Nyxie's Choice
Some choice's reveal more than they hide
Welcome to Day #14. Earlier episodes are listed below.
This little series intersects with other tales based in the world of Nevicata devised by Maryellen Brady 💗📚 for her 24-Day ADVENT-ture 2025. She’s invited us all into her world.
PROMPT (#14): How will your character meet the Light of Change?
Day 1: Welcome to Nevicata
Day 2: A Light Snack
Day 3: Breakfast of Impolite Champions
Day 4: Case of the Nightmare Scarf Lady
Day 5: Ferrel versus the Princess Posse
Day 6: Life Takes Practice
Day 7: Hide-and-shriek
Day 8: Happiness is a Warm Bath
Day 9: Open Mic, Open Heart
Day 10: Disasterpieces
Day 11: Disastermath
Day 12: A Matter of Temperment
Day 13: Stage Fright
Check out GrousyGirl’s Day #14 companion piece:
Nyxie bounced on her heels, hands clasped behind her back.
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“A surprise,” Mr. Shade said. “One I think you’ll enjoy.”
“Is this about the ceremony?” she asked. “Everyone keeps talking about the ring. The lighting. They say it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Mr. Shade said. “And loud. And full of people doing their best to forget themselves.”
Nyxie smiled faintly. “That sounds nice.”
He glanced at her then. Really looked.
She’d been quiet lately. Distracted. The letters from the Academy spoke in that careful, padded language educators used when they did not yet know how serious something was—or did, and wished to soften the blow. Adjustment difficulties.Homesickness. Questions of identity and belonging.
And, threaded through it all, an inconvenient frequency of one particular name.
Ferrell.
Mr. Shade had answered what he could. Redirected where he must. He had not lied outright—but omission, he had learned long ago, could be just as effective.
And far kinder.
This—this—was meant to be kind.
“The masquerade is part of the celebration,” he said lightly. “A tradition. One evening where no one is required to be what they’re expected to be.”
Nyxie’s eyes brightened. “Costumes?”
“Proper ones,” he replied. “I thought you might enjoy choosing.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She took his arm again, leaning into him with the unthinking trust of a child who still believed her father could fix most things.
For a moment, they were just that—father and daughter, walking toward music and lantern light and something like joy.
Mr. Shade allowed himself to hope. Hope, after all, was not forbidden. Merely… expensive.
Today was not about contracts or retrievals or the careful accounting of loss.
Today was about laughter. About spectacle. About watching his daughter forget, for a few precious hours, the ache of distance and unanswered questions.
About giving her something bright to hold.
If she stopped asking about Ferrell for a while—
Well.
Mr. Shade told himself that was a mercy, too.
The black door opened.
Carlisle looked first at Mr. Shade.
Then at Nyxie.
Then back at Mr. Shade.
“Hmmm,” he purred.
Mr. Shade smiled, polite and precise. “Good evening, Carlisle.”
“Devlin,” Carlisle replied.
“May we?” Mr. Shade asked.
Carlisle stepped aside, tail flicking once.
Inside, the lantern-lit waiting room glowed softly. Nyxie turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
“This place feels… magical.”
“It is,” Carlisle said.
Nyxie beamed.
Carlisle circled her once. Appraising. “You’ve grown.”
Nyxie straightened. “I have?”
“Yes,” Mr. Shade agreed. “She does that.”
Carlisle’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, checking seams that weren’t visible. Satisfied, he moved on.
The beaded curtain shivered.
“Oh, a child?” came the Fairy God-Tailor’s liquid, crystalline voice. “Oh, how wonderful.”
She emerged in a ripple of violet and impossible anatomy—antlers for a moment, feathers the next, something tentacled flickering and gone. Her eyes fixed on Nyxie with incandescent joy.
Nyxie’s eyes went wide.
“Come here, darling,” she breathed. “Let me see you properly.”
Nyxie glanced at Mr. Shade.
He inclined his head. “It’s your choice. Become what you want most.”
That, perhaps, was the most dangerous advice he could give.
She swept Nyxie behind the screen.
The curtain fell still.
Mr. Shade seated himself carefully.
His hand brushed the upholstery.
He paused.
Charcoal-black hairs clung to the fabric.
Short.
Coarse.
Not cat.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
“All customer information is strictly confidential,” Carlisle said, curling into his bed.
“I wouldn’t dream of asking for names,” Mr. Shade replied. “Merely whether I should be concerned.”
Carlisle’s tail flicked once. “You’re already concerned.”
A fair point.
From behind the screen came delighted sounds—liquid chimes, happy magic, the unmistakable enthusiasm of someone being allowed to choose.
“Oh, I do love children,” the Fairy God-Tailor gushed. “They always know exactly what they want!”
Mr. Shade closed his eyes briefly.
The curtain parted.
Nyxie came bounding out.
Paws too big. Ears flopping. Tail wagging in every direction at once. She skidded, sat, and beamed.
Mr. Shade stared.
Then he laughed.
Soft.
Genuine.
“Oh, Nyxie,” he sighed. “What have you done?”
The Cerberus pup barked once.
“Isn’t she perfect?” the Fairy God-Tailor exclaimed. “I simply love it. She chose it herself.”
“Yes,” Mr. Shade said. “I’m sure she did.”
Mr. Shade’s gaze moved from Nyxie to the fairy god-tailor.
Then, casually—too casually—he said,
“First time working with a Cerberus pup?”
She tilted her head, considering him with luminous eyes that had seen far too much to be surprised by anything. One shoulder lifted in a delicate, unconcerned shrug.
“Oh,” she said lightly, as if recalling a trivial detail, “I wouldn’t say that.”
Mr. Shade waited.
She smiled—just a touch coy.
“There may have been… otters.”
Carlisle’s tail flicked once.
Mr. Shade’s mouth curved. Not a smile. Recognition.
“I see,” he said.
“Children make the most decisive choices,” she said.
Carlisle purred.
And somewhere in Nevicata, a very nervous otter sneezed, for reasons he could not explain.
dear lord, im still traumatized from the last allyway backdoor you drug your characters into...where the girl turned into a dragonfly...just saying i had flashbacks.