“What about Drosselmeyer?” Alex asked, looking to the wizard. He gestured to the blankets and fire. “You’re responsible for all of this; couldn’t you make another harmonica?”
The old man looked thoughtful. “I’m afraid it will take most of my strength to repair the gateway.”
“But there’s no point in the gateway if we can’t connect it to Alex’s realm in the first place!” Celesta argued, wringing her hands. Her wings trembled with agitation.
“I agree,” Drosselmeyer answered calmly. “But I am not the only one who can use creative magic.” He looked at her pointedly.
Alex frowned in confusion.
Celesta widened her eyes. “But you said…”
“Yes. And now it is your turn to decide, little one.”
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her face. “But I don’t even know what song to use.”
Drosselmeyer smiled at her gently. “Haven’t you learned anything from watching our dear Alex?” he asked, placing his hand over his heart. “Use the music that is in here.”
Celesta pressed her lips together and nodded, swiping at her face one last time before shedding her cloak. She shivered slightly in the cold air, then closed her eyes and adjusted her stance. She shifted her weight to one foot and pointed the toes on the other, holding it out and slightly at an angle. Her arms curved in front of her gracefully, as if she were embracing an invisible dance partner.
“What is she doing?” Alex whispered urgently to the wizard beside him. “I thought she was a pixie. Doesn’t she need someone else to play for her to use her magic?”
“Halfpixie. There is also elvish blood in her veins.” Drosselmeyer kept his eyes glued to the little ballerina.
“Then why did she say she couldn’t use magic like the elves? What is she deciding?” Alex looked back and forth between the two, unease building inside.
Drosselmeyer said nothing, his attention fixed on Celesta. Alex soon found himself similarly transfixed.
His little ballerina started with a leap and a pirouette, dancing to a music that was audible only to her ears. After a few moments, she began to hum. The ground at her feet began to sparkle with a pale green light the same shade as her dress. Celesta continued, her voice and movements growing stronger. She sang no words, but the notes of the melody spoke just as loudly and clearly as if she had, and he heard in her song a reflection of herself.
The melody started out vibrant and joyful, with playful rhythms and leaps that matched Celesta’s spirit, but soon transitioned into one that communicated strength and purpose. He found his own heart bolstered, and a sense of readiness and determination settled into his bones. The light swirled brightly around her, seeming to pour from her wings and toes and fingertips.
Celesta’s movements slowed, and so did her song. She modulated, shifting to a minor key, and her song spoke of heartbreak and sacrifice. The notes stretched and pulled, painful and agonizing even in their haunting beauty. The ballerina held her hands together over her head and spun one last time as the final notes rose into the air. She lowered her hands and opened them as the last of the sparkling light faded away.
There, in her palms, was a silver harmonica, brightly polished and gleaming in the firelight.
Alex’s jaw dropped in surprise as he took in the sight. “But…how?” He looked up at her wet, tear-streaked face and the exhausted slump of her shoulders.
She stepped towards him and stumbled, and he was up in a moment to catch her, the stiffness in his limbs for a moment forgotten. He wrapped his arms around her waist to support her back to the fire, then froze.
“Celesta,” his voice cracked with emotion. “Your wings.” Two pink lines ran down between her shoulder blades where her iridescent wings had once been, as if they had been cut out with a knife and the seams stitched closed.
Celesta turned her head slightly to look over her shoulder, then gave him a tired smile. She hardly seemed surprised by the loss. “Yes,” she answered simply as he helped lower her to the ground beside the crackling fire. “Drosselmeyer said it was likely.”
“What do you mean?” Alex looked down at the ground dubiously before deciding to remain standing. He had a feeling if he sat down, he might not be able to get back up again. “What happened to them?”
“My connection to magic is gone.” Her voice still seemed unnaturally calm, given her words and the situation. Celesta placed the harmonica in his hands. “Drosselmeyer always suspected that I might be able to use creative magic, but that it would come at a cost. I had one chance to use it, and this was it.”
He felt the metal of the harmonica in his hands, cold and heavy with the implications of her words. “It’s gone? Completely? Why would you do that?”
“You did the same for me.”
“But it wasn’t permanent! Take it back. We’ll find another way.” He shoved the instrument back towards her.
She smiled at him, equal parts affection and sadness. “It doesn’t work that way, Alex. What’s done is done.”
His heart cracked at her loss. “It’s too much. You shouldn’t have had to give it up.”
“I wanted to.” She looked up at him seriously. “It was an easy choice, and I would make it again.”
