The Fair Folk glide...soundlessly...over dirt, stumps and roots. Beautiful, silken hair flows through the damp, sweet smelling winds. Iridescent wings shimmering blues, greens and golds very much like a dragon-fly's. Pale faces. Fierce eyes. Always questioning. Never answering. In front of you, standing not 3 feet away, is pure perfection--personified. You pass by a mirror, misty eyes and a tired face replace what once was your own. Don't fall into the trance. For if you do, your fate is sealed.
December 15, 2011