hat makes me the angriest is failure because a person refuses to try.
The words, “I can’t,” or”I cannot” are words I will never speak. If I choose to do or not to do, then it is my will that makes it so. But to surrender and an excuse, to crumble, and give up – such a thing is abhorrent to me. I cannot abide it when someone simply gives up. How can you give up if you still draw breath? Only the dead “can’t”do something.
Perhaps my own level of patience toward the word is such because the Fae are effectively immortal. We can afford to have the patience to wait out our enemies and win over a long period of time. Life has its challenges, but it also has its opportunities. You cannot if you say you cannot. Resignation to the sorry state of mind to which you might find yourself and giving up, is no excuse.
Muse:Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Character/ Folklore / Mythology
Word Count:155
Crossposted to
oyalty is one of those concepts that is a double edged sword. There are few that have it in their hearts to be loyal when they are faced down with those things and events that would cause them inconvenience, discomfort or potential harm. That is why one of my personal mottoes is loyalty is like an oath. If you break it, it is an anathema. I have always been loyal to myself, my agenda and what I want. There are those upon the way, allies if you will, who have assisted me in one fashion or another. To these I am very loyal. It is true that history is more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of alleged friends. Loyalty is a fine quality, but in excess it is the executioner’s blade at your neck. The graveyards are full of those who were loyal to the wrong things. 
found that my retinue and I had made our way from the Fortunate Island to Scotland. All up and down the river were signs of both upheaval and recalcitrant signs of reconstruction. The sails of the barge of the Great House, inscribed with my seals and insignia called a soft attention to both noble and peasant who watched the passage of our immense vessel from both sides of the great, lazy river.
o many put their trust and their definitions as to what is comforting or comfortable in terms of things that are external. For me, having to live between the worlds, in various places, at varying times, there really are few things that I place trust in that are outside myself. Some would say it’s having a full belly, the warmth of a fire on a cold winter night, the love of another, their caress upon their skin, and the feel of soft, clean sheets in a spacious bed with plenty of room to manoeuvre with that lover are the very definitions of comfort. All of those things, I find, are relatively easy to obtain. 
erhaps in my child’s mind I made my mother into far more than what or who she truly was. I was probably all of four years old when she died. My mother was everything that I am not. She was so young, innocent, and full of life. Like me she had dark hair, but unlike me she had blue eyes. Perhaps it was her blue eyes and sweet song that attracted my father, Gan Ceanach. The things I do remember is that she was the one who taught me about the plant spirits. She taught me to interact with them and listen to them. Perhaps it was her innocence that made such a thing natural to a child. In that world, what little I remember of it, I felt safe and loved. The world was full of things that begged exploration, and there was nothing anywhere within it that was not exciting and wondrous to me. 
Fanny Fae 