Are you an only child? Write about your siblings or lack thereof.
I am an only child. Or at least I am the only daughter of my mother, who now rests in the Summerland.
I will not lie. There are reasons for this. My mother, who was a newly dedicated Priestess on the Fortunate Island, gave birth to me when she was only seventeen. She was seduced by an Unseelie Prince by the name of Gan Ceanach and I was the result of that union. She was a beautiful woman, so who could blame the Sidhe for finding her attractive, and Sidhe women are far less fertile than their Human kin? To put indelicately, I was born without being legitimized by my father….a bastard. Because of this, because my father had to be for all intents and purposes, forced to acknowledge the relationship, and therefore legitimise my claim to Sidhe blood, he and I have had a very strained relationship. The fact that he would never acknowledge her goodness, did not help matters any.
Maeve Fiona McKay was a doting mother, she poured all of her love and spirit into raising me for the four short years that I knew her. There was no time before tragedy struck for her to have married and had another child. Surely, there were other men in the village of Dunnlauden who would have gladly taken a Priestess of the Goddess from the Holy Fortunate Isle to wife, even with me being so young. When my mother died, it was a shock to everyone. No one knew, as I was later to find out, that she was murdered and by the very woman who was to become my foster mother.
I sometimes wish I had siblings. We could have at least have the comfort of each other even as if we had lost our mother. It is a very lonely thing to not have any real blood family around you. I suppose it is this lack of real family connection, outside of my mother’s family who were scattered through various parts of the Highlands, has weighed a bit on my ability to be a better mother than I am. I have two daughters of my own but I know I am not the best of mothers. Those formative years were devoid of familial love and safety and because of this, I think it made things more difficult for me later in life.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 395
I waited until Gil and Lt. Brass had left before turning to Azazeal. Even then I made certain that my eyes were on them as I spoke softly. “This is not one of your better disguises,” I said tersely.
Azazeal glanced at the retreating Grissom and Brass and then grinned at me. “On the contrary, Faelyn. I find it’s quite effective. It’s almost as good as having a badge and a gun around here. I’m sure that it must be the accent. Receptionists and Americans in general just naturally think that I must be telling the truth.” He gave an amused smile, “Ah, Colonials!”
I resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to roll my eyes at him. “Why are you here?” I asked.
There is no time than when a woman is with child that her dreams are the most profound – and perhaps frightening as well. Since the death of my husband, I had left Versailles, but only after having to beg my leave from the Court from King Louis himself. The King said that he was very sorry to see me go, but that he completely understood my reasons for doing so. He promised to send a mutual friend to check upon my progress. That night I left Paris and travelled to my husband’s ancestral home.
I dreamt last night that it was Louis de Rouvroy, Monsieur le Duc de Saint-Simon that the King sent to the Château de Rochefort. He was certainly one of the most well spoken and elegant of King Louis gentlemen at Court. He had a frank honesty about him that shocked many, and that Louis tolerated even when the Duc criticised him roundly for his excesses and those of the Court. When everyone there was quick to say, “Les femmes ne sont pas gens,” – ‘Women are not people,’ De Saint-Simon was the first to speak out against the idea. Continue reading
four cities of the Fae. These are Gorias in the East, Finias in the South, Murias in the West and Falias in the North. There is, unbeknownst to many, a fifth city that exists within the centre of them all, heart shaped, absolutely hidden, and is quite central to the other four. This centrally located city is only spoken of as being the Glen of Precious Stones. The way to this place is necessarily secret, as is its True Name – just as the Fortunate Isle itself is hidden from the view of mere mortals. It is no wonderment to me now that the stone I was given in the forest on that windy day when I was four, a heart-shaped, uncut emerald, alluded to that very place. It took me another twenty years to ascertain what it meant and to actually reach the Glen of Precious Stones, but the gift had been with me since the beginning.
Each of the Seven Realms of Existence must not only had to be perceived but traversed before I could enter any of those cities
1. Know when to speak and when to hold your silence. – Everyone wishes to be heard, especially in the midst of confrontation and the careful negotiations surrounding a conflict. When you are in the role of a diplomat, it is best to say less than necessary. So many statesmen seem to get a thrill listening to the sound of their own voices without the slightest notion that the more they say the more common they appear. And the more that they say, the more foolish they appear. When this happens, any hope to manoeuvre the situation, let alone control it, is lost. It is a far more dangerous thing during negotiations to say foolish things than to actually do them. Silence and the appearance of interest often renders the other side unable to read you and to judge your intentions. Humans especially like to have a clear notion of where you stand on any given issue. When you can control exactly what you wish them to know and nothing more. Silence is mysterious and so many cannot stand the suspense of that mystery.
The relentless Scottish wind whipped my hair across my face as I made my way through the rocky crag to the forest glen. Glancing over my shoulder I could see my mother who was bent over a lichen covered rock, struggling to gather more herbs but also to keep what we had gathered from blowing away. Shaking her cloak back behind her, and not looking up from what she was doing she called out to me, “Frances, donnae go too far that I cannae see you, Lass.” Continue reading
I have had long hair all of my life. Sometimes it has been more long than at other times. I remember when I was a mere twenty years old, my hair was long enough to reach to my feet. Even when my tresses were braided into a single plait down my back, it was a rope that reached well past my ankles. Such a thing, though a mark of beauty and femininity, is incredibly heavy and not very easy to take care of. It would take sitting by the fire for hours, brushing, combing, untangling, and waiting for it to dry. Anyone who ever recommended 100 strokes a night every night for a woman to brush her hair with never had to contend with it being longer than to their waist! Your arms end up being quite tired! It was about the beginning of the 17th Century when I cut my hair a little shorter,at least to my hips so that it became more manageable.
If you were to ask me, however, what kind of hair I would like to see on a man, I would have to answer, long and dark. I think it goes back to that first night, on the Fortunate Island, when all that I had in the world was my maidenhood. I clutched it to me like the fur robe which covered me on that large stone altar amid the standing stones. My hair was loose and hung about me, scented with the sharp pungency of rosemary and heather. He was tall, muscular and beautiful. If there was anyone who could represent the Stag King, it would have been the young man standing in the flickering shadows of the Bale Fires that night. His hair was as dark as the black basalt that I was lying upon and in our night together, our hair tangled around us so that we could no longer discern where the strands of one ended and the other’s began. Perhaps it was his beauty that made me stay my hand and not take his life when I should have.
And nearly every man that I have ever loved and held dearest to my heart resembled him in some way.My dearest friend, my husband, my paramours – all of them held the same wildness the unslain opfer* did that night. Whether I relive it again and again, I am uncertain. I do not know that it really matters.I just know what I prefer.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 413
Opfer – A human sacrifice used with in some Pagan traditions. Usually one who is willing.
“Check,” I said softly as I pulled my fingers away from my queen. We had been belabouring our moves for hours and each move was as if my opponent and I were truly were on a field of battle. He looked thoughtful for a moment, measuring each man that he had remaining on the chessboard that he would willingly sacrifice to take his king out of peril. He did not move anything but rather mulled over the possibilities, each possibility passed over his features and faded until at last he moved a rook in the direct path of my opposing queen.
“Most women would have relegated themselves to their embroidery at this time, Frances,” my opponent said settling back into his leather wing chair, stretching lazily, as if languishing like a cat that had been too long by the fire, “but not you. If I didn’t know better, I would say that you pay closer attention to tactics and strategy than you do to the womanly arts of lace tatting