Fairy Dust

There’s two kinds of fairy dust.

The first – the nice, fluffy kind – gets sprinkled by Tinkerbell onto the heads of happy children who, at their first gloriously happy thoughts, rise up off the ground and fly merrily away to a land where all may be children forever, without grief or burdens, gleefully… well… gleeful.

The second kind of fairy dust, the kind that you’ll find being talked about in earnest voices by local urban magicians, is a relatively new addition to the city, and not an altogether welcome one.  Controlled by the imposing figure of the fairy godmother, a criminal mastermind who no one in their right mind would ever cross, and distributed through a network of dusthouses hidden away across the boroughs, fairy dust is the new narcotic for the rich, the bored and above all else, the magical.

But, as any sensible magician will tell you, euphoria combined with a heightened inclination for magic is never a good combo, and even if the innate dangers of this situation can be overcome, there’s still a great big unanswered couple of questions hanging over the whole supply and demand of fairy dust.  Where does it come from?  And where do the men and women who use too much of it, go?