(no subject)

The fox had run to the sea.

It doesn’t regret what it had done, not at all. It lived on a ship with a crew of mismatched sailors, a family that had been cobbled together in ports and piers. They had grown three times the size they had been when they started and there are no regrets. Some of them leave, get off when they reach land but none of them look back at their time with the crew badly.

And now it’s the fox’s turn. It’s his time to leave the sea and remember what it’s like to have land under his feet, to feel the turn of the earth and not the crashing of the sea. It’s his turn to wander forests and hear the crunching of leaves.

But a part of his heart will always belong to the sea, just as a part of his heart will always belong to the forest. He will close his eyes and dream of sunsets over the ocean, of the smell of salt in his fur, of steering the ship through good days and bad.

The good thing though, the best thing, is that no one is chaining him to the forest, just as no one is chaining him to the sea. He’ll be back on the deck of his ship one day, just not right now.

(no subject)

Dreaming, dreaming of the sea, of world that could never be. Of walls and wonder, of the wind in your hair. Of the sun, of singing, of sights you thought you could never see.

Dreaming dreaming of the land, of lakes and lives you never knew you had. Of the sky of the days when you used to fly. Of the world when it was younger, stronger, something more than what it is now.

Dreaming dreaming of the air, of sky and sun and the wind in your hair. Of clouds and cardinals and cascades of stars. Of lights and love and the labor of wings.

So dream sweetling, dream. Of the world as it once was, of you as you once were. Dream on because the dreaming never stops, never falters, never fades. The dreaming is yours and you are everything.

(no subject)

When she was in a cage, she dreamed of freedom. It consumed her, devoured her whole and she couldn’t think of anything else. She sang when they told her to sang but her songs were always about freedom, about flying and the air beneath her wings. She couldn’t think of anything else.

And then the door was left open.

She stared at her, her eyes wide and unsure. She kept waiting for someone to come and shu7t it, to lock her away again because surely they would. She was a fine prize and no one would be foolish enough to let her go.

But no one came and she inched closer and closer to the door.

Her head poked out first and she breathed in the first moments of freedom. THe air didn’t seem any different, no cleaner or fresher than when she was in her cage. It didn’t matter though. n She kept going. Carefully, she exited the cage, always being quiet, always being careful to be able to dart back in if someone came.

And then she was out. She was free. The world was open to her in a way it had never been before.

And then it hit her all at once, a rush of sheer panic. She had the world. The entire world and she could go anywhere, do anything. She was free, there were no borders, no rules, no bounders. For a creature that grew up in cages, who had never known anything else, this was utterly terrifying.

But she knew she had to keep going, had to push past the fear because, in the end, freedom should win out over fear, it should win out over panic and anxiety and everything else that tries to crash into her and force her back into her cage.

Freedom and the ability to spread her wings and fly.

(no subject)

We are works of art, painting come alive, the stories brought forth from the tellers lips. We are someone’s world, they are the ghosts of dead lovers. We are myths and they are fairy tales. We are thousands of years of knowledge culminated into a moment.

They are you and they are me.

We are the sum of all knowledge, we are the stories passed down from generation to generation. We are art and beauty and terror and the every day going-ons of the world.

We are everything.

Do not listen when they tell you that you are worthless. Do not believe them when they say you are nothing. You are a masterpiece, you are a thousand years of stories, in this moment you are the world, you are everything, you are life as you know it.

So be proud, be proud, be stunned at who you are. Be awe-struck and moved by the beauty inside you, by the art and the wonder and the stories in y9our soul. Be proud, dear one, be proud.

(no subject)

There’s a ghost girl in the grass.

Everyone knows about her, has seen her in their passing. They sometimes try and talk to her but no one knows if she can actually speak. her words might have died with her body, no o9ne can be sure.

They wonder if she used to be a forest girl, if she’d been a tree or a dear of a fox or something else they never knew of. Her forest is gone, torn down in the name of progress and what’s left is this patch, this field where the trees used to be.

When some people speak to her, they apologize.

The forest girls are dwindling in number these days, everyone knows that. There are places to protect them, people are fighting for them but it’s hard. The world people yearn for progress and somehow, in that, the forest girls are lost. The sea girls, the field girls, the lake sky and tree girls.

The boys too, all those ghost boys on the highway and haunting houses that don’t belong to them. They’re lost, looking for a place to call home again.

These days ghosts are more and more common, becoming a part of the landscape like trees or grass. Everyone knows of a ghost, has seen or talked to one and so the girl in the field is nothing new, she’s barely remarked upon.

But sometimes, every now and then, someone wonders about them, apologizes maybe, or just says hello because the ghosts deserve at least that.

(no subject)

We see you there, reaching for the sky, for the stars, for the sun and the clouds and the worlds you’ve never been to.

We know what you’re doing when you tilt your head towards the sky, when you close your eyes and breath in deeply. We know, it’s no secret to us.

But we won’t tell the world if you’re not ready. We won’t rush you into spreading your wings, into staring to run, into diving head first into the worlds that await you.

This is something you need to do by yourself, something that you need to be brave enough to start on your own.

But know this, dreamer, know that you’re not alone. Know that that it’s not just you who’s facing the sun, who’s reaching for the sky. There are more of you, more of us. We are in the cities and in the forests and in country too. You are not as uncommon as you believe, you are not the only one.

So reach, run, fly dance, sing, move, laugh, speak, do what you must. Do what you believe in, do whatever moves your spirit.

And we will do it with you.

(no subject)

Sing, my dear, oh sing out loud. Sing for the city streets, for the roar of the traffic, for concrete and steel. Sing for the hum of people, the warm sidewalks, the glow of lamplight in the evening.

And sing, my dear, sing for the lost boys and girls in the alleys, sing for the strays, for the ones who have nowhere to go. Sing for them like you are a bird, like you are a sparrow guiding them home again.

And sing for yourself, so you do9n’t get lost. Sing to know where you belong, sing louder than the hum, than the roar, than anything around you. Just sing, sing, sing until you can’t, until your lungs hurt, until you’re dizzy with the noise.

And then keep singing because you must, because the world needs more songs, because the song is a part of you, it is held in your heart and simply waits to be released.

So sing.

(no subject)

But you, you with your tired, wet eyes, your scared expression. You want to stay. You want to seek shelter under our branches, you want to know what it’s like to sleep under the stars.

And you are welcome because we know your kind, have been in your place at one point or another.

And don’t be afraid if you wake up with something new, a tail, antlers, the gift of a pair of wings against your back. It happens where, when you’re the right kind of person, the person who longs for stars in their heart and freedom to roam.

The wood knows it’s own and treats you well.

So welcome home, friend, welcome home. May you find comfort here with us, may you sleep well under the stars.

(no subject)

She comes out in the early mornings, the pretty young girl with the soul of a tree. She stands where one of her brothers once stood, closes her eyes and feels the remnants of him, grabs hold of what remains and holds on tight.

She misses him, she misses them all.

She feels the trees falling away, feels the ones that naturally fall and the ones that get struck down. She knows what it’s like to fall, she’s been doing it for longer than you’ve been alive.

But she sti8ll gets up, still grows, still moves on. She is a creature that never stops growing because her brothers and sisters never stop. They spring forth from the earth, slowly but steadily reclaiming it at their own.

And she is a part of the wood, just as everyone else is, just as the lost boys and girls, as the fae and foxes and fire birds too.

Just as I am, just as you are.

She welcomes you, by the way, there’s a sapling growing in your honor.

(no subject)

Remember to leave a candle in the window, for anyone looking to find their way in the dark.

Remember to leave a door unlocked but not unchained, just in case it’s not a wolf at the door but someone in wolf’s clothing.

Remember to have the kettle ready with water but never on. I know you love the fire but inviting it’s spirit into your home that way is still dangerous.

Renumber to leave the bread out for the fae. Everyone will benefit when they are pleased.

Remember to leave the books out for the ghosts. You’ll sleep better when they have something to do.

Remember to leave you heart out open to possibilities because all manner of things come to us in the night, even the improbable.

Remember to leave your mind open to the impossible because in dreams, there is no such thing.

Remember to open the door when I knock because I will have finally found my way home to you, just as I promised.

Remember to sleep well tonight because tomorrow, it’s you’re turn to go out into the world.

(no subject)

And the gods clambered together, crowding and shoving one another to see what they made, this strange, beautiful little place. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. n It had been a drop of blood, a tear, a bead of sweat. Bits and pieces of them had fallen into the sky and started gathering, started blending together and, before they new it, they had this strange, wonderful little place.

But it looked so lonely, one of them had said. So vacant.

And another smiled, gently reaching out to the stars before them and weaving them together with pieces of her hair, stringing them together until she had something small and fragile in her hands. A man, she sad, and a woman, and another one, who was both man and woman and yet neither one at all.

She slipped them into the world and, for a time, they looked happy.

But they got lonely and the gods didn’t like that. They didn’t want them to feel abandoned, to feel as if all they had was each other. There was a whole world to be explored and yet there was nothing in that world to get to know.

So another god sat down one day, taking the world into his hands and started crafting details, he chiselled away at the land and made mountains and valleys and varied the land, so it wasn’t quite as flat. There were forests now, lakes and streams and meadows. So many places for the three of them to explore.

And they were happy, they were so excited to have this new adventure to go on.

And everything was good for a time.

But the gods knew there was something missing, something that was not quite right.

So they dug through he land, playing in the waters and getting to know what they created. They ran through the forests themselves and danced in the rain. They got to know their creation because it seemed the best way to know what it would need.

And then it struck them. This was a wonderful place, a beautiful one. It shouldn’t belong to just three people, or four, or five.

So they reached into the ground itself and pulled up the animals, reached into the sky and formed the birds from the clouds and the fish from the sea. They were already there, honestly, just waiting to be created. It had just taken the gods some time to notice.

And then the people and the animals lived together, they danced upon the Earth and celebrated the fact that they were alive and together and had a wondrous place to spend their time.

And the gods? Well the gods curled up together, nestling against one another and smiled proudly at what they had created.

(no subject)

Her mother worked with light.

She was able to always make people look beautiful, shine the sun just so that they glowed. The starlight would glow in their eyes and the moon would always show them the way, she could light anything just how she wanted to and it was always beautiful.

But she was never really her mother’s daughter and her father has long since been lost to the waves of the sea.

She crafts shadows, weaves them through the world and slips them where they need to be. She’s not the light, could never be, but she likes to think she makes her mother’s light glow that much more brilliantly.

And some people need the darkness, they need the shelter because light is too harsh for the likes of them, sometimes her darkness is a sanctuary, sometimes they see better at night.

So she keeps working, keeps wandering the world and spreading her shadows, painting the land with them and madding just a little darkness to the world.

And, in her dark corner of the world, she takes comfort in knowing that everyone comes to her, everyone shuts their eyes when they sleep, every light casts a shadow, everyone will visit her eventually.

(no subject)

Rise up, all you lost girls, all you foxes, all you pirates and pumpkin girls. Rise up you ghost boys and you tree boys and the fair folk among us.

Rise up, rise up and be counted.

Shed your human shells, shed your skins and dance as your true selves, spin under the moonlight and revel in the music that plays in your honor.

Embrace each other, not as what you once were, but as what you are, your true nature. Let the cats curl around the mice, let the birds sing down to everyone else, let the world be naked and exposed and be what it truly is.

So, join us in our song, in our dance, our praise. She whatever binds you, shed your clothes, shed your skin, shed the life3 that you are supposed to live. Leave your name at the door, leave all the things you thought you should be.

Come, be what you are, join us for a little while and revel in the true beauty of the world.

(no subject)

And here they are, the King and Queen. They’ve come to see the show, to put it on, to sit before you and know that you love them.

Because they are good rulers, they are magical ones. They preside over Faerie and reach out to the human realm, twisting it in small ways, making it their own.

They’ll come for it one day, creep in slowly so that the humans don’t notice. In fact, they’ve already started, infusing the world with their magic, with their will.

The wo9rld is so easy, it wants them, it wants their magic and their love and their protection that there’s hardly any effort put forth on their part.

So they’ll come one day, in a whirlwind of magic and mayhem and all sorts of mystery. They’ll sweep up the world and turn it upside down. They’ll pull it into Faerie and make it join in their mad, magical dance.

And the world will rejoice because this is how it should be, a dance, a ball, a blending of the natural forces that surround it.

And as for man Well, who knows what will happen to man. Whatever takes place though, it will be a time to remember.

(no subject)

Before she left, she taught us how to make pretty things. She taught us how to take our time and put our hearts into it. She taught us that, if we put more care into what we do, they’ll be more attracted to it.

So we make pretty things in honor of her, our mother, our queen. We decorate the world with glittering oceans and flowers that spring forth from the ground. We put clouds in the sky and hills on the land. We put life there for her, in honor of her, and we hope she’ll like it.

And we do little things too, smaller and smaller as the world grows up. Those who live there are so busy making things themselves, streets and cities and modern life. We don’t know who they’re making it for, if they have a mother they’re missing or are doing it for each other, doing it because we made the world too big and now they’re just trying to get a handle on it.

We don’t know.

But we make small thing snow. Pretty bottles, and ivy wrapping around windows. We make spider webs and vines and sunsets over the ocean. We make constellations, because the people seem to ahve forgotten how to see pictures in the sky, and we make stones that look like rainbows.

And we make other things too, pictures of their modern world, we try and make it look nice for them. It’s hard, we don’t; always understand it, but we try.

And we’ll be doing it until there’s no more world left, or until our mother comes home and we can show her everything we’ve done.

(no subject)

They have a good thing going, those two. Most people never get along with their other selves, but not them.

She smiles, brushing her hair while her other self tells stories about what happened that day. They don’t share the same lives, only the same mirror. It’s easy for them to trade stories so neither of them complain.

Both of their mothers say that they shouldn’t get so close to each toher, that it’s not healthy, that it’s not normal but they don’t understand. They are a [part of each other, sure not in the same way that other things are but they are pulled to each other, bound.

And they don’t mind.

So they’ll talk at night, laugh and keep each other awake. They’ll stay in front of their mirrors for longer than they should and laugh at the world around them. Sometimes they talk about switching places, reaching out to each other and trading, just for a day but they never do.

Someone would find out and they’d get in trouble.

But they still think about it, and each other, and the worlds behind their mirrors.

And then they’ll go to sleep and dream and get up the next day and do it all over again.

Other people don’t like their other selves, they avoid looking n the mirror but not them. They look at each other and they smile.

(no subject)

No one knows that she’s a queen.

Her marks are hidden, her wings are held tight against her back but that doesn’t change what she is. She is a queen.

She puts on a mask because she must, because if anyone where to know who she was, she would surely be at risk but when she’s alone, she lets it all fall away, she wears her marks proudly and uncurls her wings. She is beautiful in the light of her candles and her reflections smile at her, knowing who she truly is.

Sometimes she thinks she will break free, walk amongst her people as the royalty that she is but she knows she mustn’t. As well as being a queen, she is their protector and she knows that they will only want to protect her if they knew.

So she is quiet, keeps it a secret and continues to quietly and proudly save her people on a daily basis.

(no subject)

Se wanted hir wings, it’s just that simple.

There’s no confusion about it, no doubt or uncertainty, no nothing. Se knew what se wanted and se went after it. Perhaps it was unconventional, perhaps there was a little too much blood but there always is when you really want something.

And now they are at hir back, now se can move them and feel them and smile at their presence.

Wings, hir wings. No one can take those away now.

And maybe it’s not perfect, maybe se doesn’t feel completely whole but it’s a step closer, it’s more than what se had.

Se flutters her wings, arching them out and feeling hat it’s like to stretch them for the first time.

(no subject)

One end of the world is held in ice, the other held in fire.

Se’s seen both, lived in both. They were wonderful in their own ways. The flames were hypnotic and the ice chilled hir down to hir bones, reminding hir of who se is on the inside.

Se danced in those flames once, her feet never afraid of burning, her body moving to the rhythm of the fire and se had no fear in hir heart.

And se glided across the ice, spun and laughed and had no fear of it cracking. Se was never afraid, never.

Because when you cross the entire world to get to one end and then the other, you learn to stop being afraid. You learn to embrace your fear and turn it into wonder and passion and light and shadow. You learn that fear is as mailable as anything else.

So se sits at the edge of the world, hir feet dangling and she sings quietly, a song of change, of power, of the world and all it’s wonder.

(no subject)

She doesn’t call herself a ghost, she can’[t, it hurts too much.

She doesn’t know what she is exactly, a spirit perhaps but spirit sounds too great for her. Spirits are powerful, wonderful thins and she’s not that, she’s just her, just the pretty little girl who haunts the fields at night, just the person who you might see in the corner of your eye, just the story that kids tell at night to scare their younger siblings.

But she’s not scary, not really. She’s just there, just a part of the landscape.

A legend? Maybe she’s a legend. It still sounds too grand for her, still too powerful but it works. She’s become one in the minds of the town she used to live in, she’s a part of the stories that are spread, a part of the tales kids tell at parties and parents think of fondly.

So she’s a legend, she can deal with that.

(no subject)

It’s an old city which means it has old ghosts. It has them form ages past and where there are ghosts, there are other things. They gather in the city streets at night, in the alleys, in the dark places.

But some of them choose to gather in the light. Some of them want to be more than the creatures hidden in the dark, the ones under your bead, the ones in fairytales.

Some of them want life, they want new stories, they want homes beyond the ones they are given.

So they reach out, explore the new world and try to settle in it. They know that, if it doesn’t work, they always have their old homes, for the darkness always welcomes it’s own back but some of them want something new, want something to explore.

So they go into the light of the day, into the markets, into the parties and cafes and the lives of the humans around them.

And maybe they won’t stay, maybe they’ll find that the life in the light isn’t for them but if they never try, they’ll never know.

(no subject)

Let’s start with once upon a time because that’s how all good tales start. It’s a classic, it’s the way that our ancestors told stories, it may not be the oldest way but it’s a good way.

So, once upon a time there was a fairy.

But no, it wasn’t a fairy. It was a fae. It was a magical creature, tall and thin and mischievous and otherworldly. it had dark hair and dark magic to go with it but not too dark, never too dark. They aren’t evil creatures, they are just different.

They live by their own rules which are ancient and powerful and will probably long outlive ours.

So there was a fae and they were wonderful. They loved the world, loved the forests and the fields and the tall, tall grass. They were a woodland spirit, you see and these things meant a lot to them. The animals were their family and the trees it’s brothers and sisters.

Other fae lived with them, cared for the forest along with them. The woods, in return, sheltered them and loved them in return.

It was a good thing.

Humans rarely came into the forest, for they could feel the magic and were afraid. it set their teeth on edge, made the skin on the back of their necks prick up. They were frightened and they didn’t know why.

But not all humans were this way, not all of them feared magic.

There was a girl, small but strong and very, very brave in her way. She was a dreamer, a writer, a storyteller. She told stories with her friends, and told them to herself. She read books voraciously and reeled in the tales they told.

She went into the forest because she knew there was something there, something interesting, something waiting for her.

And the fae watched from the trees curious to see how far she would go. No one had dared enter their forest in years and only then, they seemed to be brave hunters looking for prey to stalk. This was different, this was new.

They liked new.

The girl kept moving forward but saw nothing to be afraid of. There were foxes daring across her path and, every time she saw one, she made a wish. Nothing scary though, nothing to send people running the way it did.

Until one of the fae stepped out of the trees, a smile on it’s face.

@Come with me,@ they said, their hand extended. @Come with me and I’ll show you something wonderful.@

And it was then that she could feel it, the power, the magic, the wonder in the forest. She knows the rules, knows that you don’t go with strangers but a part of her wanted to go, wanted to damn all the rules that she knew so well and just run.

So she did.

And the fae took her to a ball, all set up in her honor. She danced with them, spun around in a world she barely knew actually existed. She ate food that tasted better than anything she’d ever had before, heard music that moved her to her very soul. it was amazing.

And a part of her knew that, after that first moment, after the second she took the fae’s hand, she was doomed, that she could never leave the forest again.

But she didn’t care because there was magic here, there were stories come a live, there were balls and magic and music and a world she’d never been to before.

So the girl, shedding her human identity, put on the name of Ella and embraced her fate, all the while dancing and singing and telling stories.

(no subject)

And then they decided to stop letting the mirror keep them apart, they decided to break through the glass and say hello properly.

One slips through, and they embrace, wrapping their arms around one another and keeping each other close. It feels good, feels like a hug from your oldest, dearest friend and they both savour it.

They kiss and tell each other how good it is to see them, how nice it is to touch, to feel. They press their hands close together, press their palms against one another and can feel them falling into each other but they don’t care.

They want this, they want to be together, to be one. They’ve been apart for so long, pushed apart through the mirror, forced to live separately.

Yes, they were friends, yes they loved their lives but they’ll love this one more, they’ll be the girl without a reflection, the girl who steppe dthrough the mirror and become whole again.

And they, she, will be proud.

(no subject)

He was in love with a gorgon, with someone who he could never look at, with a woman who captured his heart and made him fly and made him feel like no one had ever made him feel before.

And he had never seen her and she had never seen him.

But they loved it that way, their blind love, their colourless love. They saw tih their hands, with their mouths, with their teeth. They learned the curve of each other’s bodies, they learned what it was like to have each other memorized.

He never even tried to have a picture of her in his head because she was so much more than that, so much more than an image, than a face, she was the feel of skin on skin, the sound of her voice wrapping around hsi heart, the taste of sweat and blood and a thousand other things.

He didn’t seed to see her to know that she was beautiful and she didn’t need to see him to know that they belonged together.

(no subject)

So she believes in magic? So what?

She sees no reason not to, sees no reason why she shouldn’t embrace the world for what could be hidden beneath the surface.

She embraces dreams and hopes and fears. She embraces shadows and light. She embraces the fae and the magic cats and the birds who sing their stories so sweetly.

She embraces the starlight and the moonlight and the sunlight against her skin.

She embraces everything as it is and as it could be, the embraces possibilities.

And she embraces the stories in you and me and the rest of the wrod, because those are magic too.

So she picks flowers and asks before she does and she walks through the woods with enough fear to keep her safe. She does all these things with an open heart and an open mind.

Because she believes in magic and always will.

(no subject)

She is a creature of the wood, no one denies her that. What they don’t know, what they don’t understand is that she *is* the wood. This is her space, the trees are hers, she knows what goes on inside herself, she feels it all.

She knows of the fae that make their home here, she knows of the animals who find shelter here. She even knows of the humans, the silly humans, those who disappear into her woods for a rush.

She knows it all.

And she knows when they cut her trees down, she knows when people trample across her flowers. She knows when the world becomes too small for her to exist and it pains her, it makes her sick and she cries.

The fae gather around her, tell her they will keep her safe but she doesn’t know, she finds it hard to believe.

But when the humans come, when they try and bring her down, it seems that things go wrong, not a lot, just little things that keep them from starting. Things don’t start, things break, things get lost. A thousand little things that keep her trees standing.

She smiles, absolutely touched by the act.

And if the humans deem her to be a haunted wood, a cursed wood, she doesn’t care because she is still standing, she is still alive and well and has her trees for people to take shelter in and her tall grass and forest floor for animals to run across.

She is alive and that is the greatest gift she could have ever received.