Fairy Stories & Other Tales

 The forest felt shiny, which was odd considering its age. It was the anticipation that came from a feeling in the wind that spoke of bold twists and gnarled turns. This, too, was unusual.     Especially because all that was coming for it was change.     But, as it happened, the forest relished something different. It had weathered differences like a nail weathers a sledgehammer - allowing hit after hit until suddenly it felt secure.      Now, it is very possible that security can breed discontentment, disillusion, even fear. Worse still, boredom. But this was not the forest's security. The forest dug into stasis, knowing that the wind always brought about something new. And with deep roots and reaching branches lay a balance. Shine. Oldness.      The forest let the wind whisper, let the change twist it's limbs, and the storms gnarl it's branches over and over again. Until it was perfect.     And then, of course, it disappeared. Nothing perfect stays for more than a moment

 Once upon a time there was a little girl who had the whole world at her fingertips. All was bright and merry, brimming with... everything. But as time went on and she and the world grew older, the world began to slip away.     After awhile it seemed that there was no world left for her to reach.     All grew dim. At last, all turned to empty darkness.     She gathered all her courage then, and every last ounce of strength. In the darkness, she made a new world.     And suddenly she was flame.

  There were once two small old ladies who sat down to tea. On the table were fruit scones, clotted cream, and raspberry jam, all made from the labors of their own four hands. It was the tea that had made the longest journey. Indeed, its journey was much longer than the cream that came from the cow that pastured near the old women’s cottage, the raspberries and honey that came from the bees they kept and the bushes they harvested, and the wheat they threshed and ground, the eggs they gathered, and the currents they plucked and dried.             In fact, the tea had come from nowhere near their cottage. It came from far off lands, where the air grew moist and hot, where each leaf was plucked by fingers far different than those the two women possessed. It came by means of caravan routes filled with goods and on the backs of people carrying heavy burdens, and then it traveled on the decks of well-worn ships across many seas. It made its way through ports and customs, had its quality ve

There came a dream one night.   Great bursts of gleaming light shot in every direction like a thousand rays of sun. A moment more, and it was gone. Then came the dark—where I stayed. It took me time to get used to the dim. An eon. By then, I had no memory of light. And so, when I came upon it, I could not make heads or tales of the ball of gold that hid in the corner of the dream. I had to reach for it, take it in my hands. Yet as I did so, it slipped and dripped through my fingers. On and on it went—this trying to hold it fast. But it would only move gently between the cracks and out the sides until all that was left was the dark, unsubtle as between twilight and the dawn. And I was cold. Not knowing how else to hold the light, I dripped it into my mouth. It tasted of honey. Warmth flooded me. I doubled over, clutching at my belly in horror. The ache would be the end of me. All at once I cascaded to the ground, held my body curled tight, as the pain sawe

 There's always an old witch when the Fae fight. Because there must be.     She knows things.     Like how to make a poultice. How to keep a wound clean.     And the time of your death.     The later being something only a certain kind of immortal wants to know.      She doesn't take sides, this Fae witch. If you ask her why, she would say because she has lived too long. But no one has ever asked. They hate her just enough to keep from asking questions. But little enough to keep using her skill.     She works about her visitors like chaos moving through entropy - confusing, but pointedly there. She doesn't ask questions either. There's no point in an eternal war among immortals.     But she doesn't always have visitors.     And when she doesn't, peace settles on her shoulders like a hero's mantel.     Which could never happen if she chose sides.