My name is Chago Uriel Ermanno Bergasa. This here is a faerie tale... my faerie tale. Yeah, I''m fae, but don''t think that tells anybody nothing about me, because it don''t. Not anymore. See, nowadays, folks think of faerie tales as cutesy stories to keep the kid happy and giggly and to drive parents mad as the kids watch the shows eight hundred times a day. All that comes from the guy that made hats with big round ears attached and child stars turned drug addicts part of pop culture. Used to be faerie tales were warnings. Folks didn''t clap their hands to save us, they set out plates at empty seats to keep us happy and tried real hard to never piss us off.


    We were around before that too. We''re the spirits some folks talk to and the gods other folks worshipped. We''re the reason maps used to have ''here be monsters'' on the borders. We''re the reason cave men painted on the walls. How can we be all that, and why did we not stay gods if we were once? May as well ask where humans came from. No one knows.


    We modern fae do know a few things though, and I got good guesses about what it means past what we know. Fae are spirits of pure drive and emotion made flesh. Passion. Fear. Duty. Stuff like that. We embody those things and more, and our faery forms tend to be shaped by what we represent. Satyrs are pure Passion, for instance. Look at the myths of Pan. Those stories are memories of the satyrs of them days and ever since, that''s been the form Passion made flesh takes. Other things are a little less obvious, but no less clear what they are, once it sinks in. We''re good and bad. We''re just as much the beautiful sidhe of Irish folklore as the monster under the bed every kid seems to fear.


    Now, before I get into theory, realize that when I say we''re spirits made flesh, I don''t mean some random guy on the street has goat legs. Not to human eyes anyway. We''re tricky bastiches and we can hide from human eyes. Hell, we have to make an effort to force humans to see us as we really are. It''s one part of our magic. The rest of our magic is much like our selves, forces and aspects of nature. Things like movement or the elements or shadows. Some of us are better at it than others, but we can all do at least a little.


    As for what this all means about who and what we are... well, that''s where the theory starts. Some of us think we really were gods and we created everything humans know now, and we lost power over the ages as our natures lost their grip on people. After all, look how much harder it is to find Honor or Nobility in a world full of naked selfies and hate for hate''s sake. It''s hard to be afraid of the monster off the edge of the map, when satellites take pictures of the entire globe.


    I think that ain''t right. I think as long as humans feel, we exist. We may change, but we''re still out there. I''m a redcap. My sort''s current form goes back to the borders of Scotland and little old men in bright hats and steel boots that killed travelers to soak those hats in blood to keep the color. Before that, my kind were the monsters on the maps I mentioned before. We were the thing that ate the caveman if he went too far from the fire at night and left nothing but blood and screams behind. Nowadays, we''re the bloody monster in the horror movie that keeps people awake and the internet predator and the reason no one trusts their neighbors. Fear changes, but it''s still Fear. Same with the rest. Some of us may die out, sure, but the rest... as long as humans feel, they''ll create us. Our names may change, but fae...


    Faerie are forever.


    Okay, I guess there''s a little more I need to explain. When trying to tell what we are, it''s hard not to be all fancy and overblown. Faerie are forever. Whatever. All that matters is that''s kinda what we are. But there''s more to the story. It ain''t just the what we are, but the who. We''re mostly just like other folks, with a deep layer of magic in us. We once lived somewhere else, a place most call Arcadia, but it has other names. In the before, there was a war in our home. It went bad for the defenders, and we got locked out into the mortal world and the spaces between mortality and Arcadia. Most fae can''t remember the war, just that it happened, and we''re stuck here. So we made the best of it. We were gods. Then time happened and we kept being less. We became spirits and legends and eventually had to use human bodies to protect our fae selves from the world. We''re made of emotion and creativity and some bits memory of things gone. It''s like in that TV show about the devil, we kinda are what we believe us to be. We live, we die, and we''re reborn. New fae souls are... well... impossible.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.