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No amount of solace could mend her heart as she looked upon her home. Torn, flattened, crumpled and broken the ancestral home of her family lay in waste. No more with the light of the moon cast its rays through the purple flames of their celebrations. No more would she be able to stare up to the heavens or take in the familiar smell of the night breeze from atop the spongy cap of her childhood home. The meadow would no longer be alive with dance during a full moon. In the human tongue it is called progress, though to attempt to translate in Fae leaves her stomach uneasy. This is not the natural cycle of the woods.
She is duty bound to invoke reparation and she will pursue with unyielding effort. The Seelie courts have been at war for ages, the dangers of man constantly a point of contention, but she will no longer await the ruling of the courts. The call of the Phoenix echoed in the hallow, his tortured song still on the wind as it rustles through the trees. It is time for them to remember. No longer will the thoughts of her kind be akin to the moonlight dances, or the enchanted music. They will once again hurry away through the Crooked forest, they will remember the anxiety, they will fear again the Malice.
They will beware…