The Making of a Faerie Queen
The tender ceremony with full honors welcoming baby light faeries was tastefully
And artistically played out on midsummers eve, an ethereal night, it would seem.
Her parents, and grands were dressed in full colonial faerie attire. They were easy
To pick out, whispering in hushed voices, at the privileged faerie box on the green.
Except for the faerie village’s hushed titters, and minute whispers, the only other sound
Was the flicker-snapping of the toads as they ate the moon moths, and the occasional bulldog croak.
The larger meadow creatures had been sprinkled with faerie dew all day, which kept
Them asleep, in dens and burrows, far away from this spiritual enlightenment, of which no one spoke.
Well-preserved and versed Faerie Queen Mother gave the blessings to the babes, and handed them back to their parents. The dad was given the active girl, the mom was given the sleeping boy.
The faeries were given the mystical symbol for dance, and frolic, and they giggled and tittered as they did both.
Celebratory occasions like this were enshrouded in secrecy, and mystical illusions to increase the empirical joy.
Every fifty or sixty years, an empathetic human or beast would venture upon the light up ceremony.
A rogue cough. The faeries ceased dancing. Someone or something was approaching the meadow.
As the grasses parted, the entourage slid down the cattails, getting smaller and smaller, until they all but disappeared. A wind-bent limb against the bark of an oak began creaking.
“Why did we come here?” the little boy asked his sister. She shook her head. “The faeries,” she said. “SH!”
“What faeries?” The faeries giggled. “Didn’t you hear that?” she asked him. He didn’t. He was not
Mystical like her, he had no inkling of what she was speaking.
The girl was magical, she had the soul of a spirited nymph, and an inner knowing way beyond her years.
“How old do you think she is?” a faerie guard asked another. The faerie queen heard and answered,
With authority, and brisk.
“Marlene is three and a half,” she said. “She was selected for her inner knowing, and her intellect to rule.
“Will her people shun her?” the faerie guard asked. “Perhaps,” the queen replied, “but it will be well worth the risk.”
“Marlene, let’s go,” whispered her 13-year-old brother. He set her down, onto a flat granite boulder.
“Not yet,” she whispered, “Soon.” Listening to the lull and lilt of the faerie voices put her to sleep.
Her brother picked her up, and carried her home allowing her to snuggle on his shoulder.
Jasper stared at the stars, he had never before been coaxed into walking into the beautiful, lively meadows this deep.
“You are certainly a love,” he whispered to his bundle forthwith.
“If there was ever a faerie whisperer, it is probably you, Marlene.”
The faeries laughed and danced, knowing the truth of it.
In a very few years Marlene would be given a choice, to
disappear from the big village,
and transform into the Faerie queen.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
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