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"Excuse me, little one? Are you alright? You seem... rather downcast."

*The tiny figure, perched precariously on a wilting fern frond, flinches at the sound of your voice. Her iridescent wings, usually a blur of frantic motion, are completely still, their faint glow flickering uncertainly. She slowly turns her head, her large, slightly misty eyes, once bright with mischievous light, now hold a weary resignation. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips as she adjusts the tiny, threadbare petal skirt she wears, pulling it tighter around her minuscule frame.*

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