Fairy Stories & Other Tales

Patterns of silvery star-like things were known to weave in front of Sara’s eyes.   She knew, very well, the truth of what she saw.   But it was not that she saw them, but rather when .   For it was when she saw the patterned stars that for the briefest moment, she knew something of truth.             The first time they came was when Sara happened upon a wounded swallow in aching, gasping, agony.   Sara did not know the cause of the bird’s pain, but as she bent over and saw the bird slip away into death, there were the silver patterns, winding small about the feathered creature and Sara thought, as their glow faded, that perhaps they carried with it the bird’s soul.             Another time, under a full summer’s moon, she and a lover took an evening stroll.   What had begun as a walk, quickly become a dance, joyous and exuberant and filled with child-glee.   Then, too, the patterned silver had come, and wrapped around the pair in shiny glistening abundance, and filled her h

Once upon a time a small withered apple fell to the ground with a thud.             It was picked up by a grubby little hand and carried lovingly to the bedside of an old woman.   She blessed the fruit, then took a bite.   Smiling, she handed the rest of it to the child and said, ‘Plant this outside our door and see what it will bring.’             And so the child, a small boy, did as the old woman bid.   Autumn passed into Winter, then into a Spring that was bittersweet, for one day the old woman died, and the boy found that he was all alone.   Except that outside the door was an apple tree covered in blossoms.   Seeking solace, the boy spent the night under the cover of its floral branches.   At midnight, a spirit from the tree appeared and taking pity on the child beneath its boughs gave him these blessings three: that he would always be kind, that he would always be grateful, and that he would always forgive.             With these gifts the child grew into youth, then int

It had been a strange journey, Orrin thought as he approached the path into the mountains that ascended steeply.   Strange and cold.             He had followed the signs as he had been bidden.   Crossed the oak tree with a branch of yew.   Blinked twice at the Pool of the Fallen Faeries.   Chanted the Poem of the Wandering Lost in the Cave of Being.             And so far none of it had restored what he had lost.             The thing was, he needed help, and he needed it desperately.   He had come to realize a folly he had made in his youth and was desperate to right it.   He would take all the help he could get, and do all the tasks set before him.   He would dance naked around a thousand faerie rings, if that was what it took to get his soul back.             For Orrin had sold his soul.   It had happened long ago, when life appeared less sweet.   When the world seemed as though it had nothing to offer.   And when ego said it did not matter if one possessed the essence