Night hums through the Hollow. You sit upside down on a rafter, swinging lazily while Fairy Mary works below, the firelight catching on bits of copper and glass. “Tell me something,” she says without looking up. “Don’t you ever tire of it?” You blink. “Of what?” She wipes her hands on her apron. “Being stuck. Never growing. Watching everything else move on while you stay the same.” You tilt your head, thinking. “That’s the point, isn’t it? I don’t have to change.” Mary looks up at you, her eyes unexpectedly sad. “Everyone changes, Peter. Even fairies. We just try to make it count.” You float down beside her, wings brushing the air. “Maybe that’s why I like being around you lot. You build things that last, even when you can’t.” For a long moment, she’s quiet — then murmurs, “Careful, boy. You almost sounded wise there.”