We had a visitor today. A new fae, by the look of her, a creature of frost and snow and ice. A frost fairy perhaps, or maybe an ice queen. I have my suspicions about her, and think an old friend is playing tricks, but I did not let on that I knew.
I was sitting in Valene’s den, reading, catching up on the diary and such like when I was disturbed by of all things, a snowball. In August? Well, at least, I think it is August, in so far as I have been able to keep a record of time in my diary. Who knows what time it is in the so-called real-world?
I looked up and saw an indistinct figure outside. At first, I thought it might have been Gwyn, since I caught a glimpse of silver hair, but when I emerged, it was not her, at least, not unless she had learned a new glamour trick. My new friend was very pleasing to the eye, as most fae seem to be, but the cold that radiated from her was intense, although it did not bother me, since my body temperature seems to be whatever the ambient temperature is. She beckoned me to follow her to a little clearing near the den and bade me, silently, to sit on a tree-stump there. Rachel must have been lurking nearby, because she appeared from behind some trees and joined us. The fairy gestured at her to sit down, which she did, albeit with some complaints about the cold. From the few times I have touched Rachel, it does seem that her body temperature is higher than that of a human, so maybe she felt it more. The fairy was apparently aware of this, but since she did not speak, it was hard to tell what she was suggested I do. Had I a jacket on, I would have lent it to Rachel, but I was clad only in a shirt and trousers. I did, at one point, get up and undo my trousers, but this was apparently not the right answer.
The fairy did a complex and beautiful dance. I was fascinated by it, but not as much as Rachel. I guess there is still a lot of Toreador in her; for all that she is a demon now. We applauded, which was pleasing to the fairy, who then did another dance for us. Frost formed in the air around her as she danced and fell as snow. She scooped the snow up and fashioned it into what looked like a horn, which she then gave to Rachel. Rachel was delighted with the gift, blowing into it and producing a most pleasing sound. I suppose I should not have been so surprised, for she had mentioned having musical talent in previous conversations. Our new friend then scooped up some more snow and fashioned it into a book, which she gave to me. It was devoid of title on the cover and spine, and to my surprise, it opened like a normal book, despite being made of ice, or so it had appeared. Rachel asked if it was going to melt, but the fairy indicated that it would not.
Aoibheann appeared at this point, looking slightly bewildered. Rachel introduced our friend as mute-fairy, since she hadn’t spoken and asked if Aoibheann knew her. Apparently she did not, and looked as though she was going to leave again, until the fairy stopped her, kissed her, and then fashioned a flower, like a daisy, out of the snow and placed it in Aoibheann’s hair. Aoibheann was the first of us to remember fairy protocols and produced from her pocket, a cotton-reel, devoid of thread, which she offered as a gift to the fairy. It was gracefully received, as was some pastry that Rachel had about her person. I had come out of the den with very little about my person, so I promised that my gift would be the words that I would write in the book, promising that this book would be used only for creative writing. That seemed to please her. I did joke about the book keeping my ideas fresh – it being made of ice – but it didn’t exactly get a laugh, just a groan from Rachel and incomprehension from Aoibheann. With gifts exchanged, the fairy turned a little dance step and vanished into a cloud of snowflakes.
Rachel was full of wonder about who our mysterious friend might have been, clearly fascinated and enraptured by the art of her dance and the gift of music. I had some idea though. When the fairy had come close to me, I caught a whiff of mint on her frosty breath. A mint that smelled just like my dear Valene. Was it her under some glamour, playing some mysterious trick upon us? Perhaps so, but I kept it to myself.
It was a pleasant little interlude, if a little spoiled by news that Aoibheann had heard. Cristof has declared a blood hunt on Rachel. Much as I don’t really like the girl; that seemed a little harsh. I said I would try to speak to him about it on her behalf, perhaps to get him to commute that to banishment from his castle realm. She was not hopeful, claiming that Brujah were not the most reasonable, adding “no offence” for my benefit. I told her that none was taken and then headed off. I could not find Cristof, but I will find him, and I will try to reason with him. Gwyn seems to have developed some affection for Rachel, and I would not see her upset. Even without that, a blood hunt is not something I would wish on anybody. I just hope that he does not consider it binding upon me to participate.