A Lesson Mislearned

Mikelaine can still remember the first thing his mother told him when he became old enough to leave the Sidhe.
If you see a Hunter, you run.
You don't try to fight him, or bring him in, or anything like that. You get as far away from him as fast as you can, and pray he hasn't Sensed you yet.
Mikelaine also remembers the first thing his mother gave him that day.
A tiny crystal, barely thicker than his thumb, that glistened even when there was no light present. It was strung on a delicate silver chain, and he was instructed to wear it whenever he went Outside.
It was their only mode of defense against the Hunters. Once broken, it would diffuse his Trace, make him indiscernible from the humans around him. If he was absolutely certain a Hunter was tracking him, he should break it, and then fly. Take on a bird glamour, anything. Just get away, and make sure no one saw him.
The most important rule for a fairie was not to lead a Hunter back to the Sidhe. Protecting it was of the highest priority.
So when Mikelaine returns from a trip Outside, and Senses the Wayward Charms around the Sidhe are mangled and destroyed, he doesn't even go to look. He knows his home is forever gone, because someone didn't listen to their mother the first time they were old enough to leave the Sidhe.
And now the Sidhe's gone.

No, I'm not dead, but thanks for the concern

Apparently I've abandoned my blog.

It's not for lack of material: I am writing, I just never get around to posting. '~' So this is a new ultimatum to mahself: post at least one thing every month, even if it's epic fail that I end up deleting later. And trust me, there will be epic fail.

By the way, what is everyone's opinion on fanfiction? Because, for better or for worse, a lot of what I write is of the fanfiction variety, but I'm hesitant to post any of it here in case you all hate it. Thoughts?

"I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again." --Oscar Wilde

In which there is a thunderstorm and someone subsequently becomes frightened and confused

There's a flash, and the thunder rumbles, and Diana jumps. See, Di is terrified of thunderstorms, and has been as long as I've known her. It's probably because she has no way to defend herself against them. She grows red roses around her house to protect herself from vampires, and she sleeps with a silver spoon in her hand to drive away the werewolves, but there's nothing to counteract a nice big thunderstorm.
The thunder roars out again, closer this time, and Diana yelps and shoves a massive bright blue pillow embroidered with (what else?) red roses over her head. Honestly, though, where on Earth did she find that thing? It's almost as big as she is, and more than twice as wide. Forget pillow, I think it's a plumpy tent. Must. Resist. Urge. To Shred.
"The stupid giants are throwing rocks at each other like they do in Wonderland!" Di mumbles from under the plumpy tent thing, her voice shaky and nervous.
"The giants are from The Hobbit, dear," Di's mom says from where she sits with her book, close enough to keep an eye on her freaked-out daughter. In response, Di throws the plumpy tent off her head, wailing petulantly.
"See what this storm has done to my delicate mental faculties! I can't even keep my fantastical literature straight!"
"Delicate mental faculties is right," I mutter. It is a testament to the versatile nature of Diana's mom that she doesn't even bat an eye when a cat starts talking. That's one unflappable woman.
"Oh Ares," Di starts, "don't mock those of us who fear the thunder and the lightning. Just because you were born in the midst of a thunderstorm during a new moon and therefore aren't scared of storms."
"Of course I'm not scared of...wait, what?"
Di sighs, momentarily distracted from the storm. "Ares, black cats are only born during thunderstorms that occur during new moons. Everyone knows that."
Oh, really? This is news to me. Well, I don't actually remember being born (who does?), so I suppose it could be true. I don't really remember anything at all from my life before coming to live with Di's family. Maybe my entire kittenhood was spent in a thunderstorm. In the dark. Under a plumpy tent.
The thunderstorm's still going strong, and Di's pulled the plumpy pillow thing off her head and begun clutching it to her chest, her skinny legs sticking out on either side. I curl up on top of the tent-like stuffball, and Diana begins absentmindedly scratching me behind one ear. Crash! goes the thunder, and Di's fingers dig reflexively into my fur. Ow, okay, that one hurt. She seems slightly calmer now that I'm sitting her though, so I stay, painful as it may be.
What are friends for, after all?

Beginnings

Chester was bored.
So bored, in fact, that one day he did something explicitly forbidden.
He followed the will-'o-the-wisps through the bogs. Nevermind what his mother and the servants said about danger and death. He was the son of a lord of England: the supernatural couldn't touch him. It wouldn't dare.
Twitch was irate.
So irate, in fact, that he merely lay in the leafy shade of a fern when he woke up, and he stewed. He had been banished, and without even a proper trial. They didn't even have the decency to make him a proper changeling, for he hadn't been placed in a home with a family. He was well and truly stuck.
This was how Chester found Twitch, lying on his back with his feet in the air, blowing angry sparks like an old man blows smoke rings. This was how a partnership was born, one that would result in more than a few blown-up objects and lost parental hairs.
This was how a friendship between a human boy and a fairy outcast began.

Revolution

She didn't know why she was standing here.
Maybe it was because, at the end of it all, she just couldn't hack it. When it came down to it, she was incapable of doing what they asked if her.
Which was funny, because it was supposed to be easy.
Liars.
She had tried, really, to believe what they said, to think two different things simultaneously, but she couldn't. The moment she did, they started spinning around in her head, one trying to defeat the other. But of course, then the second thought would defeat the first, and the first the second, and they'd just go on in and endless cycle.
The pressure had been building in her head for days, making her want to scream.
No matter what she did, no matter what she thought, a thousand other thoughts told her she was wrong. She couldn't move without them assailing her, making every day an impossible torment.
She couldn't think two things at once.
Maybe she did know why she was standing here, after all.
The door itself was nondescript, it was what was beyond it that captured her attention. Sanctuary. People who thought as she did. People who wanted to think their own thoughts, and theirs alone.
Maybe this was the first step on the road to peace.
The pressure in her head was gone already.

A Christmas Update

So, two things I wish to talk about: 1) The Princess and the Frog, and 2) Nutcracker, by E.T.A. Hoffmann.

1) Like about twenty other people (you know who you are), I saw The Princess and the Frog last night. And it. Was love. To be completely honest, I don't think it cracked my top three gems (The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin, in that order) but it was still the most amazing movie Disney has created since ever. It was funny, sweet, adorable, dramatic, etc, etc, etc, as well as having a truly terrifying villain. If you were on the fence about seeing this movie, be so no longer. It is well worth your money.

And Prince Naveen is really and truly my new favorite Disney Prince. Sorry, Aladdin.

2) Okay, so I think most of us know that The Nutcracker, as in the ballet, is based off a children's book, but how many of us have actually read it? I know I hadn't, but I adore the story of the ballet, and I decided to dig up the book at my library. It is completely enchanting, and downright eerie, at the exact same time. The story is very different from the ballet in parts, but it is really magical. If you can, get the version illustrated by Maurice Sendak. His seven-headed mouse king made me shudder.

And read it before Christmas, or it looses more than half of its appeal. ;-)

Happy Christmas to you all!

Garage

I bet he thought no one saw him.
He snuck into the garage at 12 midnight every night, pushing the door just high enough to roll under.
I suppose he slept in our van, because once I found a cigarette in the ashtray in the back seat.
Every morning at 6, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, he would creep back out, slowly letting the garage door shut behind him. Once he took 5 minutes to close it, when the neighbors' dog had started barking.
Once the door was shut he would jog down my driveway, his backpack bouncing up and down, but every night he would be back. He always came back.
I bet he thought that no one saw him.
But I did.