In a Land of Fabrication

[[ August 3rd. I made this into a book, too! ]]

Taking to the air, you flutter within range to leave a soft, affectionate kiss upon the brow of a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon.

You take to the air with a few beats of your wings, alighting gently upon a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon.

You put your hands on your hips and go "Hmmm!"

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Once upon a time, in a land of fabrication, Faethorn was ruled not by the Maeve but by twin lords. In truth, they were brother and sister, but Lord in the language of fae is but a title, and cares not for the petty contrivances of gender."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "In this fabricated Faethorn, the Twin Lords had very differing opinions upon many things: Whether the Fae should be beings of day or night, of winter or summer, of boon or bane. Most specifically, they argued upon their approach to the mortal races; Lord Lily did love them and wished for peaceful decorum, but Lord Mercutious despised them and everything they stood for."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "T'was over this last differences that the twin lords dedicated themselves to war. Each split up Faethorn by its parts, stealing or beguiling the residents with honeyed words and treats and intimidation and violence in equal measure, and sent kin against kin to prove whose opinions were best."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Their subjects, of course, hated this disparity. Not a day went by whereupon they did not have to entreat the well of souls for life to be returned to the bodies of the fallen, and the once-green forests of Faethorn had begun to tinge an inextricable red with blood. And so, in lulls of fighting, the two armies met, and appointed from among themselves covert leadership, and began to hatch a plan to unseat the warring Lords."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Quietly, subtly, the battlefield changed; with armies united against their masters, fighting became a strange sort of dance. A pantomime, intended to draw blood but not splatter it, to sate the questing eyes of the nobility and draw attention away from clandestine meetings, where plans were birthed in secret and alliances built upon a foundation of mutual grief."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "It fell to two, in the end. In the heat of battle, Lords Lily and Mercutious sat upon their thrones and watched with dedicated zeal the dance of their chosen fighters, preferring the dignified haze of detached guidance to wading into battle themselves. They were ambushed by their most trusted generals; Lord Stone waylaid Lord Mercutious upon his throne, hypnotizing him and shattering his hold on the Fae. Lord Bing took Lily, and threw her into a looking-glass, where her voice could no longer be heard."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Lords Stone and Bing then dissolved the armies; they took up residence in the vacated thrones and kept their charmed and captured predecessors as confidantes and resources, whose expertise was called upon for help with their new duties of Governing the Fae. And for a short while, Faethorn breathed easily. With the opinionated siblings out of power, surely there would be peace."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "... But the red blood did not wash away. And as Faethorn grew more and more crimson from the deaths of hundreds upon hundreds of Fae, the new Lords began to argue about its cause... about its effect... about its influence, and how best to break it. Lord Stone took the stance that such violence was a protection, and made the Faethorn much harder to invade - Lord Bing, the stance that it was both a liability and mark of shame that must be cleansed for their collective people."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Lords Stone and Bing then dissolved the armies; they took up residence in the vacated thrones and kept their charmed and captured predecessors as confidantes and resources, whose expertise was called upon for help with their new duties of Governing the Fae. And for a short while, Faethorn breathed easily. With the opinionated siblings out of power, surely there would be peace."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "... But the red blood did not wash away. And as Faethorn grew more and more crimson from the deaths of hundreds upon hundreds of Fae, the new Lords began to argue about its cause... about its effect... about its influence, and how best to break it. Lord Stone took the stance that such violence was a protection, and made the Faethorn much harder to invade - Lord Bing, the stance that it was both a liability and mark of shame that must be cleansed for their collective people."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Such is the fallacy of having two minds in power; as the fabricated Faethorn was once more parted and divvied up for war the people cried and asked when enough would be enough. The Lords had no response to this; for neither could back down while the other still lived."

You say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Truly, we are most fortunate to have none but The Maeve to rally the Fae. Lord Lilly and Nymdemise's story continued as such, much as the mortals are always at war with one another, because two thoughts cannot govern one world. That false Faethorn never did stop fighting, going through generation after generation of argument - but the Maeve is just the Maeve."

With a smile, you say to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Such is the difference between being loyal to yourself, and loyal to your home, I suppose."

Softly, you sing to a vaguely humanoid-shaped cocoon, "Peace shan't ever seem to last, in Castle Nymndemise...."