Before Aspen Rae opened her circus trunk for the first time in fifteen years, she had not known what she would find. Although, had she ventured any guesses, she would have been wrong.

The trunk was covered in dust; in fairness, so was most all of the old Ringmaster's attic keepsakes, and the trunk's quality could not be entirely hidden by the lack of care. Made of rich wood--perhaps mahogany--and held in place by strips of rusted iron, the hinges creaked and whined when she pried it open. There, in neat piles no doubt organized by anybody other than her, was what used to be her life: a colorful jumpsuit, red and gold and lined with fluffy white ruffles; a red nose, bulbous and not the least bit faded; canvases, streaked and untouched alike, nestled against her golden boots and twelve sparkling balls, her ribbons and her sword and her horn; all were still here.

Even her fairy cage.

She blinked. Leaned over as she was, one hand propped against the unhinged lid, she saw quite clearly that... yes, that was Ernesto's cage. It was covered in grime, of course, and dull where it had once been bright, but still undeniably his. The bars were thin and tight. The dome of the cage was etched in strange designs now all the harder to make out. The floor would be the same, Aspen knew. Almost unconsciously, she picked the cage up by its topmost handle. She turned away from the trunk, the rest of her past momentarily forgotten, and sat down on the lip.

"Of all the things," she murmured to herself. Her free hand tapped the wood of the trunk once, twice. She exhaled softly and raised the cage to her face. She glanced into its interior.

Two beady, shimmering, green-glowing, ever-mildly-irate eyes stared back.

"Welcome back," Ernesto drawled. He lay on his side, his wide head propped on a thin hand. His voice was raspy. "Terribly long lunch break, no?"

Aspen yelped. Without meaning to, she dropped the cage.

It clattered to the ground--a dull thud first, faintly metallic, then rattles when it tipped and fell to its side. The sound echoed in the attic, and Aspen, with a jolt of realization, dropped to the floor and scooped the cage back up, clutching it tightly.

"Gods," she managed. Her fairy. He was still here. Why was he still here? The Ringmaster had let them all go after the incident. "Gods, I'm sorry. It's just... why, Ernesto--"

"Not that I'm not glad to see you, Aspy, my dear," Ernesto said, "but I don't suppose you could 'right the ship,' so to speak? These bars are awfully uncomfortable when pressed against."

Aspen pulled back and saw the cage held horizontally. Ernesto was face-first against those thin, silver and grime-addled bars, and her face flushed. Of course, he could not move himself. How could he? All these years without sunlight... that he could so much as speak was already beyond imagination.

Carefully, she turned the cage upright and set it on the ground. She lay flat on her stomach and, using one finger, gently probed Ernesto from off the bars. He plopped onto his backside first, then his back, his head making a little dink when it struck the floor of his cage.

Aspen winced. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Ernesto said. "I mean it." His glowing-green eyes were closed, so she made out more clearly his thick black brows and ridiculous hair; his goatee, still maintained, and the new, deep lines that marred his face. He looked old, gray hair or no. Not that Aspen was exactly young herself, mind you, but, still. How long had it been? The circus closed fifteen years ago, yes, but the fallout with the fairies--the legal battles, the bitter words and tearful goodbyes--that had preceded the closure, if not signaled the beginning of the end. Really, by Aspen's approximation, it had been some sixteen years since she had last seen her once dear friend.

Sixteen years.

Had he been here all along?

(Calling it here for now lmao)