Fairy Stories & Other Tales

The boy looks out the window. That's always the trouble, looking out the window. Looking out, and seeing what else is out there. And let me tell you, once you see what else is out there, it's nearly impossible to stay inside. And that's just on a day where you see birds. This little boy, he sees a dragon. How many seconds do you think he stays inside?       If you guessed two and a half seconds, you would have guessed half a second too long. The perk of having a window that opens onto a roof is that the time it takes to fling it open and jump through it is never longer than two seconds.      Which is to say, in less than no time the boy is on the roof, looking at the spot where the dragon has been moments before.       The dragon is still there, hovering.      It says nothing.      But just as the boy is about to continue staring open-mouthed while, coincidentally, also saying nothing, the dragon winks....

 The Pied Piper calls the girls and boys. Boys and girls it calls them. But when they grow up, if they get the chance, it's rare that a man heeds the piper's call.      Still, it can happen.      But, for that, a man must listen. A rare thing indeed. Not to say anything against men. Only to say that there's less for them if they take the time to sit quietly. Only their soul. And that isn't valued as much, says the index.       But the Fae, though, they will pay a premium for a soul. They will buy it for a lifetime of riches, for a wealth of perfection, for a time's gain. In the end, though, they'll have the soul  —  and there's a guarantee out from the beset bounties that you'll want it back. And pay anything to get it.      Women don't sell their souls much. Men don't either  — mostly because they don't know of anyone who will pay a price. But the ones that know of it, their souls are long gone. And it...

 Once, there was a woman who did not cry. The world was harsh and cruel, and her life was as expected in such a place. What good would tears do her? But then came a kindness. Overwhelmed, the woman cried. The tears did her good. What good, she didn't know. But they were there, and she cried them. And that was how it was.

 Once upon a time, an elf took what was rightly his. He knew this, because he had suffered; an elf is not used to suffering, especially not at the hands of mortals. Though immortal memory fades in and out of a day and a year, there are those who remember deep sorrow because it is so rare. Too, there are those immortals who remember vengeance.      In revenge for his sadness, the elf took the mortal's peace. He took their power. He took their wonder and their joy. When the mortals could take the weight of powerlessness and war and always knowing without content no longer, they traded him people to appease his wrath, which he took with wicked grins. Mortals are wont to sell out their own. He put these traded mortals who impossible tasks, relishing their twisted, everlasting frustrations, though his need for vengeance never abated.      The mortals could no longer look at their faces in mirrors. Or in glass. Or in ponds, streams, lakes. Yet, they got on w...