Fairy Stories & Other Tales

Once a young woman went to the market to buy some bread. But the bread seller would not sell to her because he said her eyes shifted like flame, and it would be an ill omen to barter with one so dangerous. Another day, she went to the apothecary for herbs to aid her frazzled mind. Yet, the apothecary refused her gold, for he said he could see her soul through her eyes and it was too fierce. In the same week, the young woman visited the book binder, in hopes of preserving texts long used. The book binder glanced up from his work and shuddered, then waved her away, for he said her eyes were portents too unreasonable for the logic of books.     The young woman hung her head then, and hid her eyes in the days that followed, her body caved and hollowed in fear that others would turn her away for what they saw.     She hung her head so much that her spine grew curved. She took to wearing a cloak to cover her curved spine. And so her days passed, bent and cloaked, and fearful lest someone sho

When the air grew chill, and the sky more fierce, when the rains carried out their patient vengeance, and the wind went wild, that was when she came.     Bidden by the turning of the days, and resting on the wings of the largest owl, the old lady set her sights on the place below and landed with booted feet among the soggy leaves and shifting earth. But the woman on the ground was different from the old lady of the air, for suddenly her hair fell to her feet in waves of gold, her eyes lit with amber flame, and in her hands lay the tools of her trade that spoke of what was to come. For here, there was work to do.      Her tools were simple, Time and Cold her instruments. They sat in her hands, ticking and burring, as she tested the trees and streets, fields and hills - and all the rest on which she could set her eyes. She took to her paces, and slowly cleaned the trees bare. Next came the ground, the dirt flooding down and away. Then came the grasses, each blade cleansed until it shown

 Once upon a time there was a young girl who plucked the petals from a flower that grew by the side of a road. Her mother saw what the little girl had done, and berated her. How dare she take from a growing thing the petals that would make it beautiful! How could she injure a plant so cruelly!     A wise old woman who lived by the side of the road saw, too, what the little girl had done.     Hobbling forward, she whispered in the mother's ear.     When the old woman was done, the mother turned toward her daughter and smiled. She gripped the little girl's hand in her own, petals and all, and kissed it gently. It was then that the girl prized her petals most of all, and tucked them away in a box.     Time passed by, and when the little girl had not long been a woman, she died.     Her mother remembered the words of the wise old woman, who had whispered gently so long ago, 'One flower's petals preserved in death do not a destructive creature make. Her heart is as beautiful

A woman went walking in the wood one day. It was a thing she had not done since she was a child. Weeks of a tiring, soulless existence had turned into years, and somehow she believed in the depths of her that it would all change with a single walk in the wood. But even as she walked amongst the trees, the world seemed the same - tiring and soulless. And then she turned the corner, only to find a little girl tiptoeing along the path.     The little girl started when she saw the woman. Then she brought a finger to her lips.     'Be quiet,' the little girl whispered.     The woman bent her body slightly, hunched her shoulders, and whispered back, 'Why?'     'There are wizards up there,' the girl returned softly, pointing up the fern-strewn hill that lay next to the path.      The woman's face went solemn then. Her feet moved of their own accord, arching and heightened on the tips of her own toes.     The little girl nodded with approval.     Suddenly they under