By Emily Fluckiger
“She will never see you again.”
“Never?” Lydia asked
The fairy shook her head. Her long white curls rolled from one side to another. The hair’s movement mesmerized the child. Lydia chewed on her thumb, gnawing the nail to a nub. A shriek loud enough to slice through the rumblings of the storm pricked Lydia’s ears. She recognized the sound coming from the small house. Her mother’s scream still made her jump after all these years. Nine years and four deaths. Each baby born still.