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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The faerie girl had been warned of Master’s temper more than once, But she had seen a glimmer of a smile, and she liked the way he looked at her. She decided to try, for she knew that she could find his good. She would make him love her, for something. She would smooth out his creases, and iron him in clean new ways, present him in a new light to the naysayers who were so mean about him. No one is all bad, right? She would help him begin anew, and reinvent himself. A psychopath? No. A sociopath? Never! She liked the look of the man. For twelve long years she gave Master big giant bunches of herself – emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically. She gave and gave and gave, not realizing the cost, until she had almost nothing left for herself. Her wings had stopped working. Her hair was a mess, her spirit was spent, she was depressed, and sad, all the time. She did not recognize even an imperceptible glimmer of hope in herself. She no longer lived her truth. She had championed him until there was nothing left of her. The faerie council and dwarf committee decided to intervene. They asked if they could carry her off, and nurture her, and love her, and nurse her back to health. Her self-absorbed Master laughed at their meager attempts to save his toy. He shooed them away like the fluffs of dust they were, glorying in Faerie Girl’s all-consuming protection of him, reveling that she was willing to give him her persona, feelings, and pixie dust. The day of her death, he replaced her with a fresh, new, optimistic, ready-to-save-him faerie without giving Faerie Girl a bit of a thought. She was just another toy, broken, discarded, and burned, like the others before her.
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