There was a dark Fae named Aubergine. She had healing magic, the ability to spin a tale or two. Her heart was kind, her soul gentle. The spirits of the Wood could whisper in her ear. She could call the dark or light, depending where balance was needed. Content she was, to be in the trees. To read the stars, to listen to the symphony that the Mother has made. 

She had her admirers, she had her users too. 

He would come, lay his heart at her feet. Shy offerings of love to win her favour. She alighted to him. The house became a home. 

The walls grew thick, the air dry. Her sparkle grew dim, the magic muted. Resigned to grey. But the spark never died.

Air began to blow on the spark. Cradle it she did. The glow became too much to hide. Her wings began to expand.

He looked high and low to find what now must lie at her feet. For he remember then Aubergine, as she glowed, not the grey. What he found at her feet was a reflection. Greys streaked with chains of red. He remembered what he believed was his.

Gilded bars of protection, erected in pride. For all to bare witness. Behold, the wild she. She is mine, no better will it ever be, no love to ever match. 

Behold the wild Fae, how much she is mine. How lucky I am. 

Now at her feet lie the bloody offerings of proof that he, and he alone be the air, water, fire and earth she need. That spirit will be shared. The tales be spun when it is deemed convenient. But if the Wood, and Stars wanted to speak. If the Mother sent messages to build the light. Explained it had to be. Justified. 

Quiet she sits in the castle build for her. Everything she is told she needs. With loving pride, what a good man am I?

She knows, Love is the motivation. Fear is the cause. Her voice lost to the Ether. Airless perfection until it isn’t. What shall happen to the blessed Fae?