Nill glances up at Storm, then shifts her hand to point squarely at the faerie.

“Unchosen,” she says. “Elements did not do the choosing of him. He is having all. So he is being Unchosen. Unbound.”

She gives a single, decisive nod.

“Chaos faerie.”

Her hand shifts, turning inward as she points to herself.

“Pixie.”

Then, with the same quiet certainty, she lowers her gaze and points to her hand.

“Pixies are being butter.”

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