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Once the Pooka has been kicked out and Auntie Astrid has explained how she escaped Fairy Country and David has eaten more than his share of potato pancakes—in short, once everything has been put to rights—Hilda remembers she hasn’t told Frida and David the most important part yet. 

She sees Frida open her mouth to speak, probably to ask a question about Astrid’s escape, and Hilda hurries to cut her off. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” she says, waving her hands for attention. Everyone turns to look at her obligingly. “Before any other questions or explanations, it’s my turn. Frida, David, you know how when we met you asked me if my hair was dyed and I said no?” 

“Yeah, I remember,” Frida says, not sure where Hilda is going. “I was there.” 

“Wait,” David says, squinting at her with crumbs on his face. “Are you saying your hair is dyed?” 

“No!” Hilda says, laughing. “I’m saying I’m a fairy!” 

“ Part fairy,” Astrid and Johanna interject at the same time. 

“Part fairy?” Frida echoes, baffled. “And that’s why your hair is blue?” 

Hilda glows with a type of pride Frida has never seen from her before. “Like Auntie Astrid’s and Grandpa Phinium’s!” she explains. “And when I held Mum’s hand in the fairy mound, we could fly!” 

“You flew? ” says David. “That sounds a bit scary, actually.” 

“I did fall when I let go of Mum’s hand,” Hilda admits. “But then she caught me and Grandma Lydia and Grandpa Phinium helped us fly the rest of the way to the deerfox pack, and it was amazing!” 

“Okay, I think you need to tell the rest of this story from the beginning because I have a lot of questions.” Hilda looks at her father, who she had almost forgotten about in her excitement to tell Frida and David about her discovery. He’s still hovering by the kitchen sink with a pot of tea like he isn’t sure he’s invited to sit at the table. Considering it’s Auntie Astrid’s table, Hilda supposes she doesn’t blame him. 

“I agree,” Frida says. “I communicated with Twig, sort of, to help him find you, but I don’t know what happened before or after that.” 

“You are throwing around a lot of names I don’t know,” David agrees. “Could you maybe explain who some of these people are?” 

“Gladly!” says Hilda, but then she stops, sheepishly, catching sight of her mother and great-aunt. “Only, I can’t tell the whole story myself. Only some of it is mine. Auntie Astrid and my mum would be better suited to tell the part about my grandparents. I only got to meet them today and now probably not ever again.” 

Hilda’s heart sinks, but she pushes past the feeling. She doesn’t like to dwell on sad things, and besides, Lydia and Phinium are probably watching through the lighthouse right now. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to talk to anyone about my brother,” Astrid says with a bittersweet smile, “mostly through my own fault. But I would be happy to start again now.” 

“Mum?” Hilda looks at her with big hopeful eyes. 

“Yes, of course,” Johanna says, smiling in response to Hilda’s unspoken question. “I’ll share what I can.” 

It’s a long story, much longer and going back much further than Frida or David or even Anders expected. Some of the characters are familiar while others they have never heard of until today, but with them all there, slowly things start to make sense. So that is why Johanna was mostly raised by Astrid. So that is why Hilda’s hair is blue and why Anders disappeared from beneath the troll’s nose and why Johanna collapsed once she got back from Fairy Country. Even questions nobody realized they had get answered, like why no one had seen the tips of Astrid’s ears before today. 

“I guess fairy ears must not be a dominant trait since nobody else has them,” says Frida conversationally. “Er, yours are very nice, though.” 

Astrid laughs and returns her hair to its usual style. 

“I think so too,” Hilda agrees. “I wish my ears were pointy.” 

Johanna leans over and pokes Hilda’s ear, making her squirm. “Your ears are perfect the way they are, just like the rest of you.” 

It’s probably the result of the long and deeply emotional day she’s been having, but Hilda finds herself surprisingly touched. “Aw, thanks, Mum. And thanks for the blue hair even though you didn’t get it.” 

Johanna tousles Hilda’s hair fondly. “I think it suits you better anyway.”