Unknown Fae

The Prologue

February 13, 1490.

Queen Algaeca sat on her throne, watching through her magic mirror, as the scene of the rebels breaking through the main gates of her castle, unfolded before her. Her spies had been telling her that the people were planning an attack on her, to remove her from the throne she had wrongfully ruled for centuries, but they failed to mention it would be so soon. She had fought for this throne, had shed many faeries' blood for it and she'd be damned to see herself lose it.

She continued to watch as the leader of the rebels, her royal advisor, led them through the castle, slowly making their way to the throne room where she sat. Her conjured up warriors swarmed around them, trying to hold them back but failing miserably. Her energy reserves were drained; she wouldn't be able to fight in the condition she was in. She had used most of her energy in trying to train herself and to slowly take over all of Faer. Her royal advisor, the bloody scoundrel, was aware of that and so planned his rebellion.

She had to think quickly of a way to escape. She had just enough energy to transport herself to a human village nearby, but then she would have to find a host to stay in for the centuries. She stood up from her throne, her long, dark velvet gown dragging behind her, as she made her way to the mirror, in the middle of the room. She stood directly in front of it and watched as the rebels reached the locked doors of the throne room before she started her escape.

"Portal aperta," she whispered as she heard the rebels pounding on the door. She stopped in the middle of the incantation, to set up a magical barrier over her before continuing.

"Duc humanae a regina."

She heard the door give in to their persistent hammering.

"Villam longe est a terra FAER!"

The mirror swirled with green smoke as it opened up a portal. The rebels surround her, trying to break down her barrier, and with the Queen's diminished power reserves, they were beginning to succeed. Cracks started to appear. She used the last drop of power she had to renew the barrier.

She watched as Earl, her royal advisor, continued his attempts to break through the barrier. She realized that the portal was ready, and as she stepped through, she watched his face swell in anger at her escape.

Eltin, small human village

Queen Algaeca stepped into a quaint human village, her velvet shoes immediately sinking into the soft mud. She stilled as she listened intently for the cries of a newborn babe. She entered the first mud house before her, screams of a new born babe filling the air. This babe would be her host for many years to come. She walked into the room where the baby's cries originated and ignored the shocked gasps of the midwife and the parents as she entered. She took the pink newborn from her mother's hand and after saying a quick incantation disappeared inside. The baby fell as the evil queen disappeared inside of her, but the midwife managed to catch her before she hit the floor.

The mid wife inspected the still babe, but it was just as she had feared, the babe was dead. The witch had killed it. She handed the baby over to her mother and told her the dreaded news. The mother cried, pure tears of pain, at the thought of losing her firstborn daughter. That same night, the babe was buried, in the yard of the cottage, dutifully covered with roses. Brynlee.

Some time later

The distressed mother tried to resume her wifely duties after her ordeals. She tried to cook, clean and wash but all in vain. Her food became burnt and almost inedible, her cleaning left a room worse off than how it was before and her washing caused holes to form in the already patched garments. Her mind always lingered on her poor child, especially when her husband left to tend the fields, leaving her all alone.

Every time she went to the market, she envied the other wives walking with their children, laughing merrily or scolding fiercely. The other villagers knew not to question the young lady about her missing babe, having seen the murderous looks rewarded to the few who had done so.

Her husband, didn't and couldn't wallow in his grief. He had to work and provide for his lovely wife, and encouraged her to do the same.

"Love, thou art young. You shall have more babes. Do not ruin yourself over this one. More shall come."

His words only depressed her further. He had not carried her for so long. He had not made the clothes. He had not thought every day and prayed for the babes health. He could not understand her pain. She began to be haunted in her sleep, the dreams of her daughter's death, forever replaying in her head. That woman had caused all of her problems. She had probably disappeared without another care in the world, while she was left to suffer in her grief.

Poisonous thoughts began to loom in her head, and soon she went fairly mad. Her husband worried, noticing the change in his wife, but there was nothing that he could do to stop it. The damage had already been done.

She started hearing the baby's cries. In her every sleeping hour and soon her every waking moment, she was haunted by these cries. She often stopped her work in shock, and promptly proceeded to check up on the baby, in her grave behind the house.

Her husband grew more worried. Something was dreadfully wrong. His wife needed to see the village doctor, but each time he asked, she replied that there was nothing wrong with her. She was so woefully wrong.

The young wife began to hear more than the baby's cries, down her road to insanity. She began to hear the voice of a little girl, begging to be freed. Begging to be allowed to live her life. She could no longer continue on with her chores. She grew frail and weak. Her once vital youth was taken away and replaced with the old insanity.

Her husband left her to her own devices. He could no longer take the pressure of dealing with her insanity and he no longer returned to the cottage after the sun went down. She was left all alone; all alone with the voices.

More and more came, begging her to free them from their prison. The young wife began to tear her hair out. She no longer slept nor ate, she just sat staring at the grave where her babe laid, where the voices originated from.

Each day in her insanity the voices grew larger in number. But they all said the same thing, "Let me out". Sometimes it was almost as though she could physically see a little girl standing at the grave mouthing to her, "Come to me".

She refrained long and hard, constantly telling herself, not to do it. But, alas, the voices' will was stronger than hers. Soon she was out there, digging with her hands, the spot where her babe laid. She finally reached the corpse, but it was not a corpse at all. It was a living and breathing babe.

She did not understand. Had the midwife lied to her? But how had the babe stayed alive for so long? It didn't matter. The babe was alive and she was hers. But, the villagers would not accept it, witchcraft they would say. And they were possibly right.

She would take the babe and run away with it, to the forest. And that is what she did. The mad maiden took her babe and ran away, leaving everything behind: her cottage, her husband, her friends, her very life, to make a home for this babe where she could be free of discrimination. The mad maiden travelled through forests, across rivers, and passed by villages, not once letting go of her babe. She was determined to start a new life with her.

Too bad she didn't know that everyone would be better off if the babe was left dead.