THE FAERIE

Faye was a child of light and everyone loved her.  She turned sad days happy and restored the spirits of the despairing.  Like her grandmother and mother, she was known to have healing powers and rumoured to be descended from the faerie folk.  Faye was devoted to visiting the sick and elderly, she gave them crystals which she claimed would lighten the atmosphere in their homes.

One winter’s day Faye and her grandmother were returning from a visit; when a man reined in his horse and gazed down on Faye’s beauty and radiance.

“Ladies,” he said boldly, dismounting and bowing, “may I escort you home?”
“I think not,” Faye’s grandmother said.
“Let me walk behind you then.  It’s getting dark and I can’t leave you alone on the road.  I'll tell you my name, so I'm less of a stranger – I’m Orin.”
The ladies curtsied and allowed Orin to accompany them.  Faye kept snatching glances over her shoulder; he was tall, with dark brown hair, strong features and bright eyes.  He led his grey horse along with confidence.  Once they were home, he asked grandmother’s permission to call on Faye. 

“I’ve heard of Orin, he has an iron disposition,” her grandmother warned her later, “your sunny nature won’t warm him.”

Faye ignored her; she accompanied Orin on long walks and heard his theories patiently.
“You’ve listened to me,” Orin remarked one day, “what do you do?”
She talked of visits, crystals and changing sad atmospheres to happy ones and he laughed.
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I’m descended from faerie folk.  I’ve inherited the power to make darkness light.”
“Really?  Those are outdated beliefs of silly, small minded people.”
“Haven’t I made you happy?”
“Not because you’re a faerie ...!” he broke off laughing, gazing up at the grey sky, snow was starting to fall.
Faye felt the weight of his ridicule; “You haven’t seen what I do.”
“I want proof.  Who have you healed with your magical powers?”
“Mrs Durston says I brighten her day and the crystal I left comforts her.”
“She’s still terminally ill.”
Faye shuddered, muttering; “While there’s life ...”
Orin shook his head.
The day had darkened.  Faye was full of doubt, she was in awe of Orin; his personality was an unstoppable force.  She was in love and wanted to win his heart.
“They claim faerie folk never die,” he continued mercilessly, “where’s your mother?”
Faye bit her lip and turned away.
“Thought so,” Orin put his arm around her, “there’s no such thing as faeries.  You cheer people up, nothing more.  You don’t have magical powers.  Where do you buy your crystals?  You know it’s all a con, don’t you?”
His sympathy confused her, she thought he was trying to be kind and protective, she looked up at him and he kissed her, lips warm on a winter’s day.  She felt something in her recede and flung her arms round him, hoping to feel less empty.

The winter continued through March.  No hares danced in the fields and the lambs would not leave the sides of the ewes to play.  Mrs Durston died of cancer when Faye stopped visiting.  Faye lost faith that she could do good and spent her time with Orin, listening to his cynical views.  Sick despair seeped through the village and people stopped believing in faerie folk.  They saw the true world, a crooked place full of people out to get them.  They forgot about the child of light who used to spread happiness.  She was like them now, a cowed, frightened thing.