pam

"So few of us left," said the Fading Light, a title the Queen took since the decline of our powers. She was beside the mound, the last traces of mound magic leaving her, like ripples we could all feel. No more murmuring winds lifted the dried leaves. None of us could come and go at the speed of thought anymore. We had almost lost every ounce of Faerie light we had. Our skins refused to be translucent, but with our remaining magic we remained undeniably stunning. Like the Queen standing before me, her sadness beautiful.

All our preternatural allies have either abandoned us or have been massacred by the humans. The time of the Faerie had passed. We are now refugees in our own home, which is wherever humans had not yet been to. We have been on the run for so long there was no time to mourn.

Today marks the third score of my watch over little Pamela, who is sleeping in my arms. She had been under my care since her phalanx of guards died protecting her. It was also the third score of our race's dwindling in number. Humans had been occupying more and more of our homelands, too soon for us to cope with, too many of them to deal with. We disdained their affection for contraptions, which they were using to annihilate us. For some reason, our powers affected them no more.

Before, with the mound's help, even little Pamela could hex dozens of men in yellow hats, with pick-axes and jackhammers, to walk away, their memories dishelved. And then the humans started using their metallic animals on us. One such creature killed Pamela's guards. I pulled her out of the way of a hulking animal that pushed aside all that lay in its path. The human that tamed it rode on its back, encased in glass. Pamela's guards were overrun, mistaken for little tribal men.

Faeries age slowly, and with the loss of the mound, I can only hope little Pamela also forgets her roots. For with no magic to protect her, she will have to rely on sheer muscle and cunning. Memories about a race humans disbelieve in will be of no help to her. The Fading Light, the last living guardian who shoulders Pamela's destiny, had decided for the child to age amongst humans.

The remaining handful of Faerie did not wish to be assimilated by the humans and chose to wither away; their memories of the mound and of our festive ages together in tact. We realized we had all lived a full life, except for the child under my care.

The Queen and I decided to give our remaining essences to Pamela, aware that with her new life with humans, she would lose the grandeur and grace inherent in all Faerie. A small price to pay for our race to survive, albeit changed.

"Only one of us left," said the Fading Light, and I nodded. With the last of our powers, we put a spell on Pamela, so that a kind heart within three hundred paces will be drawn to her, and will raise her as if she was her own.

The ceremonial essence transfer was next. After this, little Pamela will wake up completely human, with no Faerie left in her--except for the Queen's short temper and my unbending will.

When Pamela opens her eyes, all of her kind, save for her, will have withered away. All good things come to pass, even for Faerie.

-Final journal entry of Orphelia Ironhide, Shield-Nanny
to Pamela, niece-goddess of the Fading Light