I was not interested in the humans at first. Not at all.
Thousands of years—or, perhaps, it was the blink of an eye, I can’t be sure—passed before I finally found out why my kind were so enamored by them. Why they found them amusing. Entertaining. Why they risked their lives, and our secrets, in order to interact with them.
After a good long while, I figured it out.
Such small, delicate creatures. So powerless. And yet:
The beauty of humanity was locked into that fact. Showcased in their faces as the sky lit with stars in the chasm of the night. How enamored they were with the world. How wondrous they found life, even in the darkest of nights.
Such helpless creatures. Unable to grasp their circumstances, unable to withhold the hand of death, and yet:
The strong ones were, anyway.
She was mystified by me. Enamored with my sharp features, my two fox tails, my red, pointy wolf ears. Completely taken in by my magics. By the wiles of my being. Almost immediately, she was curious about me. And, as we talked, it only grew more prominent.
She liked me an awful lot, it seemed.
And I, in turn, was enamored by her.
She was strong. A farm girl. Poor, yet, hearty. Not easily deterred. Not easily stirred. Steady, like an anchor under a boat. Sure, like a mountain scraping the sky. And, above all:
Even when she was sad, or tired, she was bright. Taking deep breaths, she’d still smile as the weather turned sour, or the crops burned. Pulled together her will and forced that darkness from herself. Forced herself to move, to get up, to have purpose. Even when she felt like nothing was going right, or like the world was moving against her, still.
She got up.
Always hoping for a better dawn. Seeing those tiny sprinklings of daylight in the distance. Seeing the dots of the stars, or the slivers of moonlight, she’d smile. And she’d stand. And she’d move forward anyway, always insisting:
There’s always a bit of light somewhere.
It moved me. Moves me, I should say. Because, even now—or in a hundred lifetimes from now—I’ll hold that in my heart. Keep it stored on the walls of my mind. Her hopefulness.
There’s always light.
What a beautiful concept.
I wanted to show her…
“Mary Ellen, please wake up,” I urged from the window. Squatting in the empty square, barely able to fit my frame inside its own.
Human windows need to be bigger.
How else am I supposed to sneak into her room in the night?
In the next moment, she stirred again. Shifting to sit up, rubbing at her sleep-filled eyes.
“Leon? Is that you?” she asked, squinting at her window. At me, and my silhouette.
I grinned at her. “It is,” I informed her brightly. “And I have something to show you. You might want to put on your coat, it’s terribly cold out here for a human.”
“Okay,” she replied, not even questioning me.
So much trust.
I’d never known what that was like until I met her. Faeries don’t trust one another—and for good reason. They were always bent on their own desires, not caring for your own. Not even caring for your health, or your well-being. Why trust a creature that would sell you for a bean? You shouldn’t. That’s the answer.
But, with Mary Ellen, it was not so.
She wasn’t easily trusting, but, once you had her trust, it seemed there was no questioning it. No doubts. Her trust was as steady and sturdy as she was. A tree that sprouted and grew old. That gave life to the newer things in the woods.
That was Mary Ellen.
And that was yet another reason why I was so taken with her. I very much liked how she was. Who she was. It was why I came to bother her so often. Why I was squatting in her window. Why I was about to take her to a beautiful place.
Why I was going to show her the sky the way faeries see it.
When she was dressed, she approached me. Holding out her hand, knowing I’d take it.
And I did.
When I took her hand, I swept her up.
And leapt from the window gracefully. Powerfully.
As high as I could, I leapt. Grazing the bottom of a cloud. Basking in the moonlight, and the obvious delight that showed on Mary Ellen’s face.
As a fae creature, I was always taught that we were evil. That our beings would bring nothing but harm, or disaster, or displeasure to mortals. That that was what we were meant to do. All my life, I’d believed I couldn’t bring true joy to anyone.
I’d been lied to.
As we landed—near the place we had to be in order for my magic to work the way I wanted it to—I could feel my heart pounding. Beating like a war drum. Ready to call up an army inside of me. Ever-marching, always moving forward.
I set her down, took her hand as I said, “This way,” and lead her through the woods.
Without resistant—without hesitation—she followed.
A faith that I hadn’t yet earned.
When we entered the clearing, I placed her in the center, grinning.
“Stay in this spot, okay? I’m going to be running around you, doing my magic thing—but you stay here, alright? I want you to see all of it.”
“All of what?” she asked, head tilted curiously. Eyes dusted with moonlight.
My heart leapt into my throat, excited. Ecstatic.
“You’ll see,” I told her. “It’s something amazing,” I promised before running off to start the magic.
As asked, she stayed put.
Words began running from me—meeting that pounding drum—I began to speak the language of my people. Began calling to the wilds. To the earth, to the sky. Began bridging with brick, with mortar. Began building my magic into the earth, the sky.
And it flowed.
Gold and silver and red, blues and whites sprouted from me as I walked the circle of the clearing, as I spoke the words to mold the magic. To create what I needed. The magic flowed freely, strongly. Shifting the plates of the earth to make the bridge sturdy. To open the pathway. Giving invitation to the denizens of the sky—my intended audience. Bending the laws of nature, I created it.
A bridge to the stars.
A hand held upward:
And, as soon as the bridge solidified, they answered.
They came down.
As they floated to us, they took shape. Spirits of the Great Fae taking their form for the moment. Dancing from the land in the sky to the land on the earth. Prancing through the clearing, flowing with their light. Their forms delighted. Elated.
Stars brought to life.
And she, Mary Ellen, stood among them. Stood staring, dumbfounded. Her mouth hanging open as the Fae of Old passed her. Danced around her. Their merriment lighting the clear with hues that had no descriptions. With light that only stars could provide.
A shimmering thing. Wispy, almost, in the way it appeared. Light that was ever-present, though not always concrete. Not always tangible. But still.
Just like her.
Dimmed for the moment, but knowing—confident.
These hopeful lights?
They were more than enough.
As I saw the look of awe on Mary Ellen’s face—exaggerated by the stars—I could feel the drum in my chest pound harder. Faster. More insistent. Knowing that it would be alright. That everything would be alright. That, at the end of the day, there are still stars in the sky. Even when the darkness comes, there is still light.
Dim as it is, there is still light.
For me—and for Mary Ellen—I knew. Could say certainly:
They were more than enough.
Hey everyone! Thank you for reading!! If you liked this story, you might want to check out some of my others. I like stars a lot, and magical stuffs. Most of what I write has to do with fictional things (monster, or faeries, or werewolves, or something made-up). So, if you’re into that, and you like my writing style, please feel free to check out some more of my stuff!
And, if you’re looking for a read, I’d greatly appreciate you checking out my book! It’s called Into The Wilderness and it’s about werewolves! Not the Twilight-style werewolves. Like, hardcore werewolves. It’s kind of like a warped sort of Vampire Academy type deal, only, with werewolves as the good guys (mostly). So if you, or anyone you know, are into that sort of thing, I’d greatly appreciate you checking it out.
Thanks again for reading!!! Happy Monday 🙂