If you’ve ever seen light bloom out of nowhere, you’ve probably seen Pixie at work. She’s a bloom-fae with wings like sunrise and a heart even brighter.
I remember one evening when the forest had lost its glow—literally. The fireflies had flown off, scared by thunder and the rumbling dark.
While everyone else hid, Pixie rose above the trees and began to hum. Her song was soft at first, then strong enough to warm the night air. One by one, the fireflies peeked out and drifted toward her glow. Before long, the whole forest shimmered again, as if stars had settled among the branches.
When she landed beside me on the lily pad, I croaked, “You fixed it, Pixie!” She smiled. “No,” she said, “I just loved them back to light.” She thanked the fireflies for trusting her and thanked the night for listening.
That stuck with me. Love, I learned, isn’t always grand—it’s steady, patient, and brave enough to shine when others can’t. The Enchanted Forest still hums with her melody. Every glow reminds me of her quiet kind of magic, and I try to hum along when courage feels far away.
