Bluebell awoke, even though she was very, very tired.  She stretched her legs out straight, pointing her toes and giving them a little wiggle, so that a light flurry of fairy dust glimmered in the air.  She stretched out her arms above her head, so far that she pushed against the petals of the tulip she was sleeping in.  She stretched out her cramped wings, then carefully folded them back.  Finally she gave a shiver that went all the way from her bluebell hat to the tiny bells on her shoes.

She wondered what time it was, because fairy wrists are so small they could never wear a watch.  Which was a pity, Bluebell always thought, because ladies Rolex’s sparkled and shone as much as summer sunlight on a rippling pool.  Whatever time it was, it was far too early to wake.  The night air had a chill to it, even tucked up nice and warm in the tulip bloom.  It was dark overhead, the spring sun still sleeping beyond the horizon.  So what had awoken her?

Through the thin petal Bluebell noticed a strange glow.  It wasn’t to the east, so it could not possibly be dawn slowly dragging the lazy sun into the sky.  What on earth could it be?

She stood and peeked over the lip of the tulip petals.  It was coming from the top end of the garden, by the humans’ house.  Through the mallow shrub she caught glimpses of a blue light, that seemed to be both bright and soft at the same time.  Intrigued, she climbed out of her nest and spread her wings.  Fairies don’t like flying at night, unless they have to.  There are bats and owls at night, who will eat whatever they can, and a fairy can look very moth-like in the dark.  But brave Bluebell just had to see what this strange light was.

She launched herself off of the tulip and glided into the soft darkness, enjoying the freefall dive for a few brief moments before flapping her wings and climbing into the air.  She perched on the topmost branch of the mallow shrub and looked towards the house.  Earlier that day the humans had sat on the patio, enjoying the first balmy evening of spring.  It was always best to be cautious with humans about, and Bluebell didn’t want to be pinned and mounted as a rare butterfly, nor filmed and gawked at on YouTube.

But the patio was empty, the house in darkness.  In darkness, that is, save for the lantern that hung on the wall.  It was the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing that she had ever seen.  It was as though a bolt of lightning had been captured, frozen stiff and still as an icicle.  It was barely enough to illuminate the barbecue underneath it, but the light itself ….  Bluebell had never seen anything like it.  It was difficult to look at, because your eyes seemed to slide off it, to focus on a world beyond the light.  And yet she could not bear to look away from it.

She executed another graceful dive, off of the mallow and onto the patio table, all the while transfixed by the unearthly light.  It seemed to know her name, calling out to her in a voice that only she could hear.  She slowly walked across the table.  Her eyes filled with tears.  The light was as beautiful as a frozen winter day.  It had the silent grace of an owl swooping onto a vole; the cold majesty of a cat stalking through the grass.

She stopped at the table’s edge, her whole body weak with wonder.  There was no heat from the lantern, even this close, and it was so very, very beautiful.  She beat her wings in a slow, lazy rhythm until she was level with the marvellous light.  Gently she circled it, awed beyond thinking.  She was weeping now, as the light told her of the frozen void where the stars sung, of the cold, blue heart of the lonely icebergs, of the majesty of mighty cumulus clouds sailing the sky.

The circles became a spiral, unconsciously closing in on the marvellous light.  Tiring, she rested her feet on the metal ‘Zapomatic’ sign at the base of the cage and reached out to hold the metal bars.