Night That Wields The Dagger

Nyx

I once tried to get a normal job.

"And what are your skills?" asked the dryad in front of me, her lovingly long green wings fluttering behind her. 

Nothing like mine, torn and grey.

"Um," I said, "wielding the dagger?"

Turns out that wasn't the correct answer for the job of a forest keeper. So that's how I wound up here.

I look around myself.

Under me, bodies of other fae are piled up. I stand above them all, victorious, my dark cape flutters behind me, hiding my frail moth-like wings, ripped and fragile. My gray skin shines in the sunlight, barely withstanding it. Short red hair is nested atop my head, covering my little horns. 

I am so much smaller than all of them, yet they are on the floor, and I stand victorious.

A pixie. They were beaten by a pixie.

Ten of competitors, one winner. Who will be the next personal guard of the Spring Lord?

It's me.

"Show yourself," the Lord commands me.

I smile and pull my hood down, then look at him.

There is a gasp between the gathered fey lord and ladies.

"A changeling!" someone screams.

"A member of the Unseelie Court!" Another shocked yell.

I laugh.

My name is Nyx.

Do not forget me.

Please.