Some say that a Wytch cannot know love. Still others say that someone who is Fae, even Unseelie Fae is incapbable of anything other than the deepest, most ferocious kinds of love that is almost overwhelming. I think somwhere between there is a mid-ground. I have loved, make no mistake. I loved the young man whose life I saved so long ago, and paid the price for my love. I have had my share of lovers, but even that was less about the emotion of love and more about physical satisfaction, convenience, companionship and my own selfish needs. There are still others whom I have come to love, in their way, and others whose very association means that you must love them with open hands only. By this, I mean that you cannot hope to hold them for any length of time. It is like when a butterfly lights upon the tip of your fingers. If you so much as move or even intake a breath, they are gone upon the wind. Such love as that is fragile, but no less beautiful.
And then there is my daughter, Maeve, whom I love more than I can adequately describe. Up until late this past summer, I had only known my daughter for a total of four days before I had to leave her within the care of others. My love for her adds a new dimension and something that I have not known readily. No doubt it will continue to unfold over time.
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction
Word Count: 253