The village watched as the small, hooded figure of the girl made her unsteady way over the flower path. Her figure looked more frail, more fragile, than when she had left, a thin face shaded under the crimson light of the flowers around her. Behind her, fairy dust swirled and writhed, like smoke constantly stirred, never falling, as though alive.

“Cynthia!” cried her mother, unable to restrain her cry - relief mixed with longing. But a village elder shushed her, and a guard held her arms back.

Slowly, slowly, the fairy girl drifted back, her feet ghosting over the pebble stones. Red swirled around her, in the shimmering fabric of her clothing, and the loose petals that shimmered and fell in place behind her when she brushed past. When she was gone they fell in a thick blanket behind her, like a blood-soaked carpet in the mist.

The village held its breath as she approached. One of the village elders, Whitemane, stepped forward. He held out a gnarled hand, twisted like rotting oak, towards her.

“Cynthia, my darling, welcome back.”

The girl drew back her hood, and despite their trepidation the crowds murmured in both fear and wonder. To the side, her mother let out a strangled sob. The girl’s once long, golden locks had now turned dark and curled, and her eyes now shimmered like quick silver, silken and shifting. Her face, still as beautiful as the day she had left, had turned whiter, somehow more sallow, as though frozen. She looked human, but her air had changed. And though this was what they had wanted, the atmosphere over the crowds was uncomfortable and nervous.

“I have returned,” answered the girl. Her first words, her voice higher and softer than before, tinkling like the crackle of glass shards. “The fairies took me and showed me what is needed, Elder Whitemane. Our island will be safe, so long as you all honour our agreement, and follow my lead on behalf of the Fairy King.”

“Quite, quite,” nodded the Elder in reassurance, while the crowd murmured, restless and uneasy. “You have certainly upheld your end of the bargain, dear Cynthia. Rest assured that there will be no further disturbances to your family.”

“Cynthia!” Cried her mother again, but though her wish had been granted, the girl did not spare a look in her direction.

“Very well,” was all she said. And when she glided forward, the crowds parted as the flowers did. The village had had its wish granted, and in exchange, had to allow an inhuman being within its midst.

(Unedited - This is part of my personal challenge to craft/set up a mini story every day, Day 1)