Parenting In The Realm Of Fae (Episode 003: The Beastly Bedtime

Evening in the fae woods looked like spilled ink laced with glitter. The sky deepened into a rich violet, fireflies took up their posts like lantern-bearers, and the gentle brook began humming a lullaby softer than silk. It should have been peaceful.

But nothing about bedtime with a toddler is peaceful.

Especially when something with glowing eyes was lurking in the shadows.

The Beast Appears

The rustling returned, louder now, and my arms instinctively curled around my daughter. She peered into the dark, more curious than afraid. “Kitty?” she whispered hopefully.

Not a kitty.

A massive creature emerged from the underbrush, its head brushing the lower branches. Its body looked like a cross between a bear and a dragon: furry shoulders, leathery wings tucked tight against its back, and scales that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Its eyes glowed warm amber, and when it opened its mouth… it yawned.

The yawn was loud enough to ruffle my hair.

I froze. My daughter clapped her hands and giggled. “Big puppy!”

The beast blinked, tilted its head, and—much to my disbelief—sat down on its haunches like an obedient dog. Its tail swished, scattering leaves like confetti.

Maribelle, the elder fairy, drifted down from a nearby branch with her usual calm. “Ah,” she said, “a Bedtime Beast.”

I sputtered. “A what now?”

“A guardian of little ones’ dreams. They wander in when children are restless.” She smiled knowingly at my daughter, who was now toddling toward the beast with no fear whatsoever.

I wasn’t sure whether to faint or build a very sturdy fence.

Storytime, Beast-Style

Bedtime routine here was already tricky: bath (if you counted a quick splash in the brook), pajamas (wrinkled but clean-ish), and a bedtime story. Tonight, apparently, our new companion wanted in on the tradition.

The beast lumbered closer and flopped onto the moss, stretching like an oversized cat. My daughter scrambled onto its back with the ease of someone who had no concept of danger. She patted its fur and declared, “Story!”

The beast rumbled approvingly, a sound halfway between a purr and a thunderstorm.

Maribelle, utterly unbothered, conjured a floating book from thin air and handed it to me. Its cover sparkled with stars that shifted when I blinked. “Perhaps something gentle,” she suggested.

Gentle was relative. The moment I opened the book, the words lifted off the page and became pictures in the air. The story unfolded above us like a play: a brave squirrel knight battling a ferocious walnut dragon.

My daughter squealed, pointing and clapping. The beast leaned forward, utterly rapt, eyes wide as though this was the best entertainment it had ever seen.

I read aloud, each word painting the scene brighter. When the knight triumphed, fireworks of acorn sparks burst overhead. The beast roared in delight, shaking the ground. My daughter roared back, tiny but fierce.

So much for a “quiet” bedtime.

Snuggles and Complications

When the story ended, the book dissolved into glitter and vanished. My daughter yawned and snuggled into the beast’s fur, hugging her bunny. I had to admit—it looked cozy. The beast’s warmth radiated like a fireplace, its fur soft as moss.

But then it started humming.

Low and rumbling, like distant thunder, yet oddly soothing. My daughter’s eyelids drooped, lulled by the vibrations.

“See?” Maribelle whispered, eyes twinkling. “Bedtime Beast.”

I softened. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe tonight would be peaceful after all—

That was when the pixies showed up.

The Pixie Pajama Party

“Bedtime beast?! Why weren’t we invited?” Tiddle cried, zipping into view with his crooked acorn crown askew.

“We brought pajamas!” Sprank announced proudly, holding up a shimmering pile of fabric that looked suspiciously like flower petals stitched together with spider silk.

Nib stumbled in with a tray balanced on his head. “And snacks! Sleepy-time cookies!”

The beast sniffed, intrigued.

I raised a hand in warning. “Don’t you dare feed—”

Too late. The beast delicately plucked a cookie from the tray with its long tongue. Instantly, its wings flared, glowing like lanterns. The humming grew louder, vibrating the ground. My daughter giggled, now wide awake again.

“Cookies make him glow!” she cried, delighted.

“Of course!” Sprank preened. “They’re enchanted with Radiance Dust! Helps illuminate bedtime!”

Illuminating bedtime turned out to mean blinding everyone within ten yards.

Calming the Chaos

The clearing became a disco of glowing beast wings, bouncing pixies, and one very overexcited toddler riding her new “big puppy” like a champion knight. She whooped and waved her bunny in triumph, while I chased them in frantic circles, begging the beast not to take off flying.

Maribelle, finally intervening, clapped her hands. A silver mist drifted down, soft as moonlight. The beast’s glow dimmed, its rumbling slowed, and my daughter’s triumphant whoops softened into yawns.

With gentle nudging, we coaxed her down from the beast’s back. She curled onto her mossy blanket, clutching her bunny and mumbling, “Big puppy story… again tomorrow.”

The beast, content, curled protectively around her like a living guardrail, its wings folded neatly. Its glowing eyes dimmed to embers as it hummed her to sleep.

I sat beside them, finally breathing again. Bedtime had been chaotic, yes—but there was something magical about watching my daughter dream, safe under the watch of a creature both wild and gentle.

Mother’s Reflection

I used to think bedtime meant control: bath, pajamas, story, sleep. Neat. Predictable. But tonight showed me something different. Bedtime, here, wasn’t about order—it was about comfort. About feeling safe, loved, and maybe even a little enchanted.

And if that comfort came in the form of a giant glowing beast that hummed lullabies… well, maybe I could live with that.

Besides, my daughter’s peaceful smile was worth every frazzled nerve and every cookie-induced light show.

The Hint of Tomorrow

Just as I began to relax, a rustle from the brook caught my ear.

The water shimmered oddly, bubbling as though something beneath the surface was stirring. The moonlight caught flashes of silver scales.

Then, with a sudden splash, a small fish leapt out, landed on the moss… and transformed into a squirming carrot.

The beast cracked one eye open. I groaned.

Tomorrow, it seemed, would bring an even greater challenge. Breakfast.

Heaven help me.