A Dark Faerie Dell

• Billie Sallmann, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2010

I could hear the soft whispers of the fey tickling my ear. Their black, broken wings fluttered around the dead trees. I could hear the pounding beats of their wings while they sang to this dark forest. One stood out - her long black hair falling in waves to her knees. I reached my hand out to touch her and she flitted away from my grasp. The moment my hand touched her, I felt the dusty silk of her wing. Her piercing black eyes held mine before she flew towards the seeping darkness of this Faerie Dell. Her eyes were like an oil slick, a black rainbow. I stepped cautiously around the small, flying fairies as they sang a melodic chant.

“Our changeling has returned.
Never will she escape,
Never.”

Their chanting was so soft that I could hardly hear it. I walked deeper when the oily eyed faerie darted towards me. She nestled herself amongst my fiery hair.

“We call you Scarlet,” she whispered. I froze as she tickled my neck with her black nails, pricking me. Through the mist I could see a goddess woman dressed in white - her hair the same brilliant red as my own. She looked as if she was floating as her eyes locked onto mine - a mesmerizing emerald green ... just like my own.
The chanting fey grew louder until they became less of a melody, more of shrieks in delight. The woman held her hand towards me as she floated closer. The small fey with the oily eyes flew fast at my face and popped a small black berry into my mouth. I swallowed the berry accidently when I remembered rule number one: Accept nothing from the fey. The woman’s unnaturally long, pale fingers touched my hand and the feel of her skin was like silk – soft and wispy. The darkness surrounding her emerald eyes made her look both gothic and whimsical.

“A deep sleep approaches, changeling.
Not until then will you gain life.”

She then turned away to rip a chunk of wood off a tree. The chunk left a whole in the dark tree, uncovering deep red sap. The woman reached her long bony finger in, uncovering a drop of brilliant red sap on it. It oozed like honey as she opened her mouth, exposing a razor tipped tongue. Curling her tongue, she licked the sap off, her eyes glassy with relaxation.

“Blood of a tree,” she whispered. The murkiness of this forest was from these fairies sucking its life away. Was I to become one of them? I could feel my vision fading as a wave of nausea rolled over me.
“She’s turning, she’s turning!” The oil slick faerie snickered in evil joy. I could taste something sweet and metallic... blood. I touched my tongue, immediately jerking back. Its sharp tip pricked my finger. The nausea grew stronger as the last thing I remember was screaming in terror before falling into the abyss of black magic.