Ruby's Locket

a nightingale fell madly in love with a white rose.

You may have heard the tale of the tenacious little bird, determined beyond reason, his devotion to the pale beauty knowing no end. For from the first day he saw her, his song was born. Pure as her petals, he sang for her and her alone, even as she held herself tightly bound.

Until one day, stirred by melody upon the wind, her petals unfurled to his otherworldly sound.

Overjoyed, he gathered her silken bloom to his chest, and both hearts surrendered.

But ecstasy could not last.

As the bird drew her close, a stray thorn pierced his small heart. A crimson stream spilled across her white petals, and he fell, silently, into the waiting earth.

And so the story goes: with ruby-coloured tragedy and heartbreak, a new flower bloomed that day.

The sacred red rose.

And though the nightingale and the flower remained nameless through the ages, their love still lingers in every melody carried across the skies… and every time red petals open to the sun.

Many would say this is where the tale ends.

However…

As we step through the faerie door, this is where our story begins...

Beyond the towering walls of the Kingdom of White, the nightingale’s song dissolved into the breeze as the rose’s thorn drew blood. With a whimper, small as a dying prayer, nature’s sweetest vocalist tumbled down through leaf and branch, until the earth took him.

The rose strained at her own roots, desperate to catch her feathered love, to no avail. The crimson-stained beauty, and all her white-petalled kin, watched as one half of the truest love fell to unforgiving soil.

The rose’s once honeyed aroma turned sour. Her cries threatened to shatter the spirited walls as iron filled the air. Desperate, Rose begged for aid from the heavens. And the skies replied with lush rainfall. Rose watched in horror as drop after drop fell from her petals—yet the blood remained.

Tragically stained, her nightingale’s heart had forever coloured the rose red.

As the rainclouds parted, revealing a star-dazzled sky, the red beauty turned to her sister in white and wept into their shared branches.

As her sobs slowly came to a halt, Rose dared to gaze upon her fallen love, resting peacefully on the freshly flooded soil below. She watched, breath held shallow, as the heavenly red liquid seeped into the earth and began to twist its way upward—threading through root and stem, climbing every branch in the bushel.

Dancing hues of red blurred her vision. With trembling petals, she watched as a gleaming scarlet stain rose from the soil, creeping onward, until it marked even the wicked base of the towering kingdom walls.

At last, Rose surfaced from her grief and looked upon her kindred: the once white-blossomed sea, now turned the colour of a radiant sunset sky. Her petals glistened as she lifted her face to the freshly painted crimson-dark horizon and drew in a deep breath, her fragrance blooming anew beneath the gentle solace of the heavens.

Then she let her petals fall—one by one—into the place where the nightingale lay, frozen in time. And when the final petal came to rest… rose and nightingale slipped beyond the veil, together.

What remained was a single red fruit: a silent gift of love from the spirits rose’s cries had summoned that day.

As the sun rose over the Kingdom of White, an alchemist living within the now-reddened city walls was pulled from sleep by an iron-rose scent drifting through her open window. Robin inhaled deeply, tasting the bittersweet aroma.

Her eyes opened lazily.

Perhaps she was still dreaming… Robin wondered, staring up through the hole in the roof overhead, dazzled by the clear skies above—balanced on the edge of day and her own beautiful dreaming.

In her mind’s eye, she rose through the gap and into the heavens, strong feathered wings unfurling from her back. The feeling of flight was hauntingly familiar… and welcome.

Robin flew alongside a nightingale, a rose tucked gently within his beak. Yet this rose was not its usual uniform white—it was a deep ruby red.

Still swaying to the melody woven through her dream, Robin pulled her blanket tighter, only to shift the cold, rose-engraved locket resting between her breasts. A reminder of where she lay.

Exhaling deeply, Robin brushed her frizzing auburn hair from her face and forced herself upright, tapping the locket with delicate fingers. Calm washed over her as skin met metal—just as it had every day before.

Dragging herself from the warmth of her cot, she tried to brush her frizzled hair into submission. Frustration climbed, sharp enough to scream—until she tapped the locket once more and released a slow sigh. Calmer now, she tied her hair into a secure bun, eyelids growing heavy.

Though he had never taken the time to explain why he forbade her from chopping the mess of hair, Robin knew the truth well enough: her master, Sora, preferred to play puppeteer—just as he always had.

Robin lived like a hermit, tucked away in a broken shed near the enormous barrier bridge that led to the outer walls of the city. While Sora—praised and welcomed—lived within the city centre, surrounded by warm hearths and open doors.

His fame came from a single creation:

The Light’s Elixir.

A potion that gave its drinker sunshine warmth and protection—even in the dead of winter.

The recipe remained a mystery to Robin. To craft such an elixir, one must possess a ray of sunshine. And she could not fathom how Sora had acquired such magic.

Feeling loneliness creep into her bones, Robin reached for the glimmering trinket, and numbness rolled through her like a tide once more.

It had been decades since the rose-engraved silver had been strung around her neck, tying her to Sora. Robin’s screams had done nothing as she was torn from her mother’s drunken arms.

The memory remained a sealed haze—locked somewhere deep within.

Sora had promised whips and lashes for anything other than joy and honest servitude. The locket, he explained, was where she could store everything else. Feelings. Emotions. Memory. Echoes of time—a gift, he called it: to see only a blur of a life you wished never to know. She was warned never to look within, and to remain blissfully unaware.

In those first days with her new master, Robin sealed her given name inside as well.

Ruby.

The perfectly coloured part of herself that had to die—because the truth would devour her otherwise. For the woman who named her Ruby had chosen fermented berries and gold over the weight of a child.

So she renamed herself after the first bird she had seen: a red-chested robin soaring high into the sky. Robin. The name gave her hope that perhaps one day, so too could she.

Robin hated the locket, yet she fed each tear into its clasped face… learning quickly that numbness was kinder than memory, and kinder still than Sora’s abuse.

Reeling from the haze of heartbreak, she let it fall back against her chest.

The past slipped into obscurity as she glanced toward the small tin box beside her cot. A true smile broke free as she opened it, revealing the incense sticks hidden within, and slipped one gently between her fingers.

The dark-haired traveller who had gifted her the incense had become little more than an echo. Robin could not fathom what had driven her to seal such delight away, yet she dared not search for their memory inside the locket. As though warmth could be stored within it, their raw kindness returned to her each morning—through fire and smoke.

She closed her eyes, clutching the herbal stick, and imagined the room brimming with oxygen and vibrational warmth. When she opened them again, in a glittering flash, fire bloomed at its tip.

Alchemy and magic—two names for the same miracle.

Robin watched as the flame softened into a quiet ember, then moved with care to set the incense into its holder.

Warm, spiced smoke curled through the room, and Robin danced within the haze. Lost in its sweetness, she let the stick burn all the way down to ash.

But as the smoke lifted, Robin drifted to the open window. The smile she’d been wearing slipped away when she saw the city’s stone walls, now gleaming blood-red. She inhaled once more, hoping to carry the last comfort of the incense with her, then lifted her foraging basket and made her way toward the outer wall.

Delight escaped Robin’s throat as she rounded the outer wall. Vibrant red and dazzling pink flooded her vision, and a heavenly aroma wrapped around her senses. With wide auburn eyes, she hurried toward the heart of the bushel.

Breathless, she reached the blood-red centre of the roses. She dropped her basket and reached to caress the silken petals before her…when she found him.

Robin’s throat went dry. The small brown bird from her dream lay in the shade of the crimson bush, tucked beneath a blanket of fallen petals. She glanced around, brow furrowed, searching for where the rose must have fallen. Then she knelt and brushed her fingers over the swollen red stem that now stood beaming in the bloom’s place.

She drifted, dizzy from the rosy breeze, until,

“Incredible, isn’t it?” a voice murmured behind her, sending warmth straight into her core.

Robin didn’t answer. She whirled to face a dark-haired woman whose eyes swirled like fire.

The stranger continued, “I believe Mother Nature would like it to be called a rosehip.” With a soft eye-roll, bored with the magic of the Great Mother herself, she went on, “Born from the seeds of love, a gentle healing guide toward the light, and so on, and so forth…”

Mouth agape, Robin glanced from side to side and realised they were alone beyond the kingdom walls.

“Yes, I am talking to you. Hello again, little bird,” the stranger said, wearing a familiar smile.

Silence fell between them. And then Robin’s gaze caught on the vial strung around the stranger’s neck, tucked beneath the transparent bodice of her dress. It was nearly empty, save for a few drops of sparkling potion clinging to the glass.

Robin’s world tilted as that one-of-a-kind sheen glistened within, and she realised what the potion must be.

Her hands twisted together as she met the stranger’s fire-filled eyes again. She searched every crevice of her mind, desperate to understand why this woman stood before her.

“Cyra…?” she whispered.

Robin, like most, had heard of the immortal witch and her firelight. Cyra’s legends had been whispered for centuries throughout the realm: a shapeshifter with a heart of flame, appearing only to those in need of her warming light. Summoned by weary hearts, only to answer vengeance with fire.

If this truly was Cyra, then the vial gleaming in the sunlight could be none other than Rest Abundant—a potion rumoured to lull even the most vile, restless shadows into a deep sleep.

Rest Abundant had first been crafted by Alethea, the great healer favoured by Mother Nature, said to wield the magic of water and flower. The potion, later perfected by the gentle touch of Cyra’s firelight. Coveted by all, none had ever been able to recreate such a prize. Cyra and Alethea alone could hold such liquid magic.

Yet… this was not the violet-eyed Alethea staring back at her.

Questions tore through Robin’s mind, threatening to split her skull in two, as the faded memory of a bird fluttered behind her eyes.

As if she could taste the torment in Robin’s breath, Cyra whispered, “Soon, all will become clear.”

Then, exhaling, Cyra snapped her fingers.

Robin’s lungs emptied as blue flame burst from Cyra’s heart and shot straight into Robin’s locket.

Colourful fire swarmed around her. Robin felt her physical form fold again and again—until warmth cradled her heart, and for the first time in a long time… she felt safe.

Until she landed inside a memory.

One she shared with Cyra.

Robin stood within the crowd of a bustling marketplace—one where she and Sora had been vendors nearly one month prior. She knew it the moment she spotted a handful of merchants who only passed through the great city every few moons.

Her heart fluttered, brimming with questions. She tried to breathe as Cyra’s voice echoed through the grey skies:

“Watch and listen.”

She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of freshly baked bread. For a moment, it steadied her. Until she saw the version of herself she’d been sent here to meet.

Robin’s heart split in two as she watched her former self standing beside Sora.

She reached instinctively for the comfort of metal, lifting a hand to her chest…but the locket was gone.

Hot, violent tears spilled down Robin’s face as she pressed her palm to the place it once lay. Darkness flooded her core as she stared into her own empty, lifeless eyes. She pushed harder, wishing she had the courage to break bone—to stop the bleeding heart within.

Slowly, Robin stepped closer to her former self. She lowered her hand from her now-reddened chest and brushed her younger cheek. Cold skin rested beneath her fingers as she whispered, “I promise to take us far from here.”

At those words, her younger self’s cheeks flushed, and auburn eyes, so full of hope, met Robin’s gaze for one trembling moment… before flicking back to the crowd.

Robin drew her hand to her chest again, staring at her own frail form. Before she could even form a thought, she saw Cyra, wearing the same vial, gliding through the crowd toward where Robin, her former self, and Sora stood.

Fluid and radiant as flame, Cyra smiled as she stopped before Sora, who stood behind the bubbling cauldron of his beloved Light’s Elixir. Sora returned her smile, but his posture hardened the moment Cyra’s gaze fell upon the ray of sunshine glittering beneath the cauldron.

“Such astounding magic,” Cyra murmured, her voice laced with adoring praise as her fingers caressed the rim of the vessel. Sora softened at once, relaxing into the warmth of yet another admirer.

Robin remembered then—how the first time she had heard Cyra’s voice, a warming essence had slid down her spine. She saw it now in her former self, too: the subtle shift of weight, the deep breath, as if true calm had washed over her.

And yet, only now did Robin realise it hadn’t been Cyra at all.

It was the violet-eyed woman standing behind them, far enough out of Sora’s view, who had been responsible for that welcome warmth.

Alethea.

Wearing the same vial as Cyra, she sent a shimmering mist toward where both Robins stood. Then, with a single nod to the shapeshifter, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Cyra’s smile widened as she stared into the ray of light.

“Such astounding magic…” she repeated, almost tenderly. But this time her tone carried something sharp beneath it. She lifted her chin, peering at Sora through long lashes. “As if you siphoned it directly from the sun.”

Sora’s eyes narrowed. “A gift, ma’am, I assure you. I am a man of alchemy—not magic.”

“Yes. Of course.” Cyra’s lips curled. “Though as most know… when there is one, there is likely the other. So perhaps you can help me.”

Sora’s breathing grew heavy. He said nothing.

Cyra only shrugged.

“I’m looking for someone,” she breathed, “and I have been for quite some time. But I don’t believe I need to search any longer… and oh, how the Great Mother will be pleased.”

She paused, savouring the fear that clung to the air at the mention of Mother Nature, before continuing. “For I know of only one man whom the sun ever gifted his light to.”

Cyra’s pleasant smile turned defiant.

“Hello, Solaire.”

Robin couldn’t breathe.

Solaire—the sun sorcerer who had vanished hundreds of years ago. The same man who, before disappearing, had tormented the sky’s beloved twilight spirit, Alura, and her lover, Ceylon—trapping them in a heartbreaking dance of day and night. Their tale had echoed through every corner of the realm. Even Robin, from the confines of her shack, had heard it: the lovers and their allies would never rest until the wicked man responsible for their pain was found.

Thoughts and distant memories swirled together. Robin felt she might faint.

She knew her former self felt it too.

Solaire’s face twisted—yet before he could move, Cyra let loose a wicked laugh and snapped her fire-tipped fingers.

The kingdom came to a halt.

As if time itself had stopped.

Robin’s former self began to panic. The only two still breathing were Robin…and Cyra.

“I know you’re frightened, little bird. And I wish I could explain,” Cyra said softly. “But this magic will not last long. We are safe here only for a moment.” Her gaze sharpened. “My name is Cyra, and along with many others, I am here to help you.”

She moved swiftly to where Robin’s younger self stood. Robin remembered that sudden shortness of breath as the fire witch took her hands and pressed the tin box of smoke sticks into her palms.

“Fate has been terribly unkind to you,” Cyra whispered, as Robin’s former self stared down at the small gift, “and I am truly sorry we didn’t find you sooner.”

Cyra drew in a careful breath. “I cannot expect you to trust me… but I do pray you will do me one simple favour.” Her voice remained gentle, yet something sharp flickered beneath it. “Promise me you will do exactly as I say.”

She waited.

Begging eyes like firelit daggers pressed deep into Robin’s soul.

“I promise,” Robin whispered, trembling.

Time reluctantly began to move again, slowly.

Satisfied, Cyra continued. “You are to light one stick every morning. A piece of my heart, and the smoky essence of another, is laced within Alethea’s herbal magic. That means you are under our protection now. Solaire will not be able to touch you… and he will remain unaware of this conversation.”

Her gaze darkened. “But he will tuck the memory of our meeting—this moment, unfolding in real time—into your locket. You won’t remember me, or why you are doing this… but your body will act on sacred promise alone.”

“As long as you do this,” she said quietly, “Solaire cannot flee… and you cannot be harmed.”

Cyra paused, grief weighing heavy in her eyes. “Solaire’s magic is terribly wicked… but it is also clever. So this…” Her voice caught. “…this is the most we can do for now.”

She brushed away the tear slipping down Robin’s younger cheek, then pulled her close.

Robin dropped to her knees as she watched herself held in someone’s arms—for the first time in decades.

When Cyra finally released her, she studied her face once more and said, her voice full of quiet fire, “I do not know when we will meet again… but this story is coming to a close.”

And then time snapped back into place.

A bright flash burst from Solaire’s palm, shooting straight toward Cyra. Her gentle smile turned wild—and in a flare of flame, she vanished with the wind.

But Robin could see it clearly now. Cyra hadn’t disappeared at all...

She had shifted into a red-chested robin, and fluttered straight into the clouds.

Too weak to rise from her knees, Robin watched as Solaire, wide-eyed and wickedly calm, lifted the sun’s fire from beneath the cauldron. Slowly, he passed it before her panicked gaze.

Golden-red light spiralled from her former eyes and poured into the glittering rose locket.

In an instant, she was an empty shell once more.

Robin lurched forward. “Please… no. Please,” she whimpered. “No…”

“Wake up! Please!” she roared, clawing at the rose necklace draped around her other throat.

The pain she had held back for decades finally tore free as she watched her younger self smile at Solaire. And in the same breath, like smoke returning to flame, Robin was standing beside Cyra again before the rose bush.

As her terror echoed through the grounds, Robin dropped to her knees and bowed her head, staring at the locket against her bosom. She tore at the chain and clawed at her chest until her once-gentle hands drew blood, until all strength left her.

“Wake up… wake up…” she whispered, letting the unbreakable chain slip through her fingers. “Help me, please…” Her gaze lifted to where Cyra stood, eyes wet with grief.

Cyra swallowed hard. “You’re the only one who can open the locket…” Her voice trembled as she cleared her throat. “With death, life blooms anew.”

With those words, Cyra turned to ash and faded into the wind.

Robin watched the breeze for a heartbeat, then tore at the grass and screamed into the heavens. Hot tears streamed down her face as she lifted a shaking hand toward the metal. But before she could touch it, she heard a voice.

Her own.

“I promise to take us far from here.”

Robin lowered her hand and inhaled the rosy-iron scent still hung heavy in the air. As she exhaled, she turned to where the nightingale lay beneath his red-petalled blanket and crawled to rest beside him.

Beneath the brambled branches, she collapsed onto her side and stroked the nightingale’s feathered head with gentle fingers. Her touch drifted to the bright red petals… then to the fatal wound. She caressed the silken ruby bloom blanket and smiled faintly, reminded of the fruit glistening on the branch above.

“With death, life blooms anew,” Robin whispered to the feather-and-flower pair.

Her smile turned sad as she pushed herself up and out from the petalled sea.

With careful hands, she dug a small hollow in the earth and laid the nightingale within, nestling him among a few rose petals, covering them gently with soil.

Robin plucked the rosehip and placed it into her basket, along with the remaining petals.

With a small bow, and a promise to return the rose to the earth beside her love once the potion had served its purpose, she made her way back within the kingdom walls.

Robin screamed into her pillow once more, tearing at the seams of her already-tattered blanket—just as she had done for the last hour. The alchemist knew she had to find a way to fully open the locket, yet she also understood her spirit could not endure the full weight of heartbreak’s past without the potion.

So she explored every terror beneath the surface, one by one, eagerly awaiting the moment her own Light’s Potion would brew—so she could drink it and descend into the deepest parts of her prison.

An apple for protection. Zest of orange for energy. Cinnamon for clarity—perfected with red petals and rosehip, inciting love, and perhaps the guidance of a lover beyond the veil. Crafted with the exactness of an alchemist, and the magic of her true form calling out from within.

With every memory she uncovered, righteous rage spilled from her heart.

It was a welcome torment—feelings and emotions finally breaking free.

Countless memories had been hidden away by her own hand… while others had been torn from her eyes in a stream of golden-red light, stolen with a single wave of Solaire’s sunlight.

He had hidden beautiful encounters. Moments she was never meant to forget. She had not only felt torment—she had been loved. By friends. By strangers. By souls who had reached for her with open hands and gentle hearts.

And she watched now as he had rewritten it all.

He had enchanted their faces to turn away. Twisted their kindness into distance. Bent each outcome until every path led back to solitude. Until she believed the ache in her chest was proof she deserved it.

He had wanted her trapped.
Alone.
A caged bird.

Only now was Robin realising how peaceful the last month had truly been under the protection of fire, smoke, and herb—and just how strong she really was. Though she had been terrified into submission time and time again, Solaire had failed to extinguish the gentle magic radiating from that small part of herself within the locket, urging her spirit to press on.

Diving deeper and deeper, Robin finally reached the depths that held not only her own memories, but those of another. She surfaced trembling, her hand finding her shoulder as she remembered what had been taken from her—and she breathed the broken part of herself out into the wind.

Her fragile form begged for an end to the pain.

With a shaking hand, Robin brushed back her long locks—her bun had broken free long ago—and crossed the room toward the Light Potion’s glistening warmth beside the hearth. She cradled the chalice in both hands. Heavy with hurt, she brought the swirling liquid to her dry, parted lips… until her eyes caught her foraging knife, its blade gleaming in the sliver of light that slipped through the shutters.

Robin paused.

She set the chalice back upon the table and turned her gaze to the rose-engraved locket, then back to the potion, catching her own reflection within it.

“With death, life blooms anew,” she whispered.

Her smile turned wild as she reached for the blade.

Rolling the knife between steadier fingers, Robin studied her reflection in its silver face.

“I’m going to take us far from here.” she said softly.

And with knuckles white around its handle, and one courageous swing,

auburn locks spilled to the floor like shed feathers…and Ruby came to life once more.

She exhaled over the chalice, feeling her broken wings unfurl from where they had been folded and hidden beneath curls. Shortened hair brushed her jaw as she tucked it behind her ears and lifted the cup to drink the Light’s Potion.

Magic danced through her core as the locket bloomed open, revealing a portal—one that led into a vast brambled bush of radiant red, silk roses.

Solaire’s voice slithered through her being.
“Oh, little bird… you have not won yet.”

Ruby smiled. She could smell his fear.

With steady hands and a gentleness he would never understand, Ruby touched the locket and stepped through the portal.

The legend carries on in ways you may not expect.
Perhaps, in the coming season, we will return to finish this tale.

Until then, we find balance by turning inward. By brewing the Light’s Potion, Ruby’s Locket, we begin to understand our past…and in doing so, illuminate a path toward our future.

For new life and transformation await those who allow their chains to break.
May herbs, petals, and peels guide you toward your true light—through reflection, love, healing and renewal.

Until the next story unfolds,

Yours in tea & tales,

Lauren of Faerie Good