Many things are believed about the fae, many are wrong. We do not want something as useless as your soul, nor can we do nae beyond call your attention should we learn your name. Accepting a gift is no more dangerous than denying one, and identifying which of us might want to eat you is about as difficult as pointing out any other predator. Now, I wouldn't suggest following a fae into the forest, but not because they will lead you to an untimely end. The fae aren’t dangerous, the forest is. Fae or not, the wild forests are not a place for many a untrained man. We fae wander the groves because it is our home, we are welcome there, and we know it well. But just as so many children of Homtear can’t resist the allure of my home, so too does this child of Renarianae now find themselves drawn to theirs.

Rarely do our species ever cross paths in a way that is not violent, yet curious how similar our customs for reverie are. The sun is still high aloft, and yet you have already begun your celebrations. Drinks flow abundantly from your stores, colorful drapes are strewn everywhere, and irreverent music rises above the tree canopies. Before long, dusk will pall over the grounds and joy will renew as torches and candles are lit and new festivities will begin. And by that point, no matter the direction you look, people will be laughing, dancing, and singing. I have enjoyed such jubilance many times over the centuries, so why then does my heart throng with desire to join you.

Anxiety claws at my mind as my eyes stay transfixed on the spectacle. While we caution you against venturing into our woods, you rarely offer such a warning if one of us is spotted within twenty roots of your village. Mothers will scream, cry, and clutch their children, something about them not being my next meal. Your men will grab whatever weapon they have nearby, occasionally calling for others to grab the “Cold Iron”... cute and absolute nonsense, that one.

A quick glance at my current equipment tells me that should I go as is, the standard response would likely occur, and your festival would turn into a hunt.

The leather straps of my weapon harness creak as I undo the first buckle, and again as I undo the second.

“May you be as discreet as bark in a forest, and as bright as the moon’s shadow.” I whisper to my blades, wrapping them in the flattened strips of hide, and tucking them into the crook of a nearby tree.

I review myself once more, the obsidian fibers of my tunic and pants a perfect compliment to my pale, ashen skin. While they may be to my liking, it is doubtful you will accept me as I am.
“Can’t do much about the clothes, so I suppose the skin will have to change.” I whisper with a disappointed sigh.

“Faeohilgahreean”

Sunskin.

No sooner than the last phonetic had left my lips did the hue of my flesh begin to change. The soft volcanic grey gradually transitioned to a golden tan reminiscent of a sun-kissed beach. A far cry from the gilded glow of my high-browed brethren, but it should do well enough to keep some ale-blind hunter from looking too closely.

One obvious giveaway down, two pointy ones remain.

If there was a Songword that could round my ears, I never had a chance to learn it. Course, such a word would understandably be considered abhorrent, barely different from my current actions or plans. I needed something to cover them, and my options were slim. My hair would have to do, but not as it is.

When was the last time I undid the ribbons that held my braids? My hair had stopped growing somewhere into my seventeenth decade. Those first ribbons were used later for my sister’s binding ceremony. Which was one century later? Maybe it was two.

My thoughts drifted through history as the winding cords of cloth slipped free from the onyx strands. Now I needed inspiration.

Feminine Humans were more common to wear their hair long rather than men. The first of which I spotted was a child, laughing merrily as she sprinted away from a taller woman.

“Careful, mummy. Such a toddler may be my pre-festival snack.” I mused, dropping my voice low in a tone meant to mock the villains in the tales that the fairies would tell us.

I chuckled to myself, taking note of their hair. The child had braids not too dissimilar to the ones I just untied. No good.

The mother, or older sister perhaps, had long auburn strands that extended down to the mid of her upper leg. Were that any gazed upon me, I would not have been able to hide my admiration, as only fae royalty lived such a lax enough life in their youth to get hair that reached such lengths. Where the royals would drape their hair wherever it pleased them, this human had a few simply knotted cords at odd intervals down her back, enough to give her rounded reddish bulbs of dead keratin.

While decent. A simple pullback would not reliably hide the angled cartilage that signaled my heritage.

Dozens more girls came within view of my lookout, many sporting the same general looks as the last. Some had hats, or strips cloth wrapped around their temples. A hat can be easily removed, and found myself absent of suitable cloth to use as a wrap.

Alas, a maiden accompanied by a youthful male provided my solution. Her hair hung to her waist, mostly free flowing, save for two handfuls, one pulled to each side of her head and pulled together in the back. The strips held her loose hair close to the side of her head. With such a style, only should the tie in back give way during a storm would there be any risk of someone seeing her ears.

I did my best to emulate the style. I am certain I managed a comical mockery, at best. Whyever bother with learning to style my hair, if it is always already braided?

Absent a looking glass, a touch of my hands to the sides of my head would have to suffice to ensure I was properly ‘covered’. Everywhere my fingers touched, I only felt hair.

“As the night conceals the prey, may the shadows hide my truth.”

With that short prayer, and deep breath, I entered the clearing and approached the village, their songs growing louder in every step, the melodies drowning out the deafening thumps of my heart.

- - - 

 

- - -

The burlish man slapped the table in front of him. I had first thought such actions a threat or a challenge, but your kind are just violent even in your joy.

“You mean to tell me. That a dainty thing like you…” the man paused to drink from his stein, his third since our conversation began. “...has crossed the Kea Peaks. All because your mother wanted some rockchewer’s honey!?”

“There is a rich forest that extends the whole way. Makes the trip fairly easy.” I confirmed with a smile and a nod, already anticipating his response.

He screamed and howled, slapping the table again as another thunderous guffaw clawed free from his throat.

“A forest rich with Fae! Fae of all kinds too! Ain’t nobody crossing through there for anything less than a king’s ransom. That’s rich!” He exclaimed, wiping a tear, or maybe sweat, from his eyes.

“Tell ya what. While only a recently weaned babe might believe ya. That tale was grand. And in celebration of your mum getting her drink, what say I get ours! A round of spiced honeywater!”

The outdoor tavern roared in response and the band kicked off a new song in celebration. 

Not a moment sooner and a firm hand took my arm and wrenched me onto the open plane of waxed wooden planks. I had recoiled out of instinct the first time any of you had tried such things, but now the palest night couldn’t hide my smile nor could the strongest wind down out my laughter.

You all dance like children playing in the rain. It lacks any sort of finesse. Not a strand of grace was found as you jumped and stomped your way across the floor. But if that isn’t your life itself. Your lives come and go faster than any other established species. Why wouldn’t you choose to live a raucous life?

I have stolen my way into your home, so it is only fitting that I live as you do.

I stomped my heel against the laid lumber, the former members of my forest sang back up at me. Where you just hear a resounding thud, I hear the joyous call of a tree’s spirit still happy to serve purpose after having left its roots behind.

Human dances are simple with such few steps. Likely so you don’t have to spend too many precious minutes learning them.

I leapt with the group, slapped my hands together, and cheered. My feet had not barely returned to the floor before the cyclone of human bodies resumed and I found new dancer partner after new dance partner.

Everyone able-bodied individual danced. Young and old. Those whose bodied denied them the opportunity to partake, sat or stood by, still stomping their good leg and hollering when the opportunity arose.

The song lulled and the crowd’s energy followed. My final partner was a young human girl who stood no taller than my waist. Both our hands were intertwined as we finished the concluding bounce.

“Thank you for the dance.” I said to her with a short nod of my head.

She giggled in response before bounding off into the crowd. I just smiled, chuckled to myself, and stood back up.

“Her name’s Gemma.” A deep, but undoubtedly feminine voice stated from over my shoulder.

I turned to thank the stranger. A young fair-faced woman stood a few feet away, a small grin tugging at the edge of her thin lips. She wore plain cotton clothes with a damp maroon apron tied around her waist. 

“A lovely name.” I lied.

“What’s yours, curly?” She asked.

I glanced around in confusion. She gestured to her own hair, which was long, but straighter than an arrow. I looked at my own, and between being in braids for several centuries, and an evening full of merrymaking, I now sported a head of thick black curls. I fidgeted with the inky loops for a moment, both to appease her comment, and to make sure the new style hadn’t betrayed my disguise.

“Syn-” I paused. Fae names were rather unique compared to human ones. I searched my mind for human names. But only famous ones came to me, and none started with the syllable I had already uttered.

“Sin?” she asked, her face painted with a quizzical scrunch.

“No. Sorry. That’s a nickname my Mom gave me.” Not a complete lie.

“That’s a fairly mean name for a mother to give her child.”

“Well. She was a mean fairy.” I quipped, chancing that my play on words would hide the truth of my statement.

The girl put her first to her lips, squinted her eyes, and looked me up and down a few times before speaking again.

“How about… Cindy.. Like Cinderella. Since you, my princess, are clearly away from home.”

I froze and watched the stranger, now trying to determine whether I needed to sprint away. She only smiled in response.

“Relax. I just know everyone in this town, and you stand out about as much as a rooster in the hen pen. You look like us, but you clearly don’t belong. Where ya from?”

“Um…. I came from the west.” I fumbled.

“So you actually did come from over the Kea range?” She asked. This person had clearly been listening to my earlier tale, and isn’t as trusting as she has let on.

“Your friend didn’t believe me.”

“Well, ain’t never seen someone like you from anywhere else.” The inquisitive woman stated plainly. I needed to change the subject.

“You have my name, may I get yours?” I asked.

“Clara.”

Gemma. Clara. What meaning is there supposed to be behind any of these names?

“Nice to meet you, Clara.

“Likewise, Cindy. Take care now.” She said before flashing me a wink, and heading off back amongst the crowds.

I barely finished processing the short exchange before the band kicked up a new song and the dancefloor was bustling with activity once more.

- - -

 

- - -

The night now blanketed the land, hours of dance and drink left the attendees a bit more relaxed.

I found myself sitting at a table with a table of young humans. They weren’t as youthful as the children, they stood as high as the adults, but their faces and behavior betrayed their claims that they had reached maturity. They were kind enough not just to invite me to their table, but to teach me a strange game of cards and dice they were playing.

“8 of hearts and side-by-side fives. That’s an armored 13.” The messy haired boy named Douglas explained.

The other player, a burley lad who went by the moniker “Tubs” laughed in response before laying down a card from his hand and picking some dice from his rolled pool.

“Jack of spades. Pointed threes. Piercing 13. Another draw.”

Douglas slumped in his chair with a defeated sigh.

“What’s the point in playing if you always go for a draw?”

“Well. I don’t want you to feel bad about losing.” Tubs responded with a wry smile.

“Failing to win doesn’t make me feel a lot better either.”

Tubs only shrugged in response before turning his attention to me.

“You want another go, Cindy?” he asked, collecting up the cards and dice. I raised my open palm in front of me in response.

“No thank you, I should really be going.”

The group paused, looked at one another, and looked around the festival grounds.

“Go where?” the young blonde girl named Sohra asked.

“Home.” I responded, not realizing how strange that answer was going to be.

“Wait. Who are you staying with?” Douglas asked.

I had meant the forest. But couldn’t just outwardly admit that. I looked around the group, realizing that I was now being interrogated. I searched for answers in their eyes, but only found more incoming questions. I only had one card I could chance.

“Clara.”

The group glanced amongst themselves again, and then back to me with raised eyebrows.

“I think you might be better served outside on a pile of hay than pay whatever cost Clara is probably extorting you for.” Douglas quipped.

“No joke. If you haven’t paid her yet, you should just stay with me!” Sohra chimed in.

“What, and cram in that tiny room with you and your five sisters?” Tubs poked.

“Better than suffocating in that pigs pen you call a room!” Sohra bit back.

The group erupted into a series of insults and bickering. I finished the last of my drink and stood up, shaking the empty cup their way before heading up towards the bar.

I didn’t intend on getting another drink, while it would be difficult to get properly drunk by even the strongest of the human ales, quantity can make up for quality, and I had more than my fair share. I placed the cup on the wooden counter, the barkeep nodded to me as I placed a few silver coins next to it. 

I was about to turn to take my leave when I felt a small tug on the hem of my tunic.

I turned and found a sleepy-eyed Gemma holding onto me. She looked up at me half-lidded and gave a weak smile.

“Hello Gemma. Now where is your Mom?” I asked, scooping the young girl into my arms.

“I don’t know.” she yawned. “But we live by the fountain.”

I patted her on the back.

“Good job. Gemma. Let’s see if someone is waiting for us there.” I said, as I felt her body get a bit heavier as she leaned completely against my shoulder.

The village was small, so it was barely only a minute or two’s walk to the fountain, and there I spotted a very concerned looking woman asking each passerby if they had seen my passenger. I wasn’t carrying a torch, so it wasn’t until I could near reach out and touch her did she notice my presence.

“Oh, dearie me, girl. You jumped out the night like one of them sirens.”

I elected not to explain that sirens are more water bound creatures, and they normally want you to come to them. Let’s hope she never has to actually learn the difference.

“I’m sorry, dearie. But, have you seen my dear  Gemma. She is about yay high and-”

“Mommy?” Gemma responded, cutting the woman off as she was extending a hand out parallel to the ground.

Gemma then turned and slowly emerged from the tangled black bush that now made up my head.

“Gemma!” the lady cried out, reaching for the child and relieving me of the weight. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

I only offered a smile and a nod in response.

“You should have seen her Mommy. She danced like a fairy. Hey lady, are you a fairy?” Gemma asked, a small burst of energy forcing her weary eyes open.

“Now now, Gemma. The time for silly games is over. Let’s get you inside.” her mother cut in, picking Gemma up, laying her over her shoulder, and making towards the house. Gemma looked up at me from her mother’s back, her eyes now open with expectancy.

I lifted both hands up towards my head, the right hand pulling back my hair while my left index finger pressed against my lips. I winked at the young girl as the brisk night air kissed the pointed tip of my ear.

Gemma’s eyes grew larger than dinner plates, she went to gasp, then jolted her hand up to her mouth. She scrunched her face in an attempted wink, and then mimicked the shushing gesture. A moment later, and the front door to her family’s home closed between us.

I glanced around to make sure nobody else witnessed my little stunt. It was risky, but if the fae love one thing, it is play.

Without another word, I retreated away from the torchlight, found my route away from the village and back toward the trees. Back home.

 

- - - - - - - - - - 

 

Prompt: A Dark Fae innocently joins the local human festival.

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