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As a lesser noble of the House Elganar, Allen could absent himself from the pageantry of the Annual Ball with little notice. He had danced with a few pretty young women, but their polite smiles and flickering eyes proved his low position. He wasn’t worth the attention. He stood in the outer hallway, surrounded by portraits of old monarchs and gilt enough to pave the road from the palace to the king’s country house. Music, precise and bloodless, whispered through the doors. He sipped his wine and waited for nothing in particular, melancholy.
A young lady sat on a small bench, her back against the wall, her head tilted up, eyes closed. She seemed to be listening to the music and dreaming. She was a servant, by her simple attire, with hair pulled up in a bun. Allen, noticing her, could not look away. She was handsome enough, in her ordinary way, but upon her shoulder, the size of his hand, sat another woman in the same position. This creature or apparition was exquisitely formed, like a china doll, with an expression of serenity on her face that made him long for home. Allen took quiet steps toward the servant and her fairy. The servant heard him and opened her eyes. She stood.
“Excuse me,” she said, lowing her eyes. The fairy upon her shoulder looked steadfastly upon him.
“May I ask,” Allen said, entranced, “about the fair creature on your shoulder?”
The servant raised her eyes. “You can see her?”
“Yes. Quite clearly.”
“I cannot, and I have not met many who could.”
The fairy tilted her head curiously, studying him.
“What is it?”
“A gift from a witch upon my birth.”
“I did not know that witch’s gave gifts. I heard they specialize in curses.”
The servant took a deep breath. Allen saw she had heard this before. “All I know is that she granted those who saw the spirit to see my true self. I think that is a gift, for when you are a servant, no one sees you at all.”
Allen nodded. The spirit watched him unblinkingly. He did not know if he was unnerved or pleased. “What is your name?”
“Trisha.”
“I am Allen. No titles, please.”
The spirit spoke: “Love me.”
Allen shuddered. He looked into Trisha’s face. She was more beautiful than he had first thought. “Tell me about yourself, Trisha.”
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After they were married, Allen settled his wife in his small manor outside of town. It was a palace to her, with rooms that were hers and dresses in the closet and a garden where she could walk. Allen watched her day by day, finding joy in her joy and watching the spirit float about, wide-eyed and beaming. Allen arranged dinner parties so he could bring his wife into society, and when he went off to other cities upon business, his mind wandered back home.
But one day, he found the spirit looking at him glumly, though Trisha seemed unchanged. “What is the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Are you happy?”
“I think so.”
But the spirit looked away, its face tinged with some deep sadness.
“Are you unhappy?”
Trisha looked down. “Don’t ask such questions, husband.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Trisha said. “It’s fine. There is just a shadow on my soul. Nothing is wrong.”
But the spirit looked at him with sad eyes. “Love me,” it said.
###
They could not have children. Allen had thought that a child would remove the emptiness in his wife’s life. So he took her on a tour of the kingdom. They saw the great falls of Grennaloll, the expanse of night colors visible from the Rainbow Plains, the city nestled against the cliff called the Giant’s Steps. He stayed with her, held her hand, listened to her, surprised her, and gave himself wholly into her wellbeing. Trisha smiled and found in the sights joy, but Allen watched this spirit and saw it watching him. Sometimes he saw it turn away from him suddenly, as if he repulsed it. It was a strange, volatile thing sitting upon his wife’s shoulder, full of sadness and spite and shame.
Eventually, they returned home. Trisha wept. She wept loudly, as if unable to stop herself. He came to her and tried to comfort her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It was wonderful. You’re wonderful. I just—sometimes, I’m just sad and I don’t know why.”
He stayed with her and tried to comfort her. The spirit looked at him and demanded: “Love me.” When he said nothing, she repeated it. “Love me. Love me.
A shudder ran through him, tapping some long hidden emotion. “Enough,” he said. “I’ve done everything you wanted, I’ve sacrificed my fortune, my time, and all my own interests, I’ve given you everything. What more do you want from me?”
Trisha was sobbing beneath his words, but the spirit stood upon her back and screamed: “Love me!”
“Love you? What do you think I’ve been doing? The king couldn’t have lavished more upon you. I adore you! What more do you want, for some god to claim you as his own?” Then Allen said something he did not mean. Man can only give so much without wanting something in return. He is weak and cannot stand to let his gifts be spurned. “Love you? I think I might hate you.”
The spirit shuddered then looked at him with an expression of pain and ice. “I knew it.”
She turned her back on him. And he, stricken, left the room and wept.