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7 - Gaze (Mattswolf)

There are many things you've been told to beware of when you leave your family's forest cottage to fetch things from the city.

Be mindful of strangers, especially ones who look like you've met them before. Do not bother bear cubs who appear to be unprotected - they always are, and their parents are very protective. Apologise to any trees whose roots you trip over. Wave to any robins you see; they like to be acknowledged and they'll look out for you.

But most of all, be careful around the Fae.

You rarely hear them referred as such out loud - at the most, in hushed tones. When spoken of in more full-throated terms, they're called the Gentry, the Landlords, the Forest Folk, the Other Ones, the Neighbours, the In-Betweens... all very polite names, respectful-sounding ones. But you know those names are used because the Fae might be listening in.

You've been well-warned: Do not agree to any deals with the Fae. Do not anger them in any way. Keep your eyes on them for as long as possible. To do otherwise, your grandparents said, will seal your fate.

You've never seen one of them in person anyway, and frankly you doubt they exist. You've spent so much time in the city, seeing all the wonderful advancements that modern technology has brought; why would you believe in fake magic when there's real magic, suffused with steam and electricity? Even so, you keep to the path. Just so you don't worry your old, superstitious family. You never run into anyone on the path anyway. No one comes out this far usually.

Today is different.

You see a young man approaching you on the road. His hair looks as soft and white as a lamb's wool, and his skin is ethereally pale. He's dressed in suitable clothes for a hike through the forest, but even from this distance, you can tell they look expensive. Some city aristocrat going for a wander, perhaps? As you approach him, you give a little wave. His eyes alight on you, and you see a relieved relaxation come over him. He strides closer.

"Ho there!" He says, his voice making your heart stop. He is... beautiful. And he is looking at you in a way no one has before. You feel a tiny instant of intense, warm paralysis.

Is this love at first sight? ...Or is it one of the Gentry?

It couldn't be. But just to be safe, you do what you've been told to do. Ask them their name, so they can't ask you yours first.

"I'm just a traveler from the city. I'm very fond of wandering these little loamy lanes. This forest is a good place to be lost in, to be sure."

You don't take your eyes off his, even as you keep a friendly distance. You ask him his name again.

"Oh, it's Caelen. A very good day be upon you."

You note that when he said 'Caelen', his lip movements did not match what you heard him say. And his speech is so strange and antiquated.

The realisation that the superstition was real grips you tightly. Your stomach turns cold and your hands and feet turn to stone.

"What's the matter?" Caelen asks you. You can't let on that you know, or be impolite. That's more important than ever. You point out the usual route you take towards the city, before he has the chance to ask. If you make the offer, they can't make the request.

"Is there anything of note up the way you came?"

Your reply is careful and cautious. You keep your eyes on his. The icy blue windows to his soul - or whatever a Neighbour has instead of one - are beautiful. Dangerously so. You can see how easy it would be to be seduced, particularly if you were just a year or so younger and more foolish.

"Ah, you're from the cottage! Many of my friends know of you. A charming family to be sure, and very respectful at that."

You thank him for the compliment. You realize you haven't blinked in a while. Nothing changes in that fraction of a second. His eyes are still blue, his skin is still fair, his hair is still soft.

"You're a very agreeable young thing," he says. His pretence seems to have dropped. But his charm has not. You still stare at his eyes. You don't feel any sense of a charm being cast upon you. You've been told you'd know exactly what the radiation and emanation of an In-Between's charm feels like.

"You've been taught good manners, so you have."

He has kept his own respectable distance, but his face somehow feels close. Like your eyes have been pulled from your head to look more closely at him. But you know that's not true. This thumping in your chest is not a spell. He has not bewitched you. At least... not in a magical sense.

His eyes. You know you can't look away, and you don't want to either.

"You're afraid of what I might try if you break contact?" Caelen asks. "You don't need to have any fear upon you. I'm not in the business of stealing away young things with errands to be run, after all."

You feel like you can trust him. There's no glamour or magic in his words. Or his eyes. He's just looking at you, and smiling at you, and his eyes are so beautiful.

He's come closer to you, and you can see the soft wooly strands of his hair and the soft scent of his pinkening skin.

"Come here till I give myself a better look of you," he lilts. You remain where you are, even though your legs are screaming to move forward. You don't need to move forward. You can stay right where you are, and look at him from where you are. He does not seem perturbed. He simply looks, and does not blink.

"You've a fair bit of redness in your eyes there, young thing. You ought to blink. That's not a request, mind you, you do as you please yourself."

You can't help it. You blink to mitigate a bit of the sting, and when you open them again the icy blue eyes are still there. But they now float in a sea of black pitch rather than white.

His eyes are not casting a spell over you. You can look away, you know that. Your head is tilted down slightly as he stands just a footfall away. He's short. You could lift him up and throw him if you wanted to, but you wouldn't dream of it.

His gaze doesn't burrow into you. It invites you into it. Into him.

"You have a beautiful pair of eyes," he says. You instinctively thank him. He smiles back, and your heart soars again. You don't want to take your eyes off him. It would be like tearing your heart out of your chest. You blink again, and his skin has turned a beautiful crimson.

"I've no intention of replacing you with a fetch, young thing, but I would very much not wish for this to be our only meeting. So would you allow me to put a little glamour upon you?"

You would. And you do.

....So that is what the Fae glamour feels like.