With faery, strict rules were set and to be followed, customs too. Never pass over a threshold without being invited. To win one's favor, set out a bowl of crème. Always count the grains of spilled salt or sugar.
They are always imagined to be little and winged, or bright with twinkling voices. But no. Sometimes they're our friends. Sometimes they're the people around us, chatting, laughing, or just sparing a glance at you. Sometimes they're strangers.
Maybe they're the strangers who look off, like they haven't been right or okay for a long time, broken and being pulled together by thin threads, or the ones who are hiding something behind their backs. The ones that look guilty of something, the ones that look worn down and tired.
Sometimes, maybe, they're the little voices you hear at night when you can't help but just stare at the ceiling and silently break down. Maybe they're the little sparks of hope that give you the little courage to get through the day, or push you towards a decision you've been hesitant about.
Maybe they rule with angels that guide us quietly through our lives, a soft sparkle in their eye when you see them. A smile for everyone, the people who laugh and it's contagious. The ones that you chat with or laugh with, giggling, appreciating the good times.
Maybe they're the little acts of love that you enjoy receiving, and end up giving because of the first action. Maybe they're the soft breeze through the trees that wrap around your body and hug you tightly, or the soft snowflakes that adorn each other's eyelashes. The leaves that crunch and make you grin, eager to crunch some more.
Maybe, just maybe, faery aren't even solid beings.
Maybe they're the little things we often forget about.
