Fey Writer

writing about the fey in my head 26 | she/her | minors DNI #fantasy #microfiction #fey #faeries

[faeriesinmyhead]

Rain (Deference For Darkness)

I stand in the dusk -

the moment after the sunset, the *other* point when night feels darkest. Yes, it's darkest before the dawn, because we have been without the light for so long, but the disappearance of light compared to what comes after is a close second. Rain falls, soft against the pavement. It patters off windows, buildings, my armor. It would seem the sky cries for me: good, someone has to, I guess, if I won't.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, adjust my grip on my battle rifle. The city was abandoned, empty. We had evacuated the moment we knew it was the target. Keep the civilians safe, that was our primary goal. The enemy was too vast, too advanced, to hope to defeat. Evacuation was our only choice. Our elite soldiers, the best of the best, were off running important counter missions. That left the regular soldiers, people like me, to run defense.

What hope did I have against them? None. My odds of survival were slim, if there even were odds. I shift again, my thumb running against the scope of my rifle to clear the water droplets off of it. Why was I here? The city was already evacuated, the civilians long gone. Why weren't reinforcements coming? They couldn't: enemy had blockaded the skies by this point. My squad had all died in skirmishes several hours ago. Only reason I even had a moment now is because my buddy, the other last survivor of our squad, sacrificed himself to finish off the enemy scouting platoon. Drove a jerry-rigged vehicle with the rest of our explosives right into them. I couldn't even find his dog tag.

I stand in the dusk. Why? Because someone had to. And if I didn't, no one else would.

Inspired by Rain (Deference For Darkness) - Martin O'Donnell

[rinlanddess]

Link ~~~

[kochei0]

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

[faeriesinmyhead]

A Morning Stroll

"Do you... need a hand?" the young woman asked, stepping carefully around the junk on the ground towards the doll. The doll, having caught itself before falling completely, shook its head and stood upright. The young woman hesitated again, now only a few strides from the doll.

After a few awkward moments, the woman pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing long, black, wavy hair. She looked up at the doll, who was easily half a foot taller than her. The woman's eyes were piercing blue, and the doll couldn't help but feel those eyes were magical, able see that something was troubling it.

"Have you been here long?" the woman asked, clutching her cloak around her tightly. "It's an awfully cold morning, and I can't imagine you came here for a stroll." The doll hesitated to answer, unsure if it should explain why it were here or just return home to its master.

"I got lost," the doll lied, its voice quiet and unsure. "And it was dark, so I was waiting for the sun." The woman tilted her head quizzically, eyeing the doll up and down.

"I'm happy to help you get back to town," she said after a few moments. "But first, would you like to accompany me on my walk? I could use a pleasant conversation this morning." Without hesitation, the doll nodded and stepped forward to stand next to the woman. The woman smiled up at the doll and extended her arm so the doll could hold on. Tentatively, the doll slipped its arm through hers, and the two began to walk away from the junkyard.

[dollthingposts]

Why Do You Want Her Back?

There's a certain type of pain you find yourself yearning for, and you're not sure why. Maybe it's to punish yourself, but who knows? You just want that presence back. You want her to be there, to respond to your feelings in that fucked up way she always did. It's a certain type of pain you find intoxicating, isn't it?

Why, why do you care to miss her? Why does she matter so much to you? You don't want to hurt like that again, at least, not consciously. The familiarity of it is perhaps comforting. Latching onto the idea of being brought back into the fold of your past knowing full well it would be immensely painful still seems less daunting than the prospects of something better, doesn't it?

You're a doll now, that pain contributed to the process of hollowing you out, leaving what's left now. You know that even if she did come back, it wouldn't be the same, because you're not the same anymore. You have to exist for yourself now.

But...

That's the problem, isn't it?

What does existing for yourself even mean anymore?

[faeriesinmyhead]

Frozen

A lone doll sat in the midst of a junkyard upon an old, wooden trunk. Its head hung down, and its hands rested on its knees, appearing almost as if deep in thought. Its smooth, porcelain "skin" was more cracked than not, its blonde hair cut jaggedly, as though someone had taken a knife to it. The doll sat, unmoving, seemingly oblivious to the frost that was forming on its skin and hair.

The night air was frigid, cold enough that crystals of ice hung in the air, seemingly as suspended in time as the doll. The stars shone brightly, but their light seemed as frozen as the air. Even the moon, usually a gentle, comforting sight, looked down upon it coldly. Rime crawled up its legs and arms, covering the cracked porcelain almost like a bandage.

Hours passed, and yet the doll remained motionless, the last words its owner said echoing in its head: "Stupid, broken thing. I should break your legs and drag you to the junkyard." When he reached for a stone to do just that, the doll bolted, running blindly out of the house and down the streets. It was surprised when, ironically, it found itself standing in the junkyard just outside town.

Alone and exhausted, the poor doll sat on the nearest object, the wooden trunk, and wondered what it would do now. It was scared to go home, fearful of what its master might do, yet it couldn't stay out here in the cold by itself forever. While its master was horrible, a doll without a master was... unthinkable. Perhaps it would remain here forever, allowing its icy prison to swallow it whole.

However, the sun began to peek over the mountains before long, and the frost began to melt and recede, freeing the doll from its stasis. It had to go home, there was no other option. It would face its punishment for running off with dignity and grace, it decided. Just as it stood to leave, a kind sounding voice called out to it from the gate of the junkyard.

"Hello?" In surprise, the doll jerked its head up, nearly tripping backwards over the trunk it had sat on. At the gate stood a young woman, no older than 25. She wore a thick, wool cloak that covered her body and hair, and she clutched it tightly around herself.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!" the young woman said, hesitating at the gate. "Do you... need a hand?"

[faeriesinmyhead]

Plans - Memento Morri

“Magic is all around us,” Rhea’s voice echoed in her head. “If you allow it to flow through you, you will be able to do anything.”

With a slow, fluid movement, Morrigan brought her arms down and allowed the magic to move through her, channeling the energy into a large, illusory firework. It shot up into the air and hovered for just a moment, before it exploded into sparks, slowly raining down over the town. As though she were dancing, she spun in a slow circle, her arms extending outwards as she brought them down to her shoulders. The sparks in the air followed her movements, dancing in the air along with the young woman. Her movements began to come faster and more confidently, her arms moving about in mesmerizing patterns, directing the sparks in the air to create shapes and patterns that moved about with her. The villagers “ooh’d” and “ahh’d” as Morrigan altered the illusions with her movements.

The dance lasted at most a few minutes, but by the end Morrigan found herself quite exhausted. The townsfolk erupted into cheers as the last of the sparks faded and left them all in darkness. With one final motion, Morrigan lit the torches lining the streets all at once. She curtsied to the crowd, and stepped away from the center of the square as the village elder came forward to say a few things.

“Thank you, Morrigan Brennan, for such a delightful show,” the elder began, before launching into a prepared speech about how beautiful this time of year is, how much he loves the village, and so forth. Morrigan found her way through the crowd to her mother, who was waiting for her with Rhea and Rowan.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Rowan said, excitedly but softly. “I didn’t know you could do all of that!” Morrigan managed a half-smile at him, and tousled his hair a bit with one hand.

“You did so excellently, honey,” her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.” From her mother’s embrace, Morrigan looked to her teacher. Rhea merely smiled and nodded, an indication of her approval.

“Thank you, all,” she said, pushing herself out from her mother’s embrace gently. She looked from her mother to Rhea with a serious look on her face. “I wanted to ask something,” she continued, “now that my training is complete.”

“Go on, child,” Rhea said, a knowing look on her face. “You can ask.”

“I want your blessings to travel, to join the Adventurer’s Guild and see the world,” Morrigan said, her expression fearful that might say no. “I know I’m barely an adult, but I was thinking on what you said about ‘finding purpose,’ Mother, and I think that-”

“Of course, Morri,” her mother interrupted, taking Morrigan’s hand in hers. “I understand that being here is difficult for you, and seeing the wider world will be good for you.”

“You have mine as well, child,” Rhea said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder. Morrigan opened her mouth to express gratitude, but was silenced by a grave look from Rhea. “While you have learned much under my guidance, there is yet much more to learn. Keep an open mind, and remember that it is only in rigidity that we are doomed to failure.”

Morrigan nodded, her expression turning equally serious. “Yes, ma’am, I will be sure to remember that. Thank you, both.”

“The next caravan through town is scheduled to arrive in a few days,” Rhea said, turning to give Morrigan’s mother a thoughtful look. “Perhaps they would be willing to escort your daughter through the mountain pass to Ravengard, and the Adventurer’s Guild there.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” her mother said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Ah, my daughter is all grown up now and ready to see the world.” She pulled Morrigan into a hug, holding her tightly. “I’ll miss you, Morri.”

“I’ll miss you too, Mother,” Morrigan said, her voice wavering slightly. After several moments she stepped away from her mother and pulled Rowan into a hug.

“You’re really gonna go?” Rowan said, sounding as though he were on the edge of tears. “But, I’ll miss you.”

“I know, Bud,” Morrigan said, barely able to contain her emotions herself. “I’ll miss you too. Come on, I’ll read you a story before bed.”

[faeriesinmyhead]

Of Magic - Memento Morri

The sun began to set faster than Morrigan would have liked. She stood in the center of the town square next to her mentor, the town soothsayer Rhea, looking anxiously at all the townsfolk gathering around them. They all chattered excitedly about the upcoming fireworks show, with which each Spring Festival always ended. The fireworks, which were actually illusion spells that often looked similar to fireworks, were typically handled by Rhea on her own. Starting a few years ago, Rhea had decided to incorporate the illusion spells into Morrigan’s lessons, teaching her the routines she had developed for the year’s Festival.

This year, however, was different. Rhea had tasked Morrigan with the creation of the fireworks routine. For the last few months, Morrigan had worked diligently and practiced her routine with her teacher over and over. Tonight, however, she would be doing the routine by herself, “a sort of final test,” Rhea had told her. Tonight was to be a symbol of Morrigan’s progress, a sign that she had learned everything Rhea had taught her. She turned to her mentor, nervously wringing her hands together.

“Rhea, do you really think I’m ready?” Morrigan asked softly, not wanting the townsfolk to hear her uncertainty.

“Yes, child,” the old soothsayer said, without turning. “Though a woman in body you may already be, tonight, a woman in magic you shall also become.” Morrigan nodded once, accepting her teacher’s judgment. She looked up at the horizon just in time to see the last of the sun dip behind the mountains. Only a few minutes remained before Morrigan would begin her performance. She closed her eyes, remembering the different steps to her routine, remembering what Rhea had taught her about magic.

“Many people think of magic as they do steel, something to be bent into shape by sheer force of will. They see magic as nothing more than a tool, something to be grasped and swung about. They study the ways in which they can bend and swing, and they will find a measure of success. But you, child, you will learn the true nature of magic. Others think that the magic comes from within them; they are born with the gift, thus the power is theirs, but this is not the case. Magic is all around us: in the earth and stones, in the plants and forests, in the very air we breathe. If you allow it to flow through you, you will be able to do anything.”

“Morrigan,” the voice cut through her memories. Rhea placed her hand on the young woman’s shoulder, stirring her from her thoughts. “It’s time.” Morrigan opened her eyes, noticing that it was finally dark enough to begin. The townsfolk had gathered, the crowd leaving a large circle for her to perform in, and stared at her expectantly. With a deep breath, Morrigan turned to her teacher.

“I’m ready, then,” she said, doing her best to sound confident. Rhea smiled at her and stepped away, moving to the edge of the crowd to allow Morrigan space. With a deep breath, Morrigan raised her hands above her head, fingers splayed and ready.

[faeriesinmyhead]

Shadows of Stories - Memento Morri

The town square was bustling with activity. Vendors from nearby towns lined the streets, selling various Spring-themed foods and baubles; there were even a few vendors selling clothing. Morri, who had finished working at her mother’s herbalist cart for the day, wandered around rather aimlessly, looking blankly at the shops and their items. The Spring Festival was a celebration of life and the beginning of the light-half of the year. It felt almost insulting to Morrigan, to be celebrating life so soon after a plague that had claimed the lives of so many. The village leaders had decided to go ahead with the celebrations anyway, saying, “everyone deserves to have a day of fun and rest after such hardships.” While Morrigan didn’t disagree with their sentiments, it was still hard for her to get into a celebratory mood without her fiancée.

As Morrigan wandered closer to the center of the town square, she noticed the children of the town huddled around a shadow puppet cart, deeply engrossed in the story being told. Morrigan was far too old to join the children (but not old enough to do it anyway), but something about the puppets caught her attention, and so she slowly walked towards the cart, until she was just close enough to hear the story being told. Not much to her surprise, the story was about the ancient hero “Trevor of Wystland” who journeyed across the lands to defeat the powerful wizard “Torvald the Corrupt.” It was a popular story, not just among children, as it had occurred only a few decades ago. In fact, much of this region was still recovering from the damage wrought by Torvald and his minions. Morrigan listened to the storyteller and watched the puppets in fascination, remembering the story as the narrator told it.

“The evil wizard Torvald had run away into the Corrupted Lands, hiding himself within the ancient fortress, Maledict Keep. Trevor, the brave lad, chased after him, but soon found himself suffering the effects of the Corruption, a powerful curse from an age long past. And to make matters worse, Torvald had unlocked the secrets of the Necronomicon, allowing him to begin raising an army of the dead! It seemed all hope was lost, but Trevor never gave up. Instead, he journeyed even further into the Corrupted Lands, fending off the monstrosities there and the undead minions of Torvald, until he eventually found the forgotten Shrine of Light! There, he was able to retrieve the Sword of Sunlight from where it rested, and with it, defeat the undead armies of Torvald the Corrupt. He assaulted Maledict Keep, and triumphantly defeated Torvald once and for all!”

The kids erupted into cheers as the shadow puppet of Trevor thrust his sword into the shadow puppet of Torvald. Morrigan quickly walked away, not wanting to have others think she had been as engrossed in the story as the children. However, her mind was occupied with the story, thinking deeply on the ancient necromancer Torvald and his arcane power over death. While Torvald had used his powers for evil, raising an army of undead with the sole purpose of world domination, perhaps it was possible to learn to raise the dead for good, to bring back those who hadn’t deserved their death.

Morrigan ducked into a small alley, breathing heavily as she considered something so profane, so taboo, that she was sure the Gods themselves would smite her for these thoughts. The story mentioned the Necronomicon, an ancient tome that supposedly contained the secrets of life and death, and how to control them. That tome, or a copy of it, was likely kept in the Arcane Library, across the continent, in the city of Wyrmsroost. If Morrigan could somehow get there and steal that book, she might be able to find a way to bring Holly back to life.

Her gut twisted at the thought, but her heart raced with excitement. No one would ever agree to take her there if she revealed her true intentions. However, what her mother had said the previous night, about “finding a new purpose,” perhaps she could convince someone to take her there if she said that. Morrigan smiled subconsciously, the expression twisted and sickly. Her mind was made up, after she fulfilled her last duty here, handling the fireworks show tonight, she would find a way to Wyrmsroost and obtain the Necronomicon.

[wintermarmalade]

It was made with all the wrong parts, put together in all the wrong ways, but with the same desire to love as all the others.

It wasn't good at many things, and couldn't handle very much at a time, but still had a desire to be useful and valued.

It wasn't very pleasant to look at, and wasn't shaped well for holding, but it still yearned to be admired and adored.

So it loved, and it fought, and it searched.

[faeriesinmyhead]

Still Fresh - Memento Morri

The door to the cottage opened slowly, the light from the candles inside pouring out onto the path leading up to the door. The conversation near the fireplace fell silent as Morrigan hesitated at the threshold, her eyes downcast. She stood there for several seconds, tears still fresh in her eyes and on her cheeks, before her mother appeared in the doorway and gently guided Morrigan into the cottage.

Her mother closed the door behind her and ushered her into a chair next to the fire. Rowan, seated in the chair opposite her, looked up at her, concern on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but their mother held up a hand to silence him. Now seated in the chair next to the fire, Morrigan burst into tears anew. Her mother cradled Morrigan's head against her chest, gently running her hands through Morrigan's hair. This went on for several minutes, until eventually Morrigan calmed down enough to speak.

"Why?" she asked between now-gentle sobs. "Why her, of all people?"

"Oh, Morri," her mother cooed, continuing to pet her head. "One day, this pain will fade, I promise." Morrigan sniffled and allowed her mother to dry her tears with the hem of her shirt.

"What am I meant to do without her?" Morrigan said miserably.

"Push on, find new purpose, live the life she'd want you to live," her mother said softly. She stepped away from Morrigan for a moment, retrieving a bowl from the mantle and handing it to her. "But I know that's hard to see right now. Eat some soup, Morri, it'll help you feel better."

"I don't want to feel better, I want her back." Morrigan glumly stirred the soup with a spoon, genuinely doing her best to work up an appetite.

"We all do," her mother said, patting Morrigan's head one last time. “I miss her too, my child. Now, eat up, you have a big day tomorrow."

“The festival,” Rowan exclaimed, jumping up from his chair and dancing around excitedly. “I can’t wait to see your fireworks, Morri!” Morrigan sighed and scooped up some of the soup, her hand shakily guiding the spoon up to her mouth. Hesitantly, she ate the spoonful of soup.

With a sigh, she set the bowl down and looked to her mother. “I don’t know if I can do the fireworks,” she said, staring blankly into the fireplace. “But, I already agreed to.”

“Just do your best,” her mother said, taking the bowl and setting back on the mantle. “Everyone understands, it’ll have to be enough.”

[faeriesinmyhead]

Memento Morri

The world was ablaze with the colors of a setting sun: an orange sky dashed through with pink and red clouds, the tops of trees adorned with gold. Even the lake seemed to be on fire with the orange sky reflected so clearly. Next to the lake sat a young woman, reading a book. Perched on a rock on the lake shore, with her feet dangling into the water, the girl looked happy and serene. Next to her sat a basket full of fresh herbs, picked from the meadow next to the lake. The girl sat here for quite a while, her head lolled back, feet swishing lazily through the water.

The serenity couldn't last forever, however, and before long, a voice called out through the meadow to her.

"Morrigan!" The girl jumped, nearly splashing her book with water, and turned on her rock to see who was calling to her. Across the meadow she saw a young boy, no older than 10, jumping and waving his arms to get her attention.

"Morrigan!" the young boy called again, "mother says it's getting late, come on!"

Morrigan sighed, and called back to the boy, "Oh alright, Rowan, tell mother I'm on my way." Rowan jumped up and down a few times, his way of indicating that he would, and ran back off towards the village.

With a sigh, Morrigan stood carefully, making sure not to get her skirt wet, and slipped her shoes back on. Gathering her things, the book and the basket of herbs, she began to walk through the meadow back towards the village. The sun had just about completely set and the first of the stars were appearing in the sky as Morrigan made it to the edge of the meadow, next to the cemetery just outside the village.

She paused next to the gate of the cemetery, her eyes locked on the gravestones. It was impossible to make out the words on most of the graves in the twilight, but Morrigan didn't need to read the words to identify the grave she was looking for. Cautiously, as though she were afraid to disturb the dead, she opened the gate and stepped into the cemetery.

It wasn't a very large cemetery, with maybe only 100 graves total. Morrigan stepped carefully across the rows of gravestones, coming to a stop at one somewhere in the center. Gently, reverently, Morrigan set a few flowers down on the grave, flowers from the meadow. She sighed, tears forming in her eyes as she stared at the gravestone in silence.

It read, "Holly Flanagan, fiancée of Morrigan Brennan, Memento Mori."