Dear Diary,

I'm sick of pretending to be normal.

I don't know what I was thinking. Find a fairy, get a wish, and live happily ever after? Fifteen years on this earth and you would have thought I was smarter than that. How I thought I could even find one was beyond me. But I did, and I even got my wish: I'm now the best archer in Sarenna.

But I can't let anyone know.

~

Dear Diary,

I was a little bit rushed yesterday. It is true, though. My head is muddled—the likely result of fairy magic—but I can remember the fairy's voice. It was like nothing I had heard before: low; resonant; every word seeming to be spoken in a deep whisper. The stories were wrong about that, at least. But they were right about the fairies' glamours. I still cannot remember what the fairy looked like, though I have searched my mind for any small detail. The fairy's features have slipped through my head as if water through a sieve.

The fairy's rules have remained. I will be able to aim and shoot better than any other person, man or woman, in Sarenna. It will not fade with time. But if I tell a single soul about my unnatural gift, any talent at archery I have will instantly disappear, never to return.

As it is, I cannot even use my gift. For if someone sees how well I shoot, they will want to know why, and I will be forced to tell them how I grew so proficient in it.

I never should have sought out that fairy.

~

Dear Diary,

I have finally told someone about my gift.

Or rather, I have not.

I found it gone one morning when I went to practice. After questioning most of my family and a good deal of the servants, I found that one of the maids had seen me practice. The peasants are far more superstitious than we are, and she drew her own conclusions. It is only unfortunate that she arrived at the correct result.

I despise fairies.

~

Dear Diary,

I have not written for a long time. I hope you don't mind. Mother has been busy finding me a husband, and I have been busy preparing for whoever it may be. Much embroidering has been done for my marriage chest, and yet it is still nowhere close to completed. I have not been outside the castle in many days thanks to the needlework needed to do so. I usually do not mind needlework, but it has become so tiresome.

But I am learning many new skills to prepare me for the roles of wife and mother. Among them, archery; to defend myself should the need arise and for my own pleasure.

My instructor cannot understand why I am so uncoordinated with a bow.