I have no idea how this will be taken. I fear I might be sticking my neck out, but I'm posting it anyway. This is not a spur of the moment ending. I've been planning this since the beginning. Well, enough stalling.

Chapter 6

Spot half-carried Tillie back to the Lodging House. He didn't want to let her out of his reach, just in case.

"Well, it's about bloody time," Old Man Murphy drawled as Spot, Tillie, Skipper, and Knicknack all crowded through the door. "The way you two was swoonin' after each other, it was enough to make ya bloody sick." He took another pull on his jug and nodded upstairs. "Whistler's up in the bunkroom. Said he wanted t'talk ta the lady."

Tillie looked to Spot for permission. He nodded grimly, then followed her up the stairs. Skipper and Knicknack meanwhile made themselves scarce.

Whistler sat on his bed, facing out the window. He turned when he heard their footsteps. "Just Tillie for now, Spot," he said quietly. "I'll talk to you later."

"Why you son-of-a—" Spot checked himself, not wanting to curse in front of Tillie. "You actually think I'll fall for that?"

Tillie put her hand on his shoulder. "Spot, it's okay. He just wants to talk."

Spot's face went through a progression of colours, from tan, to scarlet, to pasty white, then to tan again. "Fine," he said finally. "But I'll be right outside." He left, shutting the door behind him, and went to sit on the stairs.

Whistler motioned for Tillie to come closer.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "But I had to choose Spot. It's nothing against you, but Spot—well, he saved me." Her lower lip began to quiver. Whistler stood and held her as she cried into his shirt the way she hadn't done in weeks.

"It's okay, Tillie," he said once she'd calmed down. "I hoped you'd choose Spot."

"Why?"

Whistler sighed and sat on the nearest bed, his expression thoughtful. "I'm going to tell you a story.

"This story happened a very long time ago, in a part of Scotland called Argyll. There was a mortal girl and a fairy boy who fell in love. Innocent as they were, they thought they could be together. The mortal girl died saving the fairy boy's life, and told him that he wasn't to follow her in death. He had to live, and maybe learn to love again. But he couldn't. His heart had been broken, and he was no longer capable of love, if he ever had been in the first place. He travelled all over the world—"

Tillie touched the tear that was beginning its slow descent down Whistler's cheek. She knew.

"You were that fairy boy, weren't you?" she whispered. He nodded. "I'm sorry," she said.

"No, I'm sorry," Whistler interrupted. "I tricked you into thinking I was human, didn't I?"

"Does Spot know?"

"No, at least I don't think he does. Promise you won't tell him? I think it'd be more than he can handle."

Tillie laughed. "Most likely.

"I won't tell."

Whistler stood up and stretched, cracking his back. "Well, that was interesting," he said. "You should go out and make sure Spot knows you're okay. He'll be freaking out about now."

Tillie nodded, and turned to go.

"Before I leave," she said. "What was her name?"

"Maggie. Margaret Elanor Campbell."

"And your name?"

"Garen Ruy."

"Maggie and Garen," she said. "It sounds like something out of a story."

Whistler burst out laughing, falling backwards onto the bed. "Of course it does! It is out of a story!"

"Then it's not true?"

"I didn't say that, now did I?"

"But—"

"In time, you will learn," Whistler said. "That just because something is a story doesn't mean it isn't true."