They're waiting.

While taking a walk through the woods one rather gloomy spring day, The Writer caught a glimpse of a young girl with short dark hair and dark eyes. There was something strange (yet not sinister) about her. She seemed familiar, somehow. The Writer continued on, searching through breaks in the trees until, much to her surprise, found herself face to face with her quarry. They regarded each other for a moment. The girl’s eyes narrowed and grew darker still.

We’re waiting.

The words were heard not with her ears but with her heart, for the girl’s lips remained still. The Writer wasn't especially frightened, not by the girl anyway. What scared her was the thought that the stories she loved so much may never be known to anyone else but her. 

So The Writer retreated from the mundane world to her cozy little home and immersed herself in the Faerie Realm. Sipping tea and losing complete track of the time ( as will happen when one visits the Fae ), she continues to document the stories they are willing to share. 


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