The vicious fey speak,
Of the downfall of their own,
When their lands were green and blooming,
And the seed of hatred was sown.
When they spun around in circles,
Lost in many a revel,
Wide-eyed, feverish and free,
In various states of dishevel.
Mothers warn their lads,
Never to drink fey wine,
Or to make a wicked bargain,
Nor sit with them to dine.
For once there was a human boy,
Who yearned for meadows and streams,
Of old, forgotten, beautiful magic,
Woven from endless dreams.
The vicious fey speak,
Of his iron-strong will,
His awe at their wonders,
And countenance that went still
As he gazed upon their princess,
Pricked by a fey thorn,
He looked at her with hunger,
And then his greed was born.
Violet orbs twinkled,
Framed by amber tresses,
From her pretty, white throat, tinkled,
A voice as sweet as molasses.
She was promised to another,
By old love, she was bound,
Scorned, he refused to listen,
And in this, strength, he found.
For a while he was trusted,
With the fey he wined and dined,
Until he came upon his love again,
With her lover, entwined.
The vicious fey speak,
Of his eyes, blood-red with rage,
Hands curved into talons that,
Stole and locked her in a cage.
He waged a war upon her,
A war he never won,
Wrapped in lust, he wildly strayed,
And her mind had come undone.
Bruised and bloodied, she staggered,
Out into the freezing night,
Where even the moon seemed to steadily burn,
With a chilly, unforgiving light.
She loosed forth a shattering cry,
Unblinking, in the silent haze,
Torrents of rain ran down her cheeks,
As she strained to break his embrace.
And it was like this, that an immortal,
Gave herself to despair,
She sparked a flame, to burn to cinders,
And float to Death’s cold lair.
With her she took our magic, they say,
With her she took our dreams,
She left us with naught but viciousness,
And echoes of her screams.
The broken fey speak,
Of the havoc a mortal can wreak,
And why no one shall ever dare,
Enter the court of nightmares.
Flax Golden 