Chapter One
From the Serialised Fantasy Series titled
‘A Glimpse of Numa’.
First Published July 21st, 2025.
By Suzanne Strutt Artist.©
Greta
(15 Minute Read)
Greta was a very ordinary fairy.
At least, that was the story she had always told herself, and so far, she had done an impeccable job of convincing herself that it was true!
Greta lived in a town called Pendle, a small fairy settlement nestled deep within the heart of the Land of Numa. This world runs remarkably parallel to our own, yet remains—shockingly—completely untouchable and uniquely invisible to the human eye. Numa is a realm famous for its tales of fire-breathing dragons, shape-shifting werewolves, witches and wizards, gnomes and goblins, as well as stunning fairies, deviant dwarves, and elegant elves. This world has been referred to as Elfame, Fairie, Faiwild, or Avlon, although the most commonly known name for it is ‘The Fairy Realm’.
Even though the name Numa directly translates to mean ‘tranquil’ or ‘delight’, that meant very little to our dear Greta. To her, this world was very much like her perception of herself…
—simply, perfectly, ordinary!
On the crest of one of the three hills that surrounded Pendle stood a small wooden cottage. Nestled neatly between fields of thriving farmland and lush vegetation, the house lay hidden behind thickets of fine woodland shrubs and long rows of ripe apple trees, their leaves swaying gently in the late-summer breeze.
The house had a thatched roof, and its mahogany walls were covered with thick, cascading vines that glimmered in the golden sunlight in shades of green, purple, beige, and orange.
This quaint, humble abode belonged to the Fernsbys, and it had been home to Greta for as long as she could remember. One could say the cottage was so well camouflaged it might have disappeared entirely, were it not for the delicious aromas that often wafted from the large stone chimney. This became so well known in Pendle that the local townspeople began to joke:
‘If you ever need to find the house of the Fernsbys, simply follow your nose!’
It was an early Monday morning, and Greta Fernsby was feeling rather glum. She gazed deeply into her cereal bowl, studying its contents so intensely that one could assume a portal to a dark, dreary world had been somehow found lurking within its brown, hazelnut-flavoured depths and was now threatening to gobble her up for breakfast! Even the sugary cinnamon swirl her mother had lovingly sprinkled on top now seemed strange and oddly suspicious.
The early morning sun shone its golden glow through the canopy of trees around their home, and the scent of hot bread, fresh coffee, and roasted chestnuts filled the air with mouth-watering aromas that could send tantalising tickles to even the trickiest variety of fairy taste buds.
Greta could hear the sizzling of bacon on the wood-burning stove as her father whistled happily in the kitchen. Even the birds seemed to chime in unison outside the dining room window, adding to the growing feeling that a conspiracy had indeed been hatched to remove the dark cloud that was securely locked above Greta's head.
But if this was a joint attempt to lift Greta, so far, it had fallen firmly on deaf ears.
Her mother, Edith, broke her trance.
‘Are you feeling okay this morning, dear?’ She asked gently, 'You are ever so quiet, are you nervous about your physical exam at school today?’
Greta swallowed hard.
'I just hate it!' she burst out suddenly, palms landing heavily on the dining room table, sending the spoon in her bowl flying through the air, decorating the wall (and the cat) with flecks and speckles of warm hazelnut porridge.
‘Every year it’s the same thing! On the first day back at school, Mrs Merkle makes us stand up for the entire class. Then Bobble, her nasty little gnome, brings out his measuring tape, climbs up his ladder, and measures our wings! And every... single... year, my wings are marked as the only "asymmetrical" ones in the class. Even Bobble likes to call me the "lopsided fairy". The experience is beyond humiliating!’
She sighed and slumped back into her chair, already hoping that it would swallow her up and save her from the spectacle that she had just made. Her mother stared blankly. Cleo licked her lips.
Edith was not surprised at all by Greta’s sudden outburst. Her thoughts trailed back to earlier years, and Greta had refused to attend school and once had hidden in a cupboard for hours to avoid the humiliation of spreading her wings in public.
And you could say that our dear Greta had every reason to feel glum about this. You see, ever since she was very small—and even before she had been born—Greta had suffered from a condition known as ‘Adolescent Stunted Fairy Wing Syndrome’.
It meant her wings always grew slowly, and because one was slightly shorter than the other, achieving any kind of speed or streamlined aerodynamics was impossible. This brought both Greta and her parents face-to-face with a daunting truth:
Our dear Greta Fernsby could not fly!
This was a fact that Greta had become well acquainted with back on her first day at school. It had slowly dawned on her that the other children could easily play and enjoy outdoor activities such as ‘tag in the sky’ or ‘flying volleyball’, yet she was reduced to merely watching from the ground, showered in a fine sprinkling of sparkling pixie dust.
Some would argue that Greta could fly in small, short bursts, but it was never very far off the ground. Either way, each attempt was a rather poor, clumsy affair. It usually ended with Greta either landing flat on the ground or—as in the case of her last and final endeavour—in a large thorny rose bush, followed by a roar of cruel laughter from the school playground.
Greta was older now and about to start sixth form. Yet ever since that day, she had vowed never to practise where anyone could see her. In truth, she had begun to feel she had more in common with the fluttering chickens in her family’s backyard than she did with the other fairies around her.
Her parents, wishing to spare her any pain, had even offered to enrol her in a special needs school when she was still in kindergarten. To this, a small but already very brave Greta had adamantly replied:
‘If I am to feel “normal”, then I must attend a “normal” school!’
The subject was not discussed again.
Mrs Fernsby observed her silently as if reading her thoughts. She wanted more than anything to make Greta feel better, but as it turned out, she already thought she might have just the thing up her sleeve to cheer her dear daughter up!
The silence was broken suddenly as the latch on the kitchen door swung open behind them and a large, burly man peeped through barely visible behind the tray of food he was carrying, filled to the brim with dishes of fried bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, a pot of steaming hot tea and several slices of apple cinnamon cake fresh from the pantry.
Greta’s father was a baker by trade, so homemade goods and treats were rather common in the Fernsby household (especially whenever mother wasn't looking).
However, this particular spread of culinary delights was beginning to feel a little over the top for poor Greta, who was presently more focused on how many bubbles were churning in her stomach and if she had enough resolve to stand on the scale at school today without wanting to be sick in front of the entire class.
She glanced at the breakfast table and noted that Edith had laid the places with the finest china tea cups and saucers (a set that Greta knew was part of their family heirloom and only to be used on special occasions). This sort of breakfast spread was far more elaborate than the simple bowl of cream porridge that was usually served on school mornings.
After all, most of the baked goods and delicacies were pre-assigned to the Family Bakery that the Fernsbys owned in the centre of town, and Mr Fernsby could usually be seen outside at the crack of dawn, loading up his wooden wagon with crates of buttery treats and preparing their Shetland pony, Rupert, for their short trip into town.
He often set off long before Greta was up for school, leaving nothing but a warm oven and the scent of fresh pastries trailing the forest behind him.
By the time her father had placed the tenth plate of food on the table (apple turnovers this time), Greta had had enough. - Something suspicious was definitely afoot!
'I have an announcement to make!' Mr Fernsby jolted her thoughts as he pulled up his chair and began to pile his plate with the numerous, sugar-coated delights.
'We are celebrating!’ He beamed, then paused for a moment to enjoy the growing anticipation that had now filled the room. After pouring himself a large mug of his favourite roasted brew, he relaxed into his chair and continued,
'It has just been announced in this morning's paper that Pendle has been chosen to host the event for this year's “Turn of the Harvest Festival”!'
'Surely not!’ Mrs Fernsby gasped, jolting upright to a standing position, leaving Cleo no time to scramble away from the spoon on the floor she had just been licking. She let out a loud meow as the heel of Mrs Fernsbys' pointed shoe met her tail.
‘Yes indeed!', Mr Fernsby grinned, reaching for the morning's paper and handing it to two of them.
Greta examined the publication. Its headline read 'PENDLE WINS BID to host the annual "Turn of the Harvest" festivities, its first major event in over 55 years!
'At last!’ Mrs Fernsby gasped with an expression of pure joy, leaning in closer to look. Greta remained silent, quietly reading through the remaining contents of the front page article. She had heard of the 'Turn of the Harvest' Festival, of course (who hadn't), but it was usually only the older children who were allowed to participate, and since Greta had always been too young to fully grasp the scale of the event, for the most part, it had largely skipped her mind.
'But I thought the “Turn of the Harvest” festival has always been held at Popple? ' she asked, handing the paper to her mother, who was still beaming brightly.
'It has!' her father exclaimed. ‘But times have changed...’
His voice trailed off, and his demeanour suddenly took a far more serious expression. Glancing cautiously around the room, he leaned in to quietly whisper,
'Rumour has it, there has been a lot of conflict going on, you know, down in the shadowlands!’
‘You mean the Scadu territories?’ Greta exclaimed loudly, instantly bringing the volume back up to full.
‘Shhh..!’ Her father hushed her. ‘We prefer not to mention that name too loudly at this time, there’s been all sorts of rumours of Scadu spies listening to people's doors and windows recently, ever since the conflict between Anwar and Scadu escalated in the....’
‘That's enough, Wilfred!’ Edith bluntly interjected.
‘Greta has enough to worry about at school today without you filling her head with all of that fear-mongering nonsense! Besides, so far it has only been rumours!'
‘Rumours of what?’ Greta gasped, staring them both down, ‘Oh, you'll have to tell me now!'
Mr and Mrs Fernsby exchanged strained looks, then Mr Fernsby continued,
'Don't worry, Edith, I won't be spoiling the mood today, as I said, we are celebrating, it's a very good thing that the “Turn of the Harvest” festival is coming to Pendle! Anyway, the short of it is that there has been an ongoing conflict between the Anwar and Scadu territories for as long as we can remember. I'm sure Greta is already aware of that.'
He threw a side glance at his wife before continuing,
‘Anyway, the fighting has recently escalated west of the border, and the last event at Popple ended up being cancelled as a result. This has meant that traders have become much more wary of bartering or holding events as of late in Popple, as it straddles the borders of the shadowlands, where a good part of the conflict is taking place. So, earlier this year, they put the “Turn of the Harvest” up for bids and somehow, by nature's good grace, Pendle was selected.
‘Can't say I'm surprised,’ he sighed, ‘Pendle has always been known as a safe location, I mean, we haven't had any real conflict here for at least a hundred years! For the most part, we mind our own business, never get involved in the sacred dealings of other fae-folk, I always say, it’s bound to spell trouble!
‘Of course, I already knew the event was happening before the papers confirmed it!' His chest swelled with pride as he recounted the memory,
'I first got word of it down at 'The Cobblers Café' last week. Our dear friend, old barman Jeffery Humphrey, sent word to me that a reporter had been staying at the nearby Inn, visiting from Eldaire, and that he'd asked to speak to me. He'd been sent out here to ascertain a few things, assess the available accommodation, locations for filming, you know, before the rest of the crew shows up! Turns out, they plan to broadcast the entire event (at least, the part that’s held in Pendle, at least!).
'Anyhow, he'd also inquired about who was the “best caterer in town”, and Old Jeff recommended me, bless his heart!
‘So that's how I found myself pulling back pints with this reporter at the Willowhead Tavern last Friday. He never did tell me his full name, but said I might refer to him as Mr Winsford.
‘He seemed to know a great deal about the event and spilt the beans over a few pints of ale. He said he was confident that mentioning it didn't matter as the wheels were already “turning,” as he put it, and that it all would be officially announced in the papers today. Turns out, he was a man of his word!
‘He also told me I'd be likely to get a lot of trade from the event, as they will need caterers, and as I'm the main baker in Pendle, he asked if I'd oversee that side of the festival. He said it will be a highly televised, three-day spectacle, with fae-folk coming from all over Numa to participate — He even mentioned that there is talk that ‘the Queen of Anwar’ herself is rumoured to be attending!’
Greta and Edith both gasped simultaneously.
‘So…, after hearing this straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak, I decided to take half of today off and alerted your mother ahead of time to expect a big announcement at breakfast! I even closed the bakery for the morning just so I could see the look on your two faces after hearing the good news!’
He smiled broadly, studying their expressions as they listened intently.
'I didn't mean to say too much…', he glanced at Edith nervously then continued, ‘But Greta is going to be coming of age soon and besides, she'll need to have a few things explained to her, especially if she is going to participate in the upcoming auditions....’ his voice fell flat as Mrs Fernsby kicked him under the table.
'Auditions? What auditions?' Greta gasped. This was all starting to sound very exciting!
‘Why the auditions.... to go to Earth, of course! You must have heard of them! They plan to hold them here, in the main town hall! Say they need at least two hundred young fairies from Pendle to be part of the “Spinning of the Leaves” ceremony, you know, the bit where we spin the leaves from green into shades of red, purple, orange, and gold. We call it the "Spinning of the Leaves", but the humans refer to it as “Fall” or “Autumn”.
'You know the thing I've always found hilarious, ' Edith interjected, pouring some tea into her teacup,
'Even after all this time, and after all of our beautiful handiwork, the humans still think that the spectacular leaf colour change that they experience every year is simply done by the trees,'
She scoffed. They have no idea that it's actually the golden pixie dust from us that creates the marvellous chain reaction!
'That may be true, my Dear, ' Wilfred sighed, 'but humans have never acknowledged us, or our skills, or our input within their world. They say we don't exist! Anyway, I kind of like it that way, if they knew we were real, no good would likely come of it!’
‘Anyhow, the decision to accept Pendle for the event comes straight from the top—signed by the Queen of Anwar herself. Mr Winsford revealed that the organisers are searching for fairies with specific skills, mainly archery or leaf colouring techniques. Since plant colouration is one of your favourite subjects, Greta, I thought it might be of interest to you.
‘There are various portals and fairy rings already set up throughout Numa, ready for the onslaught of fae-folk into the other realm. As far as I can recall, only a modest amount of leaf colouration takes place on Earth during the first month of autumn.
‘Mr Winsford revealed that all participants from the Anwar region will be assigned to a location known as the “Northern Hemisphere”, where they will be based for three months. They will apply the brightest, most spectacular colouring techniques during October and November before the wind fairies arrive, followed by the frost fairies who will close the show.
‘The organisers have even stated that for particularly “outstanding participants”, a second expedition may be promised. However, that will be next year, in the Southern Hemisphere. The first departure from Pendle is scheduled for the 1st of October. A bit like a “school trip”, you could say, and you would get to experience Earth for the first time! They plan to set up the fairy ring right here in the town square, so you wouldn’t have to go far!’ He winked at Greta. ‘So, what do you think? What do you say?’
Greta had never heard of a prospect so exciting in all her life! She had heard tales about Earth many times, of course—stories from fairies who had already been there, the encounters they’d had, and the humans they’d met.
Most of the reviews were mixed; some even proclaimed they couldn’t stand the place and hoped never to return! That, of course, did not deter our dear Greta. She could not think of anything more thrilling than a world totally different from her own.
She’d also heard that the humans, or ‘earthlings’ as they called them, did not have wings and most certainly could not fly—a fact she found particularly intriguing.
‘I’ll do it!’ she gasped. ‘I will audition to go to Earth!’
Her parents both stood and cheered at this swift and bold response.
‘Splendid!’ her father replied, while her mother kissed her on the cheek.
‘You’d better eat up now. I don’t want you to be late for your first day back at school! And don’t worry about walking into town; I’ll drive you in. Rupert is already ready.’
***
The ‘Halls of Silverwood’ were already abuzz with excitement as Greta made her way down the main corridor. It seemed that today, the entire building was filled with delight; pupils were hugging and happily recounting their summer holidays, and the school felt more joyous than Greta had ever remembered.
Glynda, one of Greta’s close friends, approached her with a glowing smile.
‘Greta, how are you? Have you heard the news?’
Greta was about to respond when Glynda took her swiftly by the hand and led her through the auditorium into the main lobby. A crowd had already gathered there, staring intensely at something pinned to the school’s announcement board. As they drew closer, Greta could see a large paper clipping peeping from behind the heads of the other students.
It was a newspaper article taped to the billboard. Its headline read:
‘The Frost Fairies set to open the show at the Turning of the Harvest Festival in Pendle!’
Greta glanced around, quietly observing the reactions. Many of the girls were chatting away, some were gleefully bouncing, and a few of the boys could not seem to take their eyes off the picture of the two appealing twin fairies.
Greta scowled. She was well aware of who ‘The Frost Fairies’ were! They had performed once before in nearby Popple, and ever since, there did not seem to be a soul in town who hadn’t fallen under their spell. They were, after all, Olympic champions in Numa, skilled in ice sculpting and winter sports. They were incredible acrobats, famous for spectacular shows on ice.
They were ‘fair’ among the fairies and a ‘sight for sore eyes’ to all who laid eyes on them. However, if that wasn't enough to turn one's blood to ice, these two noble twins were also of royal blood—daughters of the Queen’s brother, and prospective heirs to the Throne of Anwar.
Skip to Chapter Two
‘Thanks so much for reading! Since you’ve made it this far, please consider leaving a comment below. I love hearing feedback from my audience—it’s what keeps me motivated to post these chapters!
You can find art prints of ‘Greta’ and other characters from the book on my main shop page, available as both digital downloads and physical products. You can also be the first to hear about each new episode and when it’s released by joining my mailing list. All feedback is appreciated and warmly received. ❤️
Until next time...
