point toward the floating being who has apparently abandoned his victory dance in favor of exploring the cocoon's interior. He drifts among the flowers with obvious appreciation, tiny golden form bending to examine blooms with the particular attention of someone encountering beauty they've never witnessed before.
He pauses at my accusation, tilting his transformed skull-face in my direction with obvious confusion.
"Gree?"
The inquiry carries genuine bewilderment—the particular tone of someone who has been accused of something they don't understand and can't possibly have committed.
Nikolai's smile only grows.
"Um," he says, tone carrying the patient explanation of someone addressing a child who has failed to grasp an obvious concept. "You'rethe one connected to him, remember?"
Oh.
The realization lands with the particular weight of truths that should have been obvious but somehow escaped notice until explicitly stated.
Grim is connected to me.
Not to Nikolai.
Which means if he's transformed, if his usual shadow nature has been replaced by golden light and growing things...
That transformation originates from me.
From whatever Fae power has awakened within my hybrid existence and started asserting itself without my conscious direction.
