#narrativenotes

What happens to four leaf clovers (or indeed more-leaf-clovers) that are not seen or found by human beings? Does the luck remain within and therefore returns to the soil until the next batch grow? Do animals and other plants benefit from it? Or, more likely, do The Fae send out luck gatherers, who collect them up in little baskets, before they expire.

Oh you know what they say: the stronger the armour, the softer the heart

Well... I hope everything goes great for you *holds out arms* And... perhaps I shall see you around sometime. *falls backwards into the lake below* *intro credits start featuring an animated person sinking through swirling blues and greens, all to the sound of celtic folk music* *the title card flashes up* The Man Who Lived Below The Lake

The first time I summoned The Fae I was very naive. I assumed that they worked like that of a celestial deity. All knowing, all powerful and, on request, willing to manipulate the flow of events in a person's favour. This was not the case with The Fae. They are not gods. They can't reshape people's lives on a whim. Instead, The Fae will empower the summoner in a way that allows for them to best deal with the situation at hand. They will fill the summoner's head with logic, calm and clarity. Strong emotions will be tempered and can be temporarily disabled if necessary, allowing the person to navigate their way out of their predicament with maximum efficiency. No callous or devious actions shall be permitted though, as the heart is still monitoring the events, albeit in a supporting role. Once the situation has been overcome, The Fae will reinstate the balance of heart and head, and the summoner should be able to move forward and reflect on the solution. This can often aid in a person's emotional growth, requiring The Fae to step in less and less as the summoner learns to emulate those methods for themselves.

It's like I've got one foot in this world, and one in the otherworld. And it's always been that way. I could be stood in a group, dressed in primary colours like a kid's TV presenter, and still the leader of the group would have to strain hard to perceive me. It's like my presence - rather than my physical being - isn't very well defined. It's quiet and whisp-like and, sure, the eyes can see me eventually, if enough effort is put in, but the mind, for whatever reason, finds it desperately difficult to detect me. But every now and then, on a blue moon, against all odds, someone actually sees me. Not just casually either, but fully, wholly, completely. They see my entirety, from the very second we meet. No straining. No effort. I see them and they see me, and what a revelation of emotion those all too rare moments can conjure.

Night after night, I wrote to you and sent it upwards into the night sky. The air was cool, and the stars had such a clarity about them. We were miles from civilisation, and so it comforted me that even the quietest of my thoughts were likely to reach you.

Human with a fae heart