((Inspired by a collaborative project by AR and CH))
There was an island in the middle of the sea. The island was a place of magic and wonder, for it was the home of many strange and exotic things, things the like of which have not been seen in an age of ages. This island was unlike others that were chained to the sea, for it was free to move about. But while most floating islands could move across the sea, this island had the power to travel in time! No one knew when it would arrive, or when it would depart. The island was a thing of mystery.
On the island lived a fairie. The fairie was quick and bright, for he was made of fire and brass, and he loved to dance. But for all the joy that dancing brought him, he was unhappy. You see, he was in love with a beautiful fairie—one of dew and silk—but he had no voice, so he could not tell her of his love. And he was bound to the magic island with ties of blood. He could not leave the island to search for a voice, for then it would disappear into the mists of time.
The fairie decided that since he could not speak his heart, he would create a potion and give it to his true love. He searched long and hard across the whole island for the items he would need for this potion, and finally he was ready. But when the potion was prepared, something had gone wrong; every fairie on the island had fallen in love with him! They chased him across the island, begging to fly and to dance with him. "No, no!" he wanted to say, but he could not, so he hid from them.
He was saddened by his mistake, and he began to cry. His tears turned to steam as they fell from his eyes and landed on his fiery shoulders, and the steam crystallized into a silver dust that shimmered to the ground. On the ground, the dust formed words.
"Captured heart and bounded soul, the cutting edge shall be found of old."
The fairie wondered at these words, and then pricked his finger, letting a single drop of blood fall to the ground. The silver letters turned red as they drew the power from his blood, then sunk into the ground. The island rocked as it traveled far, far back in time.
In the past, the fairie met a warrior who carried a sword. "This sword is so sharp that it will cut through any bonds!" cried the warrior. "You may have it, but only if you can best me in a contest of skill in music!" The warrior then began to sing, and his voice was strong and pure.
The fairie was sad for he had no voice, but when his time came he had an idea. He took a deep breath, stoking the fire within him, and then pushed the hot air through the brass pipes that made up his bones and his wings. From every part of him resonated the sweetest sounds, as if played by the most beautiful pipes, and the wind swirled around him to accompany the tune. The warrior fell to his knees with tears in his eyes. "You have defeated me! You may go now with my sword and with my blessing!"
With the sword, the fairie returned to the proper time. He gathered all the other fairies around him and with mighty blows, he cut through the magic bonds created by his mistaken potion! Now free, the other fairies flew away one by one. His one true love—the beautiful fairie of dew and silk—flitted up to him and said, "why did you do that? If you loved me, all you needed to do was to kiss me."
And here my friends, is where our story, like all fairy tales, splits into two paths, each ending in it's own way. The first ending is the one we all know and hope for, that the fairie and his one true love lived
Happily ever after.
The other ending is not so sweet, but...well, perhaps I should just tell it to you and let you make up your own minds.
"Why did you do that? If you loved me, all you needed to do was to kiss me." She said these words, and then flew away.
The fairie was heartbroken. He fell to the ground weeping. Once more he breathed deep and the music resonated from him. But this time, the music was sad and lonely, full of loss and pain. So powerful was his hurt that the wind turned into a gale, and blew harshly against everything around. So absorbed in his song of grief was the fairie that he did not notice when his fire began to flicker, and then the mighty wind snuffed it out.
The fairie's body turned to stone, and then crumbled to dust as his last grieving notes were carried away by the wind. The island, now without a master, began to rock and spin, and soon was lost into the mists of time.
All that remained was the wind, still carrying the fairie's song. The wind is cold, since there is no more fire to warm it, and blows fiercely as it searches across the land for the island that was once its home. The people of Province call this wind "mistral" and "mange fange" and say that hearing it can drive a man to grief and madness. And this is the end of my story about the fairie made of fire and brass.
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