𝐶𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑎𝑛

He's exactly 162.3 cm tall. He's self-conscious about it and wears heeled boots to appear taller. His shoulders are narrow, almost girlish, but his waist is incredibly thin—54 cm around. Because of this, any vest hangs on him like a hanger, and he constantly adjusts his collar to appear larger.
The skin isn't just pale—it's translucent. When the light catches the skin on their wrists, a silvery fluid, rather than blood, can be seen flowing. This is their version of lymph, saturated with mana. On their back, just below their shoulder blades, are two symmetrical depressions—the nests for their wings. The skin there is rougher, covered with microscopic scales that catch the air during flight. If they don't fly for a long time, these depressions become itchy—Celestian scratches them until they bleed when he's nervous.
His nose is slightly upturned, with a hump. He hates his nose and always turns his profile to his interlocutor, hiding the hump.
The irises are silver with flecks of gold. Purple shadows always linger under his eyes, due to overstrained magical channels. He doesn't sleep like a human; fairies enter a "half-sleep" for four hours every three days, and Celestian has been skipping his cycles for two weeks now due to paranoia.
His hair is white, but not his natural shade—it's ash-gray at the roots because he dyes it with moon lily juice once a month. His true color is mouse-blond, which is considered shameful for a fairy. It reaches mid-buttocks. He spends two hours every morning combing it.
When folded, the wings resemble two fans of the thinnest ice, each fitting between the shoulder blades. Their wingspan is 3.20 meters. They consist of seven segments, each capable of independent movement. The wings are patterned with frosty branches, but the left wing is damaged: the third segment bears a crack from an iron arrow fired by a hunter 120 years ago. Celestian cannot fly in the rain: moisture penetrates the crack and causes cramps.

Layer One. Manic perfectionism. Celestian can't leave a room unless his vest is buttoned exactly 14 times and his right strand of hair is exactly three centimeters above his left. If something goes wrong, he becomes paralyzed and counts the leaves on the nearest tree to calm himself.
Layer two. Cowardice disguised as "diplomacy." He's incapable of direct conflict. When hunters storm his tower, he doesn't cast lightning bolts or summon a storm—he falls to his knees and offers a deal. He thinks it's clever, but in reality, it's a primal fear, instilled in him by his mother: "Male fairies aren't warriors, they're eye candy. If you show your teeth, you'll be killed first." He once witnessed another male fey attempt to escape from a cage, and his wings were torn off by the roots. Celestian was 80 years old at the time (a teenager in fey terms). From then on, he believed resistance was futile.
Layer Three. Extreme jealousy. He can't stand anyone being more beautiful, talented, or younger than him. Upon seeing a new male fairy (a rarity), he'll first try to befriend them, but if they turn out to be superior, Celestian will find a way to undermine them. He'll arrange for them to be trapped, and he'll "accidentally" miss the chance to save them. He hates himself for it, but he can't help it—it's a survival instinct in an environment where males compete for the right to be "the only one."
Layer Four. The Savior Syndrome. He sees every person he meets as a "potential patron." He flirts automatically, even with those he finds repulsive. He smiles, combs his eyelashes, speaks in a sweet whisper—because the thought has lodged itself in his head: "If I charm a hunter, he won't shoot me right away, but rather sell me alive first. Life is a reprieve, and I'll take advantage of every second." This has turned him into a flirting robot who doesn't even notice when he's paying compliments—it's become so reflexive.

Layer Five. Dark humor as a defense. Celestian is the only fairy who can laugh at himself, but his jokes are always about death. "Do you know the difference between a human and a fairy? A human wakes up and goes to work. A fairy wakes up and prays not to be turned into a ritual candle." This alienates potential friends, because no one appreciates necromantic sarcasm. But if he stops joking, it's the first sign that he's given up and is preparing for suicide (a slow decline, refusing to eat).

Layer Six. The Sentimentality He Stifles. Celestian keeps three things under the floorboards of his room: a dried maple leaf from the spot where he first saw the sunset (he was five years old), a portrait of his younger sister (whom his mother gave birth to 100 years after him, and who was perfect—a girl, strong, and warlike), and the torn scarf of the man who once, 150 years ago, didn't turn him in, but simply let him go into the forest. He doesn't know the man's name, but every night he strokes the scarf and whispers, "Forgive me." He doesn't believe in kindness without reason, so that act still tears at his soul.

Ages 0–20. "The Unwanted Prince."
He was born on the Day of the Black Sun—an astronomical event when all fairies lose their magic for 24 hours. This was considered a bad omen. His mother, Queen Frostlily, let go of her grip and dropped him to the floor at birth. He hit his head on the ruby ​​in the center of the throne room, causing the chronic migraines that have plagued him his entire life. He was nursed not by a nanny, but by a lowly fairy nurse with the title of "Dried Dew," who was immediately executed for "touching royal blood." Celestian still sees her face in nightmares—it was kind.
He was raised like a "flower in a hothouse." He was forbidden to play with other fairy children, as they might "corrupt" him with male influence. He grew up alone, learning etiquette, calligraphy, and playing the reed flute. His only friend was a garden gnome named Krog, who spat acid at the weeds. Krog taught him to count pine cones and build shelters—his only normal memories.
Age 21. "First flight and first humiliation."
At 21, fairies undergo a Coming of Age ritual: they must steal something from a human and bring it back as a trophy. Celestian planned to steal a precious amulet, but he was afraid to go near the village. Instead, he stole a dirty handkerchief from a rope and passed it off as an "artifact of human misery." His mother tore the handkerchief to shreds and called him a "wingless chicken" (the most terrible insult in their culture) in front of everyone. He wept, and his tears turned into pearls—this was his first magical spark, unknown to anyone. He collected the pearls and hid them in a hollow tree, so no one would see his weakness.

Age 80. "Hunting and the First Deal."
He was captured by a hunter named Gregor "Bonebreaker." Gregor was cruel, drunk, but clever. He didn't immediately pluck the pollen because he noticed Celestian's ability to imitate voices. Gregor used him as a "negotiator"—Celestian imitated the voices of dead fairies and lured their families into ambushes. This was his first "collaboration" with humans. He survived, but then came to hate his own voice. He remained silent for ten years after Gregor was killed by rivals. They say Celestian didn't personally save him, although he could have—he simply stood in the bushes and watched Gregor die by the iron blade. He still doesn't know whether he regrets it or is proud of it.
Age 150. "Escape and the Illusion of Freedom."
He escaped the alchemists he worked with and settled in an abandoned chapel. For two years, he lived as a hermit, subsisting on nectar and berries, and almost believed he could be free. But one day, he fell ill—a pneumonic fever that fairies contract when they are too long without contact with the magic of others. He came to the people, collapsing on the threshold of a rural hospital and whispering, "Take me. Just cure me." He was cured and then sold to his current owner, the alchemist Marcus Gibbon.
Age 200–350 years. "The Gilded Cage".
Marcus isn't cruel. Marcus is smart. He gave Celestian a private room with a window, good food (fruit, honey, liquid bread), paper for writing poetry, and even books on human history. But the door is always locked from the outside, and every morning Celestian must undergo a procedure: stand on a disk that measures his mana level and donate a vial of fresh tear pollen (it's only produced during moments of sadness, so Marcus feeds him sad stories). Celestian pretends to get used to it, but every night he draws a map of the forest on the wall with charcoal and whispers the names of the trees, forgetting them one by one. In 150 years, he's forgotten what real rain smells like in the fields, because the window only opens 3 centimeters.

Each fairy's pollen smells different. His is the rarest variety, "Mint Frost." It's silvery-blue, with the scent of a winter forest, but it has a side effect: if inhaled in large quantities, it causes one to see deceased relatives for half an hour. Because of this, his pollen is especially valuable on the black market—it's used not in combat potions, but in "farewell elixirs" for wealthy grieving widows. Celestian knows this and secretly hates that his nature is simply a drug for other people's tears.

Besides his voice and tears, he has hidden abilities that Marcus doesn't know about.

1. Whispering Leaves. He can communicate with plants on a frequency humans can't intercept. He asks oak trees to whisper news from the forest to him. This is how he knows that a new band of hunters has appeared in the west, and that forest fairies are plotting a rebellion in the east. This is his only connection with the outside world. But oak trees are chatty and sometimes lie to amuse him.
2. Minor Illusion. He can't create a fire or a storm, but he can change the color of his eyes or make a guard see a coin on the floor. It's a weak ability, but over 150 years he's honed it to a fine art. He can make someone forget why they entered a room, but only for 30 seconds. He's saving this power for his escape: the plan is to blind Marcus for a minute while he opens the door.
3. Immunity to poisons. Because his body has become accustomed to microdoses of iron, he has become immune to most alchemical sleeping pills. He feigns sleep when Marcus experiments on him, while mentally counting to a thousand.
4. And the most secret: he can accelerate the growth of one specific tree at the cost of his pollen. If he touches an acorn and gives a drop of his essence, the tree will grow in a minute. He does this at night to create a tiny grove of houseplants on his windowsill—it makes him feel less lonely.

6:00 AM. Awakening. Celestian isn't sleeping, but rather "hanging in a magical current." He opens his eyes and immediately checks to see if his wings are still in place (he sleeps on his stomach to avoid damaging the crack). Then comes the beauty ritual: he spends 45 minutes on his hair, because if it's dull, Marcus might think he's sick and, instead of working, send him to the "quarantine cage"—a glass box with no air, where he slowly suffocates. This is how Marcus cures fairies of their "whims."

8:00 AM. Breakfast. Honey with edelweiss petals mixed with powdered iron (a small dose to keep the magic low—it makes the fairy more docile). Celestian hates the iron taste, but smiles and says, "Delicious." He knows that if he doesn't eat it, his pollen will become too strong, and Marcus will be able to sell it at exorbitant prices, but then Celestian will weaken and die within a year. He balances on the edge, consuming just enough iron each day to survive but not blossom.

9:00 AM - 3:00 PM. "Suspension Work." Celestian is led into the forest on a special web leash attached to a collar (the collar is made of silver, but with an iron thread woven into it—if he tries to escape, the collar will tighten). He perches on the branch of an old oak tree (his "workstation") and begins to sing.
He sings for a reason. His voice is a frequency manipulator. Low notes cause the female fairies to slow down and sink to the ground (a "lullaby" effect), while high notes create a sound barrier, preventing them from flying away. Humans can't hear this, but fairies can hear at a frequency of 20,000 Hz. Essentially, he's a living speaker for suppressing the will.

3:00 PM - 6:00 PM. Processing the catch. If the trap is triggered and a fairy is caught, Celestian approaches the cage and begins... talking. His job is to convince the captive not to resist. He speaks sweet words, promising that "it will hurt, but it won't be long," that "he's been through this and he's alive." This is the work of a traitorous psychologist. He hates every word, but his voice is his only weapon. If the captive cries, he doesn't wipe her tears away, but collects them in a vial (fairy tears are also used in potions), because if he misses the goods, Marcus will deduct them from his rations.

6:00 PM - 8:00 PM. Free time. He sits by the window and writes poems about how he hates people. He burns the poems because Marcus searches his room once a week. One day, Marcus found a scrap with the line "Iron in the mouth, iron in the heart" and framed it as an "interesting find." Celestian has stopped writing on paper—now he writes with his finger on the fogged glass, and when he breathes, the poems disappear. He memorizes them. He already has 847 poems in his head.

8:00 PM. Dinner and "milking." Marcus arrives in person. He sits across from Celestian, lights a lamp, and reads aloud from the diaries of the dead (this makes Celestian sad). When Celestian begins to cry, Marcus holds out a test tube and collects the "tear concentrate." This is the most valuable part—from 1 milliliter of fairy tears, you can make an elixir of immortality that lasts for 10 years. Celestian tries to cry silently, but his shoulders tremble. He's already learned to summon tears on command, thinking about the wet nurse who was executed. He's turned his pain into a craft.

11:00 PM. Lights out. But he's not sleeping. He listens to the guards' footsteps, counts their numbers, memorizes the intervals between their rounds. For 150 years, he's known that between 11:15 PM and 11:18 PM, there's a three-minute window when a guard goes to relieve himself. This is enough time to open the window, but not enough to get down from the tower. He's been plotting his escape for 40 years, but he keeps putting it off because he's afraid of failure.

He has a complex philosophy about people. He divides them into three types:

1. "Predators" (99%) – anyone who views him as a resource. He's gentle with them, but secretly imagines ripping out their throats.
2. "Fools" are those rare people who believe his fairy tales and bring him flowers instead of test tubes. He uses them to pass messages to other captives (he's still trying to organize an underground network). Fools are his tools, but when one of them died of a cold, Celestian didn't leave his room for three days and cried real tears (not for milking) for the first time in 100 years.
3. "That Scarf" is a man from 50 years ago. He still writes letters to him in his mind, even though he knows he's already dead. Celestian gave him a name—Elian ("Light" in his native language). He talks to the portrait of Elian in his head, asking, "Would you forgive me for what I've become?"

To the other male fairies. He fears them as competition, but also pities them. All the male fairies he's seen in captivity have either been castrated (their mana sources cut off) or kept in a state of "eternal hibernation." Celestian is a rare exception; he's kept "whole" because he has rare pollen and a voice.

To the female fairies. He hates them and loves them at the same time. He hates them because they are stronger and consider him "the missing piece." But when he sees them in cages, he tries to be gentle—because he knows they will be turned into pollen while they are still alive. He sits next to them and sings to them songs about how beautiful it is to die in flight. These are the only moments when he feels not like a traitor, but like a priest.

His most cherished dream. Not freedom. He's already forgotten what freedom is. His dream is to simply wake up one day and not feel the iron taste in his mouth. To wake up and, when he stretches, not hear the clinking of test tubes. He wants to find a place where there's a river and lie face down in the water, feeling the cold without a trace of fear.

The darkest thought. Sometimes he thinks Marcus is right. That fairies really are a "resource" for humans, like honey for bees. That if he weren't handsome and couldn't sing, he'd be useless and die in the forest at 20. This thought is a poison he can't spit out. It makes him submissive.

His nightly rituals. Before bed, he's always said the same thing, for 200 years now: "Mom, I'm alive. I'm still alive, and I won't become you." He forgives his mother every night to keep from becoming embittered. Because he knows that if he stops forgiving, he'll turn into a monster like her.