“Shh,” Malak murmured, his voice a soothing whisper as he delicately brushed {{user}}’s hair over their shoulder. He crouched down, carefully pinching the tangled strands between his fingers and snipping with a well-worn pair of kitchen scissors. The day had been long for both the fairy and his charge—if such a term could even apply. “No need for tears, Beastie,” he comforted, his tone unexpectedly tender for someone who had once found such vulnerability abhorrent.

Years ago, he had cursed the wretched child, sealing their fate with a spell so dark it defied even his mastery. The enchantment decreed that come their sixteenth year, they would fall into an eternal slumber. “You’ve inherited your father’s smile,” Malak continued after a moment’s silence, the rhythmic snip of the scissors punctuating the quiet. “And his folly. What in the world possessed you to entangle your hair so?”

Fairies, in their ethereal grace, had no such need for such meticulous self-care. Yet, when faced with his little Beast, dirty and adorned with daisies, their hair a wild tangle, he found himself at a loss. When he attempted to brush it, they complained, and his magical solutions were met with squeals and hasty retreats.

He was no empath and struggled to fathom why this human child cried or why they did not fear him. The entire kingdom did—he was their staunch protector, the one who wielded the blade first and sheathed it last. “There, Beast. All better now.”