You don’t always get “happily ever after;” a lesson I learned early in life. The stories of the girl with the horrible step sisters, or the gorgeous girl who was put under a sleeping spell, or the first kiss of your first and only love, those things are made up stories, with glorious endings that are sure to come. These tales are the reason we have hope – hope for a good life.
My name is unimportant. At the moment I find myself with the girl in the room at the top of the stairs, in the cottage at the center of the valley of purple flowers. In my life horrors seem to come in abundance and they rarely end happily. “Why?” you ask. Well, let me tell you a little story.
Those I loved were killed during the Storm of Ka’Anar. Of course you know that it wasn’t really a storm in the sense that the wind blows in large, heavy gusts that follow you like villains to curse you, or like great drops of water that are spat down from the clouds, nor great strobes of light that break whatever stands in their way.
No, the Storm of Ka’Anar was a war. A war that had only found satisfaction in the blood stained land when nine out of ten children, humans and fairies alike, were without loved ones. When they could take them and train them to be “exactly what they should be” or war mongers, witches or other foul ways to live one’s life.
Thankfully for some, many were killed early on and weren’t allowed the chance to try to terrorize the countryside searching for a safe place for their child to live, howling out to the heavens to hide their beloved from the enemy. Those who died early were better off than those who lived through the Ka’Anar.
I won’t worry you with details of the onslaught, but I will say this; it is an evil time I live in, when the moon is darkened by whispers in the wind, screams of terror race out of the woods, and druids pound on doors and take what they want.
Abundance of horrors? Do you agree?
I am fortunate to have lived this long. The places I have been, the things I have seen. They are not tragedies for the faint hearted to hear, nor of the unwise to speak, for the man who does not guard his mouth may not have it the next day.
The kings and queens of our age have done what they could and taken in those for whom they had room. Now it is left for those who can fight to fight and those who cannot to stand behind the others in support. Those who are faint may find a place of rest and those who are weary to find peace somewhere.
Yes, the Storm has passed and the worst yet may be over, but life is still hard on the common folk. The battle will continue ten-fold from what it was and what it is now. The evil will not leave. But one day, one day we can count on having a day when the creatures of the sky will soar again, free! And all will be safe running in the fields. When those who have passed will be remembered through our gifts. It will be a glorious day, that one. A glorious day indeed.
Oh, what’s that you ask? My gift? Oh, my gift isn’t really a talent like you may suppose, it’s a being really. I am a song. I come out in times of great need and joy alike. I am a story, really, of times past and present and future. I am freed during the times when the people are alone enough, or scared enough to find comfort in my company. And that is something that makes all the evil of today bearable for tomorrow.
I sweep through the breeze, tumble with the waves on the sand and reach up to the highest stars. I am a light in the darkness, when the bleakest hour is upon us I rise up to greet the morning light. When sorrows come in abundance, I am given. A song of laughter, hope and joy, sorrow, encompassing all battles and despair. A story of the ages. That is who I am.
And now, my story has been told. Farewell… until we meet again.
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