Mortal and Promise in fairyland
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"Why not?"

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"I don't want to be your vassal."

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"What's a 'vassal'?"

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He looks at her like she's an alien—well, like she's an alien who has never heard of vassals. "You don't know?" Pause. "What's your name?"

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"I don't want to be a vassal!" she giggles.

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"So you do know what it is!" he says, looking irritated.

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"No, but I think it must be something bad."

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He looks—completely bewildered.

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She giggles.

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"Are all mortals this confusing?"

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"I'm not confusing!" she insists. "I just don't know all things. But I can't know all things if people won't tell me. It's why I ask questions."

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"So... you really don't know what a vassal is? Don't mortals get each other's names?"

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"Of course. How else would they call each other?"

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"...with nicknames. Every fairy picks one. I'm Briar."

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"Oh. I don't have a nickname. My name's really short."

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"Well, I can't pick one for you."

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"Why not?"

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"...because it's yours? So you pick it."

He folds his arms. He's becoming very frustrated with this mortal.
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"I'm no good at nicknames, though."

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"Well I'm not picking a nickname for you."

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"Okay, then I won't have one."

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"You can't not have one!"

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"Can too!"

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He sighs. "Mortals are very strange."

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"No. I am strange. I'm weeeeird!"

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