She cycled through the woods. Errant branches nipped at her flying past.
It was here she was home.
The Fae child, the changeling, the ****** the quiet one.
She would be here always if she could.
Here she was safe.
Here the trees whispered and she understood.
Here the trickling streams soothed away the noise.
The noise so loud in her in-human ears.
But she couldn't stay, It was getting dark.
They would need her back.
They would need her safe.
They could never seem to see that here, in the woods, was the only place she ever felt safe.
She pulled lazily, begrudgingly, forlornly on the brakes.
The bike slowed.
Her trainers landed in soft, forgiving grass.
One last breath.
One last drag of power from the bright, fresh air.
She steeled herself and turned her bike.
No point putting off the inevitable.
She raced back to the road.
The glaring streetlamps.
The erratic cars.
The cats, the dogs, the footballs.
Rushing in all directions.
Every which way.
People. So. Many. People.
The calm of the woods retreated, abandoning as it always did.
Again she was Other.
She cycled down the familiar street, the much trodden path to purgatory.
To the never ending, incomprehensible question.
"Did you have fun at school today?"
How could she?
The concrete.
The bright, piercing lights.
The noise. Constant, incessant.
And then there was the worst of all.
People. So. Many. People.
Talking at her, infecting her nose with their fake, flowery scents.
Moving into her.
Nudging her this way and that.
Always wanting something of her.
Always the need to take.
She never knew what.
She didn't speak human.
Sometimes she managed to guess right.
A script she'd picked up over the long years of childhood.
Of watching and listening and trying to understand.
A brief reprieve when they were appeased.
But mostly she was met with confusion.
Or anger.
Or laughter.
She could never decide which was worse.
Mar 12
Mar 12, 2026 at 6:12 PM UTC
She cycled through the woods. Errant branches nipped at her flying past.
It was here she was home.
The Fae child, the changeling, the ****** the quiet one.
She would be here always if she could.
Here she was safe.
Here the trees whispered and she understood.
Here the trickling streams soothed away the noise.
The noise so loud in her in-human ears.
But she couldn't stay, It was getting dark.
They would need her back.
They would need her safe.
They could never seem to see that here, in the woods, was the only place she ever felt safe.
She pulled lazily, begrudgingly, forlornly on the brakes.
The bike slowed.
Her trainers landed in soft, forgiving grass.
One last breath.
One last drag of power from the bright, fresh air.
She steeled herself and turned her bike.
No point putting off the inevitable.
She raced back to the road.
The glaring streetlamps.
The erratic cars.
The cats, the dogs, the footballs.
Rushing in all directions.
Every which way.
People. So. Many. People.
The calm of the woods retreated, abandoning as it always did.
Again she was Other.
She cycled down the familiar street, the much trodden path to purgatory.
To the never ending, incomprehensible question.
"Did you have fun at school today?"
How could she?
The concrete.
The bright, piercing lights.
The noise. Constant, incessant.
And then there was the worst of all.
People. So. Many. People.
Talking at her, infecting her nose with their fake, flowery scents.
Moving into her.
Nudging her this way and that.
Always wanting something of her.
Always the need to take.
She never knew what.
She didn't speak human.
Sometimes she managed to guess right.
A script she'd picked up over the long years of childhood.
Of watching and listening and trying to understand.
A brief reprieve when they were appeased.
But mostly she was met with confusion.
Or anger.
Or laughter.
She could never decide which was worse.