A Changeling Among Humans
Her eyes are open and what she sees pains her. Her magical heart, carved from the depths of Faerie so many centuries ago, has long-since hardened and become like stone after centuries of banality and strife. She had almost forgotten why she chose to live among the mortals, who would so carelessly throw away all they had been given. She is bitter, yes, but still holds hope that the Humans can see the error of thier ways. She knows that some of them still remember the old stories, the old ways, and are working to reclaim that balanced way of life. She wants to help them, but she has been so long in the Real World that she has all but forgotten the ways of leaf and glen, of forest and hunters and prey and life and death. She is remembering, though, and she is working her old memories into a new pattern with the that of the world she has been barely surviving in. Her old gods tickle her ears and heart, asking her to give way into the madness once again, to run wild and naked and covered in wine… or is it blood? She has been domesticated by the world, and as much as her heart would sing to run thru the trees again, she knows that her purpose would be lost. Now she must walk the fine line of civility and wilderness. She must be the balance point to show others how far askew the fulcrum has been pushed. And then, maybe then, she can rally them to help push it back into place. Balance will be returned, and she would have a hand in that, however small.