The Flight of Faerieland: Part Four
"Weewoo! Weewoo! Weewoo!" hooted Queen Fyora's alarm clock.
The Faerie Queen woke up. She sat down and stared out her window and heaved a sigh.
"The same dream, over and over again. Maybe one day it will become reality," she said to herself.
Ever since Faerieland fell, Fyora's own mind troubled her greatly. She longed for things to return back to normal and felt like a failure for not being able to succeed in that endeavor. Her outward appearance did not change. She smiled often, and was still a charismatic leader that everyone respected. Inside, though, she was still traumatized by Xandra's deeds, unable to move past them. She did make some progress, though. Her previous dreams would be of Faerieland falling repeatedly. Nowadays, they show her desperation for the past.
At that moment, Celandra came into the room.
"Fyora, breakfast is ready," she said.
"Thank you," she replied as Celandra set a tray on the small, pink round table in the room.
Celandra took one look at Fyora and knew something was up.
"I think you should talk to Psellia. Is she not the expert of dreams?" Celandra suggested.
Fyora had resisted seeing Psellia up until now. She didn't want to bug Psellia with her own problems, and seeking help wasn't her nature. Queen Fyora liked to figure things out on her own.
The queen sighed. "Very well, I will go see Psellia. She can at the very least concoct a potion that will suppress these terrible, unwanted dreams I keep having."
The Faerie Queen finished her light breakfast of Faerie Pastries, a plain omelette, and slightly sweetened black tea. These were served on pink ceramic platters that had the pattern of faerie wings around the edges and a larger pair in the center. Fyora never really cared for the shiny silver platters that she deserved, instead opting for a less gilded life.
"Alright, time to head off to Altador. Would you like to come along?" Fyora asked.
Celandra knew that when Fyora asked that question, she really meant that she wanted Celandra's company. She knew better than to say "no."
"Yes, I would be happy to come along," Celandra responded.
The two left Fyora's room for a long corridor that seemed rather empty. At the end of this corridor was the portal to Altador. The two stepped through and emerged on the other side at a portal inside King Altador's castle.
"Hmm... I wonder if her Harris is around," Fyora thought out loud.
Finding Psellia wasn't always easy. She preferred to spend her days in the skies, far above Neopia. However, with the fall of Faerieland, she was down on Neopia more often but still occasionally disappeared into the skies. Talking to her Harris was usually the optimal way to reach Psellia.
"Hey, isn't that Siyana?" Celandra said, waving at a light faerie further down the corridor.
The faerie waved back and flew over. In her arms was a Harris, Psellia's Harris.
"Hello, Siyana. Perfect timing. I'm here to speak to Psellia's Harris on an urgent matter," Fyora stated.
"Sure thing, your Majesty," Siyana replied, handing the Harris to Fyora.
Fyora sighed. "You are always about formalities, Siyana. I guess asking you to address me by name is not ever going to work. Nonetheless, thank you, and please send King Altador my greetings."
The Harris jumped out of Fyora's arms and landed right in Celandra's own arms.
"It appears he has taking a liking to you, Celandra. Anyways, I would best be off to making sure the Altadorian gardens receive enough light. Good to see you both."
Siyana gave them both a quick hug before disappearing in a cloud of yellow faerie dust.
"Hello there," Celandra said to the Harris.
"Hello, Celandra, I heard that Queen Fyora wanted to have a word with me." Psellia spoke through the Harris. "Ask her to meet me in my room in the West Tower. I will be down from the clouds in a moment," she continued.
The Harris then purred, climbing up Celandra's shoulder, and then hopping onto Fyora's crown.
"Let us go visit your best friend, sweetie," Fyora said to the Harris.
They headed up an enormous spiral staircase, into the West Tower. At the top was the door to Psellia's room. She had painted an enormous mural on the door that depicted a huge cloud with many Harrises. In the middle of the mural was Psellia herself, playing with them. Fyora reached for the doorknob, only to find that it was locked. The Harris purred into Fyora's ear, as if trying to tell her something.
"Of course, you can open her door," said Fyora. The Harris scampered down Fyora's outstretched arm and touched the doorknob. It glowed for a second and then the lock clicked open. They proceeded into the room and had a look around. Psellia's room was not very decorated. The walls were fairly plain with only a few paintings of clouds and Harrises. There was a simple bed with no canopy and a small round table. Next to the bed was a small blue nightstand with a light faerie lamp, likely a gift from Siyana many faerie festivals back. Psellia did not spend much time in her room since she was usually in the clouds or in an Altadorian council meeting.
There was a whooshing noise and then a loud yell, "Incoming!"
The Harris jumped immediately into Psellia's bed. Celandra and Fyora took a seat the the round table. Psellia was flying at a very high speed straight at her open window. She quickly slowed down and still managed to land softly and gracefully.
"Greetings!" she said. "What brings you here on this fine day, Fyora?"
"Well, I guess we'll jump right into the reason here. I have been having these repetitive dreams. Between Celandra and I, we have written the basic plot of the dreams since they all appear to be similar, ending with Faerieland rising back up to the sky. Here is what we have right now," Fyora responded, handing Psellia a small notebook.
"Do you mind?" Psellia held up the notebook.
"Yes, go ahead, please read up and tell me what you think. I would really like the dreams to stop because I can no longer bear dreaming about something that I want to become reality. My mind feels tortured by them."
Psellia skimmed through the notebook several times in an effort to discern if the dream was preventable.
"Interesting, very interesting," Psellia said.
"What's interesting?" Celandra asked.
"I have reason to believe your dream is prophecy."
Fyora's ears perked up.
"Prophecy? You mean Faerieland will rise again? I am skeptical. We have not begun to discover how she rose in the first place."
"Prophecies are strange things. They do not reveal any chronological information. The current status of Faerieland will not necessarily persist though. It would be nice to have it back, wouldn't it?"
"I am not so sure what to think. I do want to accept it as a prophecy, but the dream did not seem very realistic to me. I mean rituals, higher spirits? I guess the ancestors part was not too far off," Fyora commented.
"You are skeptical. That is not necessarily a negative thing. Just don't be too surprised if Faerieland does end up rising somehow. You wanted the dreams to stop, though? A lot of Neopets with nightmares come to me for that remedy."
"They are more or less upsetting when I continue to wake up and find Faerieland on the ground every morning. I just want to be able to function normally as a queen and not have my mind clouded with my wishful thoughts for Faerieland's future."
Celandra jumped in on the conversation. "Please, Psellia. I cannot bear to see Fyora upset any longer. If you could do one thing to make her better, please do so."
"Hold on. I might have something," Psellia said.
Psellia reached for a small empty bottle. It was a spherical bottle made of clear glass. The diameter was exactly three inches. At the top of the bottle was a small cork. Psellia pulled out the cork and started to explain what the bottle was.
"This bottle has the ability to store prophecies away. This will be a great way to find out if your dream is indeed a prophecy. If we store it away, the dreams will stop happening. Be careful, though; if you open or break the bottle, the dreams will start happening again. If this doesn't work, then I must find another solution."
"If you really think this might be a prophecy, I will give this a try," Fyora replied.
Fyora took the bottle in one hand. Psellia began to recite in the ancient faerie language. Much to her amazement, the bottle began to give a soft, yellow glow. Celandra's eyes began to widen in awe as well.
Psellia leaned over and whispered, "You see that? It is indeed a prophecy!"
The bottle slowly filled with what looked like a pink gas. Psellia kept watch on it, waiting to cork it as soon as the gas finished filling the bottle. Within a couple of minutes, the gas had stopped filling the bottle. Psellia quickly put in the cork. The gas began to swirl around slowly before settling. It gave off a soft ambient glow.
"Well, here it is. Keep it safe!" Psellia said.
"Psellia, are you sure this is going to come true?"
"I am sure of it. There is not a way of knowing how long it will take."
"Psellia, there is just one more thing."
"Thank you, Psellia. It has been very encouraging to know that what I witnessed will eventually manifest."
"Thank you for making Fyora feel better. It is nice to see her smiling and upbeat again," Celandra added.
"You are surely welcome. I just do what I can."
"Do visit Neopia more often when you get a chance. I know you are always up in the clouds, saving the world one Harris at a time."
"I cannot make any promises, but I will see what I can do,"
Psellia and Fyora hugged before Psellia took off for the skies again. Fyora handed Celandra the bottle and the two headed back towards the portal.
Fyora had the prophecy sealed in a glass container and placed on the nightstand right beside her bed. The soft glow gave her comfort, as she knew that one day, Faerieland would fly again. It brought her peace each night and joy each day when she saw it. The other faeries were a bit taken aback at this since Fyora had always seemed a little depressed. Fyora decided to keep this between Psellia, Celandra, and herself though, not wanting this hope to be a distraction to the other faeries and Neopians.
Still though, she could not help smiling more often and sometimes, that is all that one needs to be satisfied: just something to smile about.