I am Willow, a fae spirit born of nature. I have walked this world for 5092 human years. To me a human life is but a passing moment, and their actions are as consequential as the labor of ants. I have seen countless kingdoms rise and fall, endless wars, and many "gods" created and slain. For those that live for eons, everything feels temporary and fickle.
The fae like myself have been both worshiped and feared throughout the ages. Some pray to us because we can perform miracles beyond human understanding. We have been feared because those miracles always come at a cost. If you ask something of the fae you make a verbal contract and must offer something of equal value to the fae. They call the fae tricksters because many mortals fail to specify clearly what they are asking for or what they are offering in return.
It's true, we are known for being CREATIVE in our interpretation of vague contracts. Sure many mortals have been less than satisfied with our interpretations, but it is their fault for leaving their contracts open to interpretation.
For instance, there was once a man consumed by unrequited love. Desperate, he begged me to make the woman of his obsession love him in return. "I would give anything," he said. So, I took his overwhelming love and transferred it to her. She fell madly in love with him, just as he had wished.
But with his obsession lifted, he no longer felt the same and soon found love with another. Her love, however, had grown into a madness she could not control. In the end, her jealousy consumed her. She killed him, his new love, and finally, herself.
Love is a foolish mortal concept. A great many senseless things have been done in the name of love.
There was also a time when a grieving elvish mother begged me to bring her deceased son back to life. In her desperation, she offered the life of an orphaned child as payment, willing to sacrifice another's life to restore her son's. Ordinarily, I might have agreed, thinking that a life for a life was fair compensation. But that life was not hers to give.
After she had slain the orphan, I did return her son to her— but not as the living boy she remembered. I brought him back as an undead.
In the end, the woman and her family met their end at the hands of the very child she had resurrected, now a twisted shadow of his former self.
Not only should your contracts with the fae be specific, but you should only offer what is your's to give.
I once met a beastkin farmer who asked for my blessing on his harvest. In return, he offered one teacup of his blood. He was wise enough to specify the exact amount I could take, but he neglected to define the nature of the blessing he sought.
So, I blessed his crops with supernatural growth and speed. The results were extraordinary—his fields erupted with oversized crops, growing at an unstoppable pace. But the sheer scale and speed of their growth obliterated his home and farmland, leaving him with nothing.
Ironically, the food harvested from his monstrous crops brought prosperity to his village. Yet it was a shame the farmer himself did not live to reap the rewards.
The fae are not good or evil, we are indifferent. Your concept of morality is a human construct, not relatable to the fae. How should the wolf respond when a rabbit calls it evil for being his prey? Should the wolf cease to hunt simply because the rabbit deems it unjust? To call us evil is to misunderstand us entirely—just as the rabbit misunderstands the wolf.
We are not motivated by hate, fear, love, or any emotion. We are driven solely by the need to survive, like any other creature. The fae sustain themselves on the life force we take from mortals through the contracts we make. These contracts are essential to our existence. The life force we consume extends our lives, and we must fulfill the terms of these contracts or we perish.
We are drawn to desperate people with strong desires. The deep longing in their hearts is a sweet aroma that calls to us. Such was the case when the Queen of Arcadia made a contract with me.
I came to Arcadia, lured by the fervent prayers of Arin Drakemore, the Queen of the land. She was a devout worshiper of the fae, offering praise and prayers to us daily. I have no interest in the praise of lesser beings, but her desperate yearning, woven into her prayers, intrigued me.
For some time, I dwelled at a shrine the queen had built for the fae in the exquisite gardens of her castle. I drifted among the flowerbeds, listening for her to make a request worthy of my attention. Yet, most of her prayers were filled with praise and gratitude for blessings in her life that I had no hand in granting.
Looking back, I did enjoy the time we spent together. I came to know her deeply through the thoughts, dreams, and concerns she poured into her prayers.
It wasn't until she was pregnant with her second child that she made a request worth my effort. Her soul ached with a singular plea: that her unborn son be protected for all of his life. It seemed as though she had received a prophecy that her unborn child's life was in danger. So she prayed to the fae to protect her unborn child's life, but she foolishly failed to specify what she would offer in return.
Perhaps she already knew there was only one price of equivalent value she could pay.
I accepted her plea and I interpreted it in the only way I could: a life's worth of protection for a life given in return. Life force is the price that fuels my magic; where humans use mana, I draw my power from life itself. The queen's life force would ensure her son's protection. So I stayed near her as she grew heavier with the child, I used my magic to soothe her, easing her discomfort, for I knew the cost she would pay. When the birth came, I was there in her bed chambers, invisible to her and her servants who were attending to her. When her son was born, I reached out and took her life force, sealing the contract. Without pain her heart stopped and the healers caring for her could do nothing to save her.
After the child was born, her husband, King Edric Drakemore, was overcome with grief and fury. When the healers informed him that nothing could be done to save his wife, he erupted in rage, casting them and all the servants out of the room.
Left alone with his newborn son, the king's sorrow twisted into hatred. He turned on the infant, blaming the child for his queen's death. In his anguish, he drew a dagger and raised it over the child, intent on ending the life of the son he believed had stolen his beloved wife from him.
As his blade descended, I lifted my veil of invisibility and transformed myself into a human woman with silver hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and a beauty designed to disarm. I caught his hand, stopping the knife mere inches from the child. With a spell, I held his gaze and whispered words that bound him to my will. I commanded him to never harm this boy, to leave the child's care entirely to me, and to provide me with a place in the castle. He would explain my sudden presence by claiming he had hired me out of his disdain for the child—a convenient lie that matched his own troubled heart.
The king's resistance crumbled as the spell settled over him. The boy was spared, and I would honor the queen's last plea to protect her son. Thus, my life and his became entwined, for to fail in my part of the contract would mean my death.
I carried Ren to the abandoned tower within the castle, a place thick with dust and littered with old, discarded furniture and equipment. As I stepped across the threshold of our new home, the babe in my arms, I cast a spell to make the space livable. My magic swept through the rooms, clearing away the dust, mending the walls, replacing the broken fixtures, lighting the lamps, and filling the space with new furniture.
I ensured the tower had everything a young child would need—soft bedding, toys, books, and food. What once was a forgotten relic became a warm sanctuary, a place where Prince Ren would grow safely and fulfill the queen's final wish.
As Ren grew, I became his constant companion, raising him as if he were my own. I cooked for him, taught him, and soothed his fears. Yet he does not know the full truth of what binds me to him, nor the price his birth exacted. One day, he may discover that I claimed his mother's life to fulfill my side of the bargain. It may bring him sorrow or anger, but that is not my concern. I am only following my nature.
I remember that first day well. As I sat in a rocking chair by the hearth, nursing baby Ren, I thought of another story—a tale I once heard of a mother wolf finding an orphaned rabbit. The wolf, against her nature, showed mercy and raised the rabbit as her own. That story too ended in tragedy.