text: Leah coos at the child in her arms. Earthy brown eyes stare back as Lilith laughs at her mother. When Leah yawns, the child responds in kind. She opens her mouth wide before continuing to giggle at some secret joke. Despite the days growing longer, the evening breeze is still cold. It’s a wonder Lilith hasn’t been sick yet. Leah hums a lullaby. Three months was too early to tell though. Infants were delicate, and she wouldn’t be the first in the village to lose their child by winter. Hearing snores, Leah looks down. She smiles. When she pulls the blanket over Lilith, the infant reaches out and grabs her mother's finger. Hand in hand, the two fall asleep. The moon shines high in the night, but all is quiet. Not even the buzz of cicadas can be heard. Through the window, light spills onto the ground. It shimmers once, then twice. The air condenses into an unfamiliar form. "Hush now," comes the gentle whisper. The stranger steps toward the cot with a blanket wrapped bundle. "If tales of old are true, then this is the only way." The figure pauses and looks down; they can't bear to let go. "I’ll leave you in their care." They place their own child on the bed. Lilith stirs. Seeing the other child, the stranger sighs. They bring their finger to Lilith's forehead, causing the child to frown. A whispered incantation fills the room. After bringing their finger back down to their own child's forehead, the incantation finishes. The children could be twins. "And in exchange, I promise to care for this one." The stranger picks up Lilith. As if knowing what would happen, Lilith rolls over and opens her eyes. She gives a surprised cry when she comes face to face with someone clearly not her mother. Lilith hiccups, then cries harder. "Hush now." The stranger moves toward the window. Leah mumbles something incoherent and reaches out to pat her child. When her hand meets with only sheets, she jolts awake. Sitting up, Leah is greeted with a flash of moonlight. She blinks a couple times before shaking her head. Her eyes must be playing tricks. Lilith is sleeping just as soundly as before. Only, she'd managed to roll to the edge. Leah sighs and carefully picks her child up. As she tucks Lilith in again, the child mumbles and opens their eyes. Under the moonlight, Leah swore she saw a flash of blue. She blinks and Lilith's eyes return to normal. Patting her child to sleep, Leah starts to nod off. Lilith blinks one last time before turning her head to the side and closing her eyes. This time Leah sees it clearly. Blue. Lilith's eyes were partly blue. But Lilith's eyes have always been brown. Surely three months was a little late for her eyes to start changing color? Leah bites her lip. Either way, change would be gradual. No longer tired, she paces in front of her bed. The blue eyes, the shimmering moonlight, the cries. She hadn't imagined any of it. Pausing her steps, Leah recalls a legend passed down from mother to child. Strange beings were said to live in the forest by the village. She turns to Lilith. "Changeling?" \* Night melted to day, and day to weeks. In a blink, winter arrived. Lilith, or the child posing as her, had grown. Leah meant to keep it a secret. Of course, her husband had a right to know. But when she broke the news, he pursed his lips and drew his brows together. That was his way of coping. Leah, however, had a chestful of thoughts. Naturally, she told a couple close friends. Those close friends told close friends and soon enough, the entire town knew. It was to be expected. After all, with a close-knit community like theirs, secrets could hardly be kept. Of course, she hadn't expected the other women to take the news calmly. But this new child was still just that - a child. Bring misfortune her foot. What could a child - human or not - do? The poor thing could hardly stop crying that first month. What were their hearts made of? Leah sighs. Standing in the kitchen, she keeps one eye on the oven and another on Lilith. The child crawls around the blanket, entertaining herself with small clay dolls. Unlike other children Leah knew, Lilith liked to hit the dolls against each other, laughing when they clacked and broke. Leah thinks of the last few months. Lilith indeed grew well. Her straw like hair became healthy brown locks that gathered at her cheeks. Her complexion too, was much better than before. She practically glowed. It almost makes Leah smile. Lilith walks over. Though she held the wall for support, this was still far earlier than other children in the village. Strange, the other women said. “Dinner.” The child’s clear pronunciation never ceased to amaze Leah. Unnatural - even Leah would admit. Seeing the bread, Lilith turns her pleading eyes to Leah. The woman blinks. Lilith had just eaten. Leah starts to speak, but her husband's arrival interrupts her. Frowning, he glances at Lilith. Leah's heart twists. He says nothing, but Leah hears it all. Winter came harshly this year, following an equally dry summer. Their food would barely be enough to see the new year, yet Lilith happily ate away. "Rats got into the grain." Leah's eyes snap up. Humans weren't the only ones going hungry. Her eyes drift towards Lilith. "Bad luck. It's been a bad year." He shrugs and drops the topic. But his eyes constantly flicker between his wife and Lilith. Leah shakes her head. "It's only bad luck." After dinner, her husband hands her a letter. She looks at the envelope. It’s her sister-in-law’s handwriting. Leah frowns. They only lived a couple towns away. And they visited no more than a week ago. She bites her lip. The letter is only a few sentences long. Leah looks up. Her husband stares back. His impassive expression makes her wonder if he'd known. Or perhaps he wrote this - him and the other villagers that wanted Lilith gone. She shakes her head; they would never. Unwittingly, she looks down at Lilith. The girl looks back, laughing. She’s managed to make different tones from the broken pieces of doll. Seeing the butchered doll that blissfully ignorant smile, Leah feels an inexplicable anger. But it isn't the child’s fault. It's simply bad luck. Everyone knew that after famine came disease. Everyone knew. It’s a coincidence, Leah tells herself. "Let's rest." Strangely enough, her husband is the voice of reason. Leah nods dumbly. Tonight though, she finds the toddler’s pre-bed antics infuriating rather than precocious. \* "Why don't you go back to your mother now? You're healthier now." The child briefly looks up before turning back to her broken dolls. Squatting next to her, Leah feels somewhat ridiculous. Here she was, addressing an infant as if they could understand. But maybe she did understand. After all, the villagers said that Fae were "wise beyond their years." She sighs. "Leah?" A knock comes. Leah walks over and invites Hazel in. "I'm sorry about your brother." Leah simply forces a smile and pulls up a chair for her. But Hazel shakes her head. "No, I only dropped by to see how you were doing." She eyes the infant warily. "My husband's waiting." Hazel turns to leave, but trips before making it to the door. Leah rushes to help her up. "No worries, I'm just clumsy." She all but runs out the door. The child looks up and laughs, as if she finds others' misfortune funny. It’s now or never, Leah tells herself. Rumor had it that sickly Fae children needed human milk. Now that this child was healthy, wasn’t it time for her to return? Besides, what of Lilith? If this one could bring so much misfortune to their small town, how would her own child fare, living amongst the Fae? It would be better for everyone if the children were swapped back. She glances at the child and silently hopes the townsfolk knew what they were talking about. Without a word, Leah turns to heat the water. The leaves Morana gave her are still fresh. Thank goodness. Wondering where Morana even found the plant, Leah drops the foxglove into the water. It’s just a bath, she reasoned. As long as the child didn't drink any, there’s no harm done. Though, Leah wonders if the child would be harmed either way. They were creatures of the forest after all. Leah briefly dipped her hand into the water. Warm. She took it off the fire and brought it over to the child. Curious, the child crawled over and looked into the tub. "It's a bath." She answers the question in the child’s eyes. "Don't worry." Leah didn't know if she was comforting herself or the child. Taking a deep breath, Leah tries to still her trembling hands. The child giggled at first. She found the leaves in the tub amusing, splashing the water and watching the leaves drift. But soon enough, the child was crying. She tries to push the leaves away, shrinking towards the side of the tub where Leah was. She grabbed at Leah's arm. The child looks up, only to find pale determination written across the older woman’s face. Desperate, she tries to climb over herself. When she fails, her wails grow louder. "Shh." Leah frowns. "You have to stay. This way you mother will come find you." But would a mother who left their child with strangers even come back? The child is inconsolable. Splashing, crying, and standing up - she tries everything to leave the water. "Stop it!" Leah's voice comes out sharper than she intends. She blinks rapidly. Outside, the wind picks up. Scattering clouds partly reveal the sun. Peculiarly, light seems to concentrate on the dirt floor. It shimmers once, then explodes in a cloud of glittering dust. Both Leah and the child stare in awe. Standing before them is a tall, elegant figure. Set in golden brown skin, the stormy grey eyes seem to stare through Leah. It was as if the earth had taken human form. "So be it, human." The Fae doesn’t arrive empty-handed. A toddler sits in their arms, looking with wonder at this strange earthy home. Lilith. Leah stands up with a shout of joy, completely forgetting the child in the tub. The Fae shakes their head. Setting Lilith down, they move to take their own child. And then they were gone. The clouds drift back, shading the townspeople again. But Leah notices none of this. She fusses over Lilith. Was her child treated well? Did she ever go hungry? Was she ever cold? Leah hugs the girl tightly. Her child was home at last. \* The townspeople didn’t accept this news as readily as the earlier rumor. Lilith still had her strange gait. She also took to watching the wandering minstrels from the window, sometimes even clapping along. The people couldn't help but wonder if Leah lied. Originally, wasn’t she the one that wanted to keep the child? However, after seeing Lilith themselves, they had to admit she was different. Her hair was now a deep brown and her eyes were larger and softer. They held none of the previous child’s cunning. Most importantly, this Lilith hadn't spoken a word since Leah said she'd returned. With the melting of the snow, the whispers gradually died down and the matter was all but forgotten. But Leah couldn’t forget. It sat in her heart, stifling each breath. She watches Lilith playing with the broken dolls. Much like the other child, Lilith liked to hit the piece of clay against each other, smiling when she made different tones. As if feeling her mother's eyes on her, Lilith stands up and plods into the kitchen. Though Lilith didn't speak, Leah still felt the child strange. Every action carried purpose. Lilith never wandered curiously, never took interest in new toys, never startled at strangers. Arriving at Leah's side, Lilith tugs on her mother's apron. "Dinner?" Leah takes a step back. "What did you say?" Her eyes widen, before dropping into a frown. Impossible. The word echoes in her mind throughout the evening. Lilith's sharp voice and clear enunciation terrify Leah. Under the harsh moonlight, Leah unsteadily pats the girl to sleep. When Leah moves to lie down, Lilith sleepily blinks and mumbles. Blue. Leah swears she sees a flash of blue. She sits up. It can’t be. With a heart full of doubt and eyes full of hate, Leah stares at the child. "Changeling.