So who was this Fae? A Fae of no name, as a Name would be a gift too much, and might lead to destruction of who and what she was. So she was alone, and she complained bitterly, and thought this Inspiration.
One day, as she wandered about the Wood spreading inspiration, she came across a Patchwork Soul. These kind are of a most interesting sort. They have little of themselves in this world, and what walks this realm is mostly a “patchwork” of perceptions, thoughts, memories, and feelings that they gather from many sources, and they call the result a wisdom and purity of soul. They are fine actors, putting on masks as beautiful as the forests they walk. This one was of the best sort, one who wore masks so well she convinced herself of their reality, and made them sing like Truth to others, because they were true to her. In this Soul the wanderer found a mask she could love, and thus she joined in the dance of the Patchwork Soul, and they sang of Love and Faith and tales of Togetherness.
But the Patchwork Souls are not of the most stable sort – They need Masks to live, and need new ones to live in or they die. So the mask changed, and the wanderer was much dazed and confused by her lover’s mercurial nature, and began to doubt all of herself and others. She confided her ills to an Oak, who kept Secrets well, as trees are known to. These ills were long and deep, and spoke of Betrayal of Trust, of Plans Changed on Whim, of Confusion, Sorrow, and Heartbreak. These things upset even the Oak, and its’ leaves rustled at the injustice done the wanderer. It related to the wanderer its’ thoughts, thoughts that reflected the knowledge that it had, related to the tales told it. As the tree was asked not to reveal those things told to it, the Oak kept it in, and the leaves rustled darkly from the tales told it, but remained silent to those not meant to hear of these matters.
The Patchwork Soul, needing the Dance to live, as well, Danced her stories to others. A different Tale to a different ear, living the confusion a being of beautiful tatters needs to be real. Conflict is needed for a rhythm, and the Patchwork Soul kept the wanderer guessing, so that attention to her steps were heeded, for an audience is needed in a Mask Drama.
And this is how it went for a long while….The dancing soul spinning, the wanderer crying, and the Oak listening. Until one day the Oak acted to help. This was a mistake for the Oak – For the Oak was to be the Bonfire for the next stage of the Dance. The Patchwork Soul had an Audience, and they needed a light to see the Dance better….But the Oak tried, and the Audience of the mask dancer turned to the Oak, hands bent into claws, and they took the tree apart, calling it Dark and Twisted, and only good for Fuel. The wanderer protested, but it was no use, and she wondered if perhaps the Oak was a bit big, and perhaps needed to be Pruned a bit?
And what is the Tale today? The Patchwork Soul dances still, having her needed Audience. The Oak tree is but a quiet sapling of the former tree, but lives still, scarred…but perhaps wiser.
And the Wanderer? She wanders still, dancing in the light of a fire still burning, and wears a mask that she never removes, the mask of the Eternal Outsider.