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I bet The major fairies will be Extremely frustrated at Texas, You want winter, it’s not gonna do it. You want fall, hardly.., It will mostly obey summer
Now, now, let’s not stroke Dream’s ego. He’s already aware that so many of the Big Folk adores his beloved summer… the warmth… the light… the colours… sigh
Dream: “That sounds like such a lovely place.”
Error: “Sounds like misery.”
Dream: “You’re just jealous.”
Error: “Tsk! Am not.”
The Firstborn Fairies 🦋✨
Fairy! nightmare, dream, ink and error belong to @fairy-verse
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Fairyverse is incredibly adorable🥰
fairy!error belong to @fairy-verse
saying thank you to error for giving me so many snow days this year! i’ve been able to get so many creative projects done with my free time
lots of love for the winter fairy and his kingdom
“Faerlings, the lot of them,” Error mused as he watched his winter fairies perform their duties with perfect expertise. The Knights didn’t stray from their positions, but it was obvious for those with eyes to see that their gazes lingered on the stray winter fairy that played with the snow and the ice. Somewhere within their trained souls, they longer to play as well. “Perhaps I ought to allow them a moment of rest.” And it was with but a wave of a phalange or two that the command was released upon the winter chill, and the Knights disarmed themselves and fell upon the winter land with cheer and laughter of their own; still armoured from their crowns to their toes. The sight made Error chuckle, his soul warming at the love his fairies had for his beloved season.
They were made for it, of course they’d love it, but seeing it confirmed was always such a treat.
The Big Folk toiled away to remove the accumulated snow from the fronts and tops of their stone and wooden houses, and though he had no love for them, Error couldn’t help but watch with mild fascination at how they pushed through the weight of snow and ice with shining determination in their faces. Some were gaunt and ready for death to come knocking, whilst others had filled their bodies before the end of autumn and still held fat that could keep them going.
“And there are the strays,” Error murmured as a handful of Big Folk gazed upon the white clad land with wonder in their eyes. They smiled and brushed their hands across the snow, skin turning red from the cold, but little did it matter for they chuckled and shuddered in their warm cloaks. In due time, they’d go inside their homes and sit before the fire, and there they’d do their strange little rituals. Sometimes, deep within his soul, Error wondered what they did behind those stone and wooden walls. He’d never go near enough to see for himself, and he’d never order one of his own fairies to do so either, but occasionally, he began to imagine, and that is when the days turn blue and the snow crystals glitter upon the ground as the stars twinkle overhead, and the winter’s day turns into night, and all is at silent peace.
Ill-tempered and bitingly cold is what winter is often seen as, with blinding snowfalls and wicked winds that cut into your skin, yet there is also an eerie silence that accompanies the thick blanket of snow that covers the island itself. If you stand still near the winter fairies mountains, then you will hear nothing, for the mountains themselves shield the winter fairies from prying eyes, but shall you somehow find your way to go all the way west on the Firstborn Meadow, then an eerie song will echo in the distance. The sounds are sometimes deep, and sometimes loud and sharp; and always so jarring and cold. The waters on the lakes are freezing solid, and it is the only way the Firstborn fairy of winter can let his own voice trail and form into uncanny songs far too strange for any Big Folk to understand.
Error holds nothing secret during his winter. It is the time of year when you’ll see and know him as ancient and ethereal, and the sounds of his songs will not falter… until the winds of spring are near.
: ̗̀➛ Winter
The world was muted. The snow fell slowly from a hazy white sky, clouds so thick you did not know where they ended and the snowflakes began, yet few would look up on a late evening such as this. The sun had not risen for many days already, and what little light there was around noon did little to aid those who found themselves in the lands cast in white cold.
The lakes would sing at night, freezing what little had thawed in the less cold daytime hours. Icy crystals climbed the trees and their branches, making them, as well as the snow, glitter in the moonlight, even as the sight of Luna was hidden behind the clouds up above.
This was the time of the year which Error loved the most. It was quiet. It was peaceful. The fairies of Dream’s Valley were at rest, sleeping within warm nests until the days the sun would return. No song could be heard from there, and no laughter could be heard from the fairies of Ink’s great forest. They, too, were at rest. No, the only fairies, besides his kin of winter, that were awake and aware were those of autumn. Huddled and silent they may be within Nightmare’s underground nest, but sometimes during the evening and the night, Error would see them from his place atop his highest mountain peak.
Their light was hard to ignore. The crystals of their home twinkled with ancient magic, casting specks of blue, green, and purple across the white land, and the fairies of autumn would dance and twirl for the fairies of winter as they approached, eager for company in an otherwise deadly quiet world.
Strange it was not that there were more hybrids of winter and autumn, Error thought. They find themselves lonely, even as the dark and the cold bring comfort and rest.
He sat down upon the mountain’s ledge, letting his legs hang in the air as strings of silver blue swayed in the gentle wind. Specks of snow passed him by, and he sighed in contentment, savouring the moment of a time he desired to last forevermore. He would have let it go on, his beloved winter, if only he’d allowed himself the indulgence.
If only he allowed himself to let go of care and affection, thought Error. Then the world could forever be at rest, cast in a permanent state of white beauty and blissful cold, where only he and his kin would thrive.
Such horrid thoughts of his, a dark desire he’s since long ensnared and kept hidden deep within himself, yet never it left him. Never would he fully rid himself of it, because he truly did not want it to fade from him. It was a fantasy he could indulge in within his daydreams, allowing himself the pleasure of thinking ‘what if’.
Horrid and beautiful it was to imagine his fellow firstborn at rest. Dream would be such a beauty in his sleep, surrounded by crystals of cold as he remained beneath a blanket of moss and green grass. Ink would be another sight, entrapped within a cocoon of sticks and flowers frozen in time, restless even in his sleep, but never waking. And Nightmare, oh beautiful Nightmare, he’d be drowsy and tired, sleeping more than he needed in a palace of velvets and toadstools, tapestries of intricate designs framing his bed as he struggles to awaken in the night, frost enticing him to relax yet, all the same, wishing him awake and aware.
Error shuddered, letting the dark fantasy pass along with the wind as the voices of the big folk echoed through his mountains. They were singing again, passing along his border with blue glass spheres within their cold hands, their lights glowing gently. Clad in wool dyed with different shades of blue, they passed near silently over snow and ice, their voices oddly pleasant as they sang for peace and comfort to all who struggled this winter, wishing for the cold not to take them this year either.
Error knew they sang to him, gently pleading with him to show them mercy, to not take their homes and lives with the growing freeze. Sometimes, he listened, drawing back his cold from their villages and allowing them moments of rest so their fires could bring some warmth. However, sometimes, their pleas could not penetrate the freezing rage within him, and on those winters, many would pass; often the elderly… and the children.
What would Dream, Ink, and Nightmare think if they knew how little Error cared? What would they think if they knew that the suffering of innocent big folk didn’t thaw his frozen soul? Surely, they’d be appalled.
Well, maybe not quite, thought Error.
They’ve all caused suffering, be it intentional or not, yet none, not even Ink, took outright pure pleasure from it. If someone deserved it then they might, but Error took a wicked delight in the woes of the big folk, of hearing them weep as they clutched a babe to their chest, dead from the cold or the sickness that came with it.
He took a breath, a wisp of mist filling the air as he released it. Each winter the desire to let go increased, and each time his resistance grew weaker and weaker. A part of him did not wish to be this way, the part of him that once was innocent and young upon the meadow they’d been born to, and though that part of him still lived within him, it was weakened.
Weakened, but not yet dead, thought Error. Still, he feels it, even at the present, bringing warmth to him as the song of the big folk drew faint and distant, swallowed up by the continuously falling snow. And all the more he feels it when his fairies surround him, their armoured, leather, and fur-covered bodies moving seamlessly about his Mountain Halls. The light of their lanterns, so golden and warm, brought a sense of comfort to him, too.
It is they, and his firstborn, that keep the darkness within Error at bay. Without them, he would not have cared anymore. Without them, the world would forevermore have been cast in darkness and cold, forced to sleep beneath a blanket of white snow that glittered in the light of only the moon and the stars.
would error fancy having an ice palace like elsa did?
The peak of the highest mountain in his domain is his palace, and he could ask for nothing better than that. Ice crystals adorn the ceiling and sing for him whenever he so wishes, and cracks in the mountain walls are filled with clear ice that gives him whatever view he so wishes, though he will always prefer the natural view presented to him from the mountain itself. So no, dearest anon, Error would not wish for a palace like Elsa’s, though he may enjoy the view of it from his home, if it existed in his realm.
“I bear no love for the Big Folk, yet their strange traditions of setting lights out in the night and hanging dried oranges, sticks of cinnamon, and stars made of wood in their windows have their odd charms. Many decorate their trees of pine with strings of paper and glitter, and there are ornaments of deer, goats, ice crystals, and men and women with woollen clothing and red hats and scarves.
Some of the Big Folk even appear to dress in either grey or deep red clothing trimmed with fur of white, and they sing and hop around as they carry sacks that jingle and chime.
They are all so… strange, yet I find it all so… endearing. Perhaps it is time for a comfortably cold and clear winter’s night they can all enjoy.”
