#for linds

There once was a faerie named Faye, who lived alone in a wooden house made of small twigs. She was no taller than the hand of a small child, her feet, which were bare, were the size of a baby’s toenail. Her hair was piled high atop her dainty head, fixed up with two pine needles she had found. Her hair was a deep brown, only slightly darker than her skin, and her eyes were a golden copper that seemed to shine as brightly as the moon on a clear summer’s night. Faye lived alone because she preffered the comfortable silence of solitude to the hustle and bustle of other faeries. Every week she would take her basket of hand woven pine needles and would go out with the other faeries and harvest food. She was not anti-social, by any means, in fact she would laugh and chat and gossip with the others with vigor. But when she came home to her little hut she would revel in the sounds of the birds chirping and of the squirrels chatting. It was here, in her cozy little house, that Faye would let her hair free from its restraints and let the loose strands fall down her back. It was here that she wove her baskets and baked little cookies and the like on her heated stone. It was here that Faye felt most like herself, and it was here that she called home.