Short Little Stories

It was a warm summer’s night, and the two faeries flew through the air beneath the alabaster moon and the brilliant starry sky. The grass blew with the breeze of their passing, and whispers and buzzing trailed among all the night’s animals and insects that watched them go.

They flew in through the window, left open to allow a cool breeze to soothe the sleeping child. They perched upon the crib – two figures clad in stardust, with opalescent eyes and shimmering lavender hair that floated around them of its own volition.

The first wore a crown of rosepetals, and had strands of ivy entwining her body, and she reached out and stroked the infant’s silky hair. The child quietly opened his eyes and stared in wonder.

As those eyes gazed upon the fae, they were transformed, and drifted from a dusky grey to a brilliant, blazing purple. The faerie lady smiled, and leaned back.

Her kinsman hopped down into the crib. He carried the scent of sweet apples, and had a thorn strapped to his side by a band of gold. He drew the thorn like a sword, and touched it to the child’s chest – and as he passed it over the skin, darkness spread, until a swirling crescent birthmark adorned the boy.

The child replied, softly, “goog.”

With a grin, the faerie saluted the child with the thorn, then his wings hummed as he soared back up to hover above the crib. As his companion joined him, the child giggled softly at them both, before drifting deeply into slumber once again.

Out the window they went, the sounds of the night clamoring around them for attention.

“Look at me,” howled the wolf. “Come dance with us!” sang the moths. “Come play! Come play!” arose the chorus from the land.

But the faerie lad and lass laughed them all away, and soared back to their home, speaking only to each other in their faerie tongue, a language of chimes and bells and hidden, cheerful sounds.

“Another one,” sang the lady, sadness and satisfaction in her words.

“They’ll think we replaced him, as they always do,” and the faerie shook his head at the foolishness of man.

“Still the same, still the same, but for how they see him.”

“There is greatness in difference, and a beauty in a change, if only they could see it.”

Laughing, the faerie took each other in their arms and whirled upon the wind, dancing and singing of their little ways and little mischiefs, and of all the things they do.