More Fey Folk
They are not bound by the laws of man, time, or reason. The Fey are ancient, strange, and unsettlingly beautiful—creatures born of raw magic and shaped by the ever-turning wheel of chaos. They flit between moonlit branches and shadowed hollows, as likely to offer aid as they are to unmake a soul for amusement.
To walk among the Fey is to step sideways from reality. Their smiles hide teeth. Their gifts are riddled in cost. Some enchant with song and shimmer, others lure with promises they never meant to keep. They feel no need for fairness, only balance—as they define it. In their realm, logic dissolves and wonder twists into something sharper. They are not evil. They are not kind. They are simply Fey.
He raised the lantern slowly, fireflies swirling behind the glass. "This one… saw snow for the first time," he whispered. "Laughed so hard they forgot to cry." His eyes glistened. "Not my memory, mind. But someone’s." He set it down gently. "Don’t let the light go out. Once it’s gone… it don’t come back."
Magic made flesh, bound by whim and ruled by nothing but themselves.