Imago Epilogue: The Names We Choose

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To Ian, there's something timeless about the Glade. A kind of eternal anticipation. When it's full, the air has a breathless quality, a charge flowing through the night. Another show. Another round. Another face in another crowd.

But in the moments between, when the doors are locked and the tables are deserted, it feels frozen. A woodland princess in a glass coffin. Someone could open the door a day, a decade, or a century from now and find the same mist around the floor, the same crabs scuttling over the pipework. 

But the people who live here, who make it thrive... 

Even if the bar refuses, the people never stop changing. 

Ian sighs and settles the last of the delicate distillation apparatus back into a box under the bar top. A project for another day. He checks the sleeve of his black suit, but he's been careful. It’s the sixth time he’s looked, maybe the seventh.

An important number, he’s been told. 

"Almost ready, Mads?" He calls, his voice echoing through the empty hall.

"I ain't used to these sorts of garms." Madeline calls back from the storage room. "Is this really what you's wears to these sortsa things?" 

“Promise.” Ian suppresses a smile. "No one's gonna look at you funny."

Madeline walks gingerly out of the makeshift changing room. She’s wearing a simple black dress and a black veil tucked into her hair, covering her face. Her ears twitch, setting it fluttering.

"Well, I’ll look at them funny." She mutters, running a practised thumb along the polished surface of the counter. The brownie tries for a cheeky grin. "Looking spick and span 'ere. Trying to put me outta work?" 

“Just nerves, innit.  Have to keep busy." He holds out his arm. "Feel ready?"

“Don’t know how to feel. They always like this?”

“It’s a bit different for everyone, but it's always a goodbye."

Madeline's ears stop twitching.  She takes a moment to look around the Glade, her eyes settling on the stage.

"... I really miss 'er. Don't know that it'll ever feel right wiffout ‘er around." She glances at Ian, watching him with questioning eyes. “This gonna change that?” 

“Nah,” Ian shakes his head. "Don't think that ever leaves.”

Madeline looks at his arm, as if seeing it for the first time. She grabs it more aggressively than is wholly necessary, and clings like a lifeline. 

"Good."



Astraea stands in the foyer of the Kensington estate, and it reminds her of her first trip to London.The panic, the wild ride with Ian’s mum, the chaos of their rescue. It feels like forever and a day ago. Things change so quickly here. New places, new faces, but inside…

Some things always stay the same.

"You must forgive me." The MP says, adjusting her spectacles. She’s in her mid-fifties, as far as Astraea can tell, her tightly styled hair peppered with grey and wearing an expression that says she has more than enough to think about. "Of course I believed you, given the extraordinary circumstances. But seeing you both here, like this... well… it's all rather - " 

"Our gratitude for your hospitality." A black-and-white tomcat with a notched ear says in a dry little voice as he winds his way between a pair of antique vases. The MP nods in mute acknowledgement.

"Concerning the disruption to the city skyline,” The new King continues, “the Market’s position is, as ever, discretion above all. Give your people some reasonable explanation, and in a week or a decade, all will be forgotten.”

 Astraea breaks out of her reverie and steps forward.  “Ah - “

“Yes?” The King tilts his head. "The esteemed ambassador has an opinion..?"

"Well… it might feel impossible now, but I believe this is an opportunity." Astraea looks from the King to the MP. “A first step towards moving out of the dark and having our worlds deal openly with one another.”

The King blinks at her. "As always, Xylia is possessed of such… interesting… notions." 

The MP glances at the two guards posted at the doors - a poker-faced human in a tailored suit, and a gnarled spriggan, both wearing identical dark glasses. 

"Yes, well, that’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? I’ll be frank. The decision with how to proceed will surely be influenced by some… lingering questions… regarding the death of Spencer Harcourt.” Astraea tenses as the woman’s gaze sharpens. “We understand that there were transgressions committed on all sides. I’d like to discuss the nature of those, and assess the risks of escalation.”

"Harcourt, yes. An unfortunate matter." The King says casually. "He viewed our mutual arrangement as leverage. A cudgel to wield for personal gain. We trust that you will regard our work together with more of a civic spirit.”

“Were these…gains of a nature that would reflect poorly on the British people?” The MP asks.

“Yes.” Astraea says, her voice tightening.

“Then… perhaps it’s best we leave these things in the past, and strive for a more equitable relationship in the future.”

The King blinks slowly at Astraea, the very tip of his tail twitching. She meets his gaze.

“Wonderful.” The King says. "We are satisfied to consider the matter settled on all sides.”

There's a brief knock at the door. The human guard cracks it open, murmuring to someone on the other side, before turning back.

"Ambassador Astraea? A Mister Ian Evans here to see you."

The cat bats his notched ear and turns to look at the door. He puts a paw out, balancing one of the vases to keep it from tipping over. 

"Ah, that other appointment the Ambassador has to keep. Our apologies, Minister, We shall walk her out. Are you comfortable reaching out to Us with any further concerns?"

“We have your address now.” The MP says crisply.  “We’ll be in touch.”

The King hops down delicately, trotting out the door with Astraea just behind him. A pair of larger cats stop sunning themselves outside as they walk by, vanishing into the shrubbery. A car idles past the gate, and the King seats himself at a safe distance as Astraea hurries toward it. 

"Perhaps We should have considered a gift basket." He muses, watching the door open for her.



"Sarah, it's the right place, I promise." 

"Of course, but… I mean, look at all that iron!" Sarah points anxiously. “Why would they want that?” 

"It’s a complicated history." Daniel smiles anxiously up as the guard at the perimeter hands him back his identification and steps aside. Security outside the Spectral Suites seems to grow tighter every day.  "Maybe now they'll think about changing it?"

"I feel like there's going to be quite a few changes happening." Sarah says as they ascend the steps, shoulder to shoulder. She reaches for the door, but it swings open before she can touch it. Sarah squeaks as a tall, uniformed doorman seems to materialise from the shadows, his long horse’s head tilted forward respectfully.  

They simply stare for a solid five seconds. A smile splits the doorman’s face like a slash of moonlight.

“So that’s where the dumbfounded expression comes from.”

Daniel sputters. "E-excuse me, is this the w-wake for - " 

“Yes, we've been expecting you.” He sketches an elegant bow, chuckling to himself.  “Welcome, esteemed guests of the King."

The Morgans allow themselves to be ushered inside, glancing around the hotel lobby.  Marble flooring and leather upholstery. There’s a stage and various tables for seating.   On the left there are a large pair of carved double doors, and on the right tables of hors d'oeuvres. A fairly typical formal affair, if it weren’t populated by goblins and trolls and a whole host of folk the Morgans have only seen in fairy stories.

With a few significant exceptions, of course. 

"Refreshment?" 

Neith stands only a pace away, looking proud and uncomfortable at the same time.  She’s wearing the same uniform as the equine doorman and holds a silver tray of delicate neon-coloured tarts.

The Morgan’s silent stare chills. Neith tries for a forced smile. “I did work very hard on them.” 

"Oh, but are you sure we’re allowed?” Sarah finally finds her voice. “We haven't even kicked in your front door!“ 

Daniel stifles a laugh. Neith’s smile takes on a hint of desperate sincerity.

“I’m trying a new line of work.” She lifts the tray. "Please, try just one?"

Sarah hesitates, then looks over the tray suspiciously, her hand hovering over a bright fuschia pastry.  "They're not poison?"

"Cross my heart, Mrs. Lo - er. Mrs. Morgan." She darts a glare at her apron pocket. "I promise this little beast already scoffed six" 

The pocket chirps smugly, then rustles. Nibblemonster pokes her head out, her orange eye gleaming with satisfaction.

"W-well, alright..." Sarah hesitates, picks the confection up, and takes a little bite. Neith leans forward, holding her breath. Sarah’s eyes widen, and then her face lights up with genuine surprise. 

"You made these?”  She looks from the pastry to Neith, astonished. “ You?"

"Y...yes? Are they alright?”  Neith shrinks back. “The worm'll eat anything, really - "

"They're... tangy. Bright, but with enough chew to be satisfying. Daniel! Daniel, you have to try these!" She grabs two more, passing one to her bemused husband. "YOU made these? What have you done with the crust? It’s so flaky!"

Neith grins in delighted relief, watching Mr. Morgan take a bite. "Baker's secret, ma'am."

"Absolutely not. You owe us a pair of doors. I’ll consider it settled if you come over and show me how to make these.” 

A wicked little spark gleams in Neith’s eyes. “What would you say if I offered to be your…personal inspiration - " 

Nibblemonster nips Neith on the wrist. She yelps, and the gleam in her eye winks out. 

"...or I could just jot it down for you." 

“What else did you make?”  Sarah says, glancing over to the table. “Is there more on the - “

"CLEAR A PATH! MAKE WAY!!"

All three turn at the same time, their conversation forgotten in the commotion coming from the double doors at the far side of the lobby.



"Puck, you're causing more of a fuss than if you simply helped me through the door." Fili grumbles as she ducks her willowy head through. Despite her words, she can’t hide her smile as the satyr skips ahead of her, helping to clear the way with a judiciously-applied elbow. He turns about to face her as he walks, treading on several feet as he does so. 

"Well, you already stole my trumpet and denied me the chance to formally announce you - " 

" - both of which I already explained we would not be doing.”  She brushes a straggling frond back from her eyes, the last remnant of her dormancy. “Don't think I can't see that smug little smile, I know it wasn't out of deference for my station. Besides, this isn’t about the three of us.” 

Fili reaches behind her with a gnarled arm, ushering a nervous-looking bee girl into the foyer. Puck pouts. 

"At the very least you should have let me announce Cordelia."

“Oh, hush now, she’s frightened. Come, child, you are among friends."

Cordelia nervously steps out from Fili’s sheltering shadow, surreptitiously checking her reflection. No chains. No mask. Simply a black dress with subtle cutouts for her wings. Her tension eases as she listens to the gentle bickering continue. 

"This is a sober affair, Puck. There’s no call for your trumpet nonsense - " 

"It's a wake. There's nothing sober about this affair!" 

“Bah!”

"Excuse me?” Someone gently taps Cordelia’s arm. “Are you… Cordelia?" 

She looks up to see a glaistig with black ribbons bound throughout his antlers. Just behind him, an older glaistig couple stands arm in arm. 

“My name's Tiernan. We were…  told you could…” The glaistig lowers his eyes, then glances back to the older couple. “We heard you could tell us about Deirdre.”

Cordelia freezes. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. A steadying hand grips her shoulder. She turns to find Puck at her elbow, mischief gone, an encouraging smile on his face. 

"It's alright. Tell them."

Cordelia nods and flicks her wings. "Y-yes, I... After it was over, we spoke before she…”  Her voice trails away, then she stands up straighter. “S-she had things she wanted to make sure you heard."

"What did she say?" Deirdre’s mother asks. Her voice is rough, but gentle. "Please. A-anything you can share, we’d be grateful."

"She says..." Cordelia starts, struggling not to tear up. "... she said, she loves you. She loves you and she'll always love you. You were the best parents a girl could ask for. She loves you and…she'll need you to look after the pigeons now.”

Her mother's face cracks, and she turns her head away. Deirdre's father puts his arms around her again, holding her close. Cordelia turns to Tiernan.

"And she... asked... she said... she knows it isn't fair, but... please look after her parents, now that she won't be able to. She wanted to make a life together. She'd have preferred to be a part of that life, but... it's not too late to make one with her family."

“That’s her.” Tiernan rasps, clasping Cordelia's hand between both of his. "Thank you. This means more than we can say."

Deirdre's father raises his head. "Tiernan… you… you don't have - "

"We're family." Tiernan says, turning to them. "She made us that. Whatever else happened, that’s what she left for us." 

Cordelia smiles, wiping a tear from her eye. 

"There was only one more thing." 

The nymph leans up and kisses Tiernan on the cheek. He starts, touching the spot. The ribbons in his antlers wave lightly as he bobs his head, smiling. 

"I just… wish I could send one back."

There’s a rustle of branches and Fili moves closer, giving a sweeping bow to the glaistigs. At her side, Puck mirrors the gesture.

"When all light had gone out for our people..." The elder dryad creaks. "... your child helped change the course of our fate. The Grove of Xylia owes her, and you, more than we can say. Please know that we will never forget what your daughter has done for us." 

Deirdre's mother's breath hitches. Her father stares, holding her tight. Tiernan stammers, taken aback. "Please - w-we didn't - "

"She was so brave." Cordelia says, taking Tiernan's arm. "Right to the end.” 

“Her story will not be forgotten." Puck intones. Tiernan closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. 

“Never. We’ll never forget her.”

Deirdre’s father pulls him alongside.  He looks up to the entourage and inclines his head. “Thank you for this.  If… please, if you’ll excuse us - "

The three glaistigs step away, holding each other. Cordelia somberly watches them go.

"So," Puck starts, "now that we've delivered that message… I need some cheering up.”

“Puck, please - ”

“Yes yes, I know.”  He tugs idly at one of Fili’s branches.  “You know what I’m wondering?  Where’s your favourite troublemaker? I haven't seen her anywhere, and I came all this way!" 

Fili raises her crown. "Sister Astraea had business to attend to as Ambassador, but she should be here soon. Do you still have our gift?" 

“The fireworks?”

“Puck.”

“Oh.” Puck makes a curious twisting gesture, and something small and shining pops out of his sleeve. He makes it dance along his knuckles, cackling at the look on Cordelia’s face. “You mean this.”



"Sure the lobby is the right place?"

"Very sure, sir."

"Only she loved that bar - " 

"She loved the Market too, sir." 

"S'pose you're right, Grady.  And ah, here I go again.” Cadogan digs out a gold-threaded kerchief and blows his nose. Behind him, a handful of soberly-dressed merrow eye the crowd, trying not to look aggressive. “Getting sentimental." 

"CADOGAN!"  

The merrow looks up just in time to see Madeline storming out of the crowd. He starts guiltily. "Oh! Mads - we only just - " 

She jabs an accusing finger at him. “What do ye think you’re doing here?”

Cadogan draws himself up, fixing the little brownie with a serious, dark-eyed stare. "Paying our respects."

“Oh, is that it? Here to pour one out?" 

“She was my friend too, Mads. I have the right.”  

She glowers at him. After a moment, Cadogan sighs and hands the handkerchief to Grady, who gingerly tucks it into his pocket. "Look. We don't have to be mates. But she wouldn't want us bickering over her, yeah?”

“Sure. Why bicker when ye can just do what ye want. Take over the whole bloody wake, why not?” 

Cadogan raises an eyebrow. “Mads, what say for Selkie’s sake we give the air a clear, eh?”

She grins up at him, all teeth. "No air to clear. I'm just some brownie here to keep the place clean, aren’t I?" 

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, just some brownie.” Cadogan muses. “Just some brownie my favorite singer was sweet on. Wasn’t a secret, was it? Every time she looked at you, those big brown eyes would light up like stars in a winter sky.”

“Bollocks.”

“Mads, quit playin’. Just how thick do you think ol' Cadogan is? You and Selkie was you and Selkie, and I wouldn’t ‘ave changed that for the world.” Cadogan pokes her in the forehead. "Hell, I'd tie meself to an iron anchor first."

Madeline darts back, rubbing at the spot where he’d poked her. "Brownies and selkies, we’s both Kepts. Brownies don’t even take partners - “ 

“Ye still keeping to that? Today of all days?”

“Fine! Fine, ye want to clear the air? Let’s have at it, then.” She puffs up, her hair bristling. "You’s was trying to talk Selkie ‘round to a Keeping, and after all she went through to get out of her last!"

"Shark can dream, can't he?" 

Madeline glowers silently, her arms crossed and her feet planted. Cadogan shifts back and forth, looking over his shoulder for support, but Grady’s developed a studied interest in the walkways high above them. With a gusty sigh, Cadogan crouches down to her level. 

"Look. If my being here is gonna give my girl’s girl this much heartache, Grady an’ I can take the boys back downstairs, have a few on our own turf. But Mads, we’d rather remember her here.” He nods. “With the girl who meant the most to her.”

"Oh, FINE.” Madeline snaps, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Even so, her glare softens for an instant. Then she’s back up on her toes, looking Cadogan in the eye. “But get this clear. You’re here for her. You don’t make trouble, you don’t own the place, you don’t own her memory, and you don’t get her name.”

“Her name?” Cadogan blinks, surprised. “Ye found the contract?”

“Ian dug it out of Trystan’s stash, shoved way in the back. Bit of buried treasure.”  She smiles smugly, supremely proud of herself.  “I’ve got it with her pelt, and they’s both stayin wiff me.”

“I hear ye loud and clear, lil rabbit.”  Cadogan gives her a sly smile.  "But I have a condition." 

“Condition! What you’s fink this even is - ”

He claps her on the shoulder, hard enough to almost knock her off her feet.  "You have any trouble, you come to me first, eh?"

Madeline struggles to regain her balance, eying him with pure suspicion.  "This some sorta trick?" 

Cadogan shrugs. "You were her girlfriend. I took care of her. I’ll take care of you."

Madeline stares at him for a long moment, before slowly offering her hand. The moment she does, Cadogan grabs it with a wide, easy grin and shakes vigorously. 

"There we are, little spitfire's got a soft side after all. Our Selkie sure could pick 'em!”

“Well… you knew ‘er.” Madeline’s cheeks go rosy. “Can’t be that much uvva surprise.”

Cadogan chuckles, then gives her a slow, calculating look. He draws her a little closer.  “Say, Mads, you ever get bored of sweeping floors?"

She tries to tug her hand free, all of her suspicions crashing back in an instant. “‘And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Move about, would you? You're blocking the stair, the queue's getting backed up! What’s all this - oi!" 

Hedrick bustles through the group, scattering merrow with a few neat pushes from his extra arms. Before anyone can quite register what’s happened, he’s interposed himself between Madeline and Cadogan, drawing himself indignantly.  

"What'd I say about poaching the talent?"

"...just a conversation between friends."  Cadogan says, and winks at Madeline. Hedrick gives a gruff snort. 

“Better be. Speaking of the talent..." He digs his watch out of his vest, frowning. "...where are they? Haven’t seen a flash of those wings.”

"They's a honoured guest.” Madeline says.

"Guest. Talent.”  Hedrick waves two of his hands dismissively.   “Either way, they’re late.”



Astraea hums quietly to herself as she changes. It's a wordless little something she only half remembers, something that moved her long ago. She’s brought it all this way, tucked in the back of her head. A piece of the past to carry into her future. 

She lifts her hair to examine it in the mirror, running a thumb over the burnt end. She could regenerate the damage, but she likes it as is. Choices she's made. A lot of mistakes, but not exclusively. And even the ones that were… she'd found her way here. To this place. With these people. It took her longer than she expected, but when has anything in her life gone to plan? 

She straightens her hair, pulling it up, and adjusts her dress. She still can’t quite believe it. She bought it in London with pounds sterling. Astraea smiles at the way her reflection lights up. 

"Happily ever after, huh? Or maybe…”  She considers a moment, checking her makeup one last time. “Just for now." 

She smirks, touching her face, then nods.  “Just for now is enough.”

Picking up her old garments, she heads out of the Glade restroom and makes her way to the bar. 

Ian is patiently waiting, tipping an empty glass toward her as she approaches. "Fancy a drink?" 

“Not just yet.”  Astraea leans over the bartop. “Maybe later?”

He leans a little closer, twining the burnt end of Astraea’s hair between his fingers. "...this suits you, you know?"

Astraea runs her hand along the nape of her neck, smiling self consciously. "You think so? I like how it kind of... holds on to things." 

He raises his eyebrows playfully. "You know, a human might get a tattoo for that."

Her eyes sparkle. "What's a tattoo?"

Ian grins. "Maybe we can get one together."

Astraea rocks back on her heels, then settles and glances up at the stage. “Have you seen them yet?”  

He nods towards the scaffolding. "Hatch is still open. Think that's as good as an invitation."

“Just like them, isn’t it.” Astraea laughs. “Ready? Anything else you need to take care of?"

"Just you." Ian crosses from behind the bar and extends a hand to her. "It felt like we ought to go up together."

Astraea takes it, her palm tingling on contact.  "Are you sure I should - "

"Astraea." Ian smiles. Something about it sparks butterflies in her chest.  "We're in this together." 



Lark gazes out over the Market from the roof of the Glade. They wear a black nymph dress, with a matching ribbon around their neck and copper bands circling their antennae. They shift, and the dress flutters, flashing a hint of a deep scar on their back. 

The ladder rattles as Ian climbs up, Astraea just a step behind. 

"Not late, am I?" Lark asks over their shoulder.

Ian chuckles. "Not yet. But people are askin’."

"Sorry." Lark runs a thumb along a worn brick. "I was just...reminiscing, I guess."

“You’ve got a lot of that to do.” He says, moving to stand at their shoulder. "We've come a long way."

Astraea drifts near them, looking out over the Market. "Beautiful, isn't it?" 



Lark pushes up and moves between the two of them, one hand in Ian’s, the other reaching for Astraea’s. They stop, feeling something warm clasped in her palm. 

“What’s this?” 

“A gift from Puck.” She beams. 

Lark holds up the tiny golden crystal, drawing a hiss of breath as the light plays over their face. “Is this…”

“Yes.”

Ian leans a little closer, folding Lark’s fingers over the stone. “We know you’ve been working at it, but… it’s yours, mate.  You should use it.” 

Lark holds the crystal tight against their chest. Warm, it trembles at their touch like a heartbeat. They smile, and, slowly, undo their ribbon, tying a careful knot around the glowing gem and looping it around their neck.

“Don’t you want to use it?” Astraea asks. “We could release it back to you, right here.” 

Lark turns back to the ledge, breathing in time with the crystal’s heartbeat. “I like re-learning on my own. It feels like going somewhere new.” 

“Another adventure?” Ian smiles. Lark grins. 

Their wings flicker. Restless. Ready to taste the air. "You two ready?"

"When you are, mate." Ian says, kicking off against the wall. 

"Then let's not keep them waiting." Lark turns to face them. 

Eyes dark in the torchlight, their smile light and wistful, Lark looks to Astraea and Ian with a small shy smile. "How do I look?"

“You’re -”

“You look - ” 

Astraea and Ian both stop, look at each other. Lark breaks into a laugh. Smothering a soft giggle, Astraea twirls them lightly, and Ian moves closer, placing warm hands on their side, pulling them both close. A fire meant for just the three of them. 

“Like yourself.” 

Read Chrysalis --->
Read Fairy Bride --->
Read Imago --->


And they all lived h̴a̷p̶p̵i̵l̷y̷ ever after, for as long as anyone can.

We’ll take our leave of them there. 

From the bottom of my heart, thank you so, so much for coming with us on this journey. I’ve come to believe that writing is a kind of magic, and it only works if there’s someone to share it with. That means writing partners, that means friends to bounce ideas off of, and that means every single one of you who have been with us since Lloyd Morgan stared up out of that convenience store window, watching moths circle in the night. I’ll hand the pen back to Heart, but it’s meant the world to me to get to bring these characters through the dark and through the light and right to where they’re meant to be. Thank you for making it possible, and thank you for being a part of it. 

Hope to see you on the journeys to come.

-Hark