The Lantern and the Thorn by Yelyzaveta Horbachova

There once were two fairies who lived on

opposite edges of the Evernight Garden—a place where flowers bloomed only under moonlight and the grass shimmered like spun silver. One was named Glint, a spark-hearted fairy born from the light of the last firefly. She glowed with a warm, golden hue, her wings flickering like candle flames. Glint was known across the land for her laughter, which could light up even the darkest corners. She lived in a hanging lantern, suspended on the oldest willow in the grove, and her greatest joy was guiding lost travellers home.

The other was Bramble, a dusk-winged fairy who had grown from a thorn in the rose of a wish unspoken. Her hair was the colour of midnight, her eyes like rain before a storm. Bramble made her home in a hollow briar, where shadows curled around her like friendly cats. She guarded the forgotten paths of the Garden and kept foolish wanderers from stepping where they ought not. While Glint lit the way, Bramble closed the wrong doors.

They were not enemies. But they were not friends either. Glint believed the world needed light, while Bramble knew the world needed boundaries. He appeared on the first night of the Moon’s Silence, when the stars blinked dim and the Overnight Garden held its breath. Small, with eyes wide as ponds and a threadbare scarf around his neck, the boy wandered beneath the white wisteria trees, calling out:

“Hello? Is someone there?”

Glint, of course, came first.

“Oh, sweet ember,” she whispered, circling the boy with a trail of warm sparks. “You must be cold and scared. Come, I’ll show you the way out.”

But the boy didn’t answer. He was staring at something past her glow.

A shadow stirred. Bramble stepped from the tangle of thorns, her voice a low wind. “He’s not here accidentally.”

Glint turned, her light flaring. “He’s lost.”

“No,” Bramble said, narrowing her eyes. “He’s looking.”

The boy, who had been silent, finally spoke. “I’m trying to find my sister. She disappeared last year. Mum said she wandered into a garden... in her dreams.”

Glint gasped. “Oh, child. Many come here searching, but not all return the same.”

Bramble crossed her arms. “Dreamers don’t belong in the Evernight Garden. Not without permission.”

“I just want to see her,” the boy said. His voice cracked like dry leaves.

Glint’s heart glowed warmer. “Then we’ll find her.”

Bramble frowned. “You’ll lose him, just like she was lost.”

But Glint wouldn’t be stopped. She promised the boy light—and light she gave him.

Together, they crossed the glowing river of lilies, passed the harp-tree that weeps with every breeze. Glint’s lantern shimmered brighter each step, lighting places even she had never dared go. The boy walked with hope in his chest and Glint’s light on his cheeks.

But Bramble followed in silence, always in the shadows. Always watching.

Finally, at the edge of the Garden, they found her—a girl wrapped in vines of sleep, lying beneath a moon flower tree. Her hair was tangled with petals, her breath shallow.

“She’s forgotten the world,” Bramble whispered. “She belongs to the dream now.”

“No,” Glint said. “We’ll wake her.”

The boy rushed forward. “It’s me, Lily! Please, wake up!”

But the moment his hands touched her, the vines surged. They wrapped around him and pulled him close. The Garden had tasted his longing—and it wanted to keep them both. Glint’s flame flared hot, but it couldn’t burn the vines. She tried again and again. But her light only made the Garden hungrier.

“Help me!” she cried to Bramble, eyes wide with fear.

And Bramble, quiet and calm, stepped forward. She reached into her briar satchel and pulled out a single thorn. It shimmered, black as ink.

“Dreams are soft things,” she murmured. “But even dreams can bleed.”

With one cut, she pricked the boy’s finger—just enough to draw a drop of blood.

The vines recoiled. The girl stirred. And the Garden sighed. It let them go. The siblings fell into each other’s arms, grasping and sobbing. Glint glowed with joy and Bramble sheathed her thorn. When the children returned to their world, they carried a glow in their hearts and a scratch on their hands—one gift from each fairy. Glint and Bramble stood side by side, watching them vanish beyond the mist.

“I still think we need more light,” Glint said softly.

Bramble tilted her head. “And I still think we need better locks.”

But they smiled. Not quite friends. Not quite opposites.

Just two guardians, learning to balance.