In Flight

I realised tonight that I have something in common with Paasheeluu. It takes a bit of a stretch of the imagination to encompass the concept of having something in common with a three foot, or I suppose I should say, nine hands, high, magic-using, flying unicorn, but we do share something in common.  We were both once undead and now we are not.  Admittedly, her change of status was a deliberate act by her goddess and is probably permanent, and mine was the result of an accident and probably isn’t permanent, but, it is something in common.  I suppose coming to terms with being able to fly is another, since she now has wings, which she didn’t have before.  Last time I saw her, she made a very inelegant landing at the entrance to the tavern, much as I did the first time I discovered I could fly.  This time, though, she seems to have mastered the art. I suppose I have too, though I don’t really like doing it. Since I don’t know exactly how it works, I am always afraid I might forget how, which would be a very bad idea at 1000 feet.

We were in the tavern when she arrived, Gwyn and I, chatting with Isabella about being alive, being able to eat and such like. Isabella seemed to think that being alive suited me, and I could not disagree with that, despite the extra effort it seems to involve. We discussed the most recent set of dreams that his Unseelie Majesty has been plaguing us with, as it appears that Aoibheann, and even Gwyn, who is supposedly out of bounds, have been getting them.  Isabella repeated the warning about not swearing to him, which I had no intention of doing and assured us that things would work out. However, she was frustratingly vague on the subject of how it would work out.

The subject of Aislyn’s illness came up, causing Isabella to ask after her health and for more details. I felt somewhat bad about refusing her, but she seemed to accept my explanation that I was sworn not to speak of sithen matters. Gwyn was likewise unable to say much more.  As it turned out, we were interrupted anyway by a summons from Her Seelie Majesty, sending a will o’wisp to request Isabella’s help.  We all made our way there, Isabella with her lifebringing powers, Gwyn to lend what she could, me for moral support and even Paasheeluu, in case any of her magic could help, though a certain amount of negotiation was required before we could let her in.  As to what went on, I don’t really know.  The ladies all went off into Llwyd’s chamber, so I guessed they were working on healing him.  At one point, I thought I heard his voice, asking about Aoibheann, but it didn’t sound very coherent.

After a while, I got bored and took myself off to Gwyn’s bedchamber to read for a while.  It wasn’t as if there was much I could do. I may be part fae, I may be accepted in the sithen as trade representative and as Gwyn’s lover, but there are times when I still feel very much the stranger.  But then, I often feel very much the stranger when I am with my own kind. Of those, it is only Giada with whom I feel completely comfortable. We may not be lovers any more, but because of that former association, she is one of the few people, aside from Gwyn and Val, around whom I feel I can be myself. I wonder if it is me. Am I putting up the shields again?  Am I distancing myself from others?  And if that is what I am doing, then why? I don’t really know, and I don’t know who I could talk to about it. Perhaps it is just because I am stuck between worlds, between cultures, and not really belonging to either. If only Mother were still around. She would no doubt scold me for such thoughts, as she did when I complained about not fitting in at school, about not being part of the various cliques. You are yourself, she would tell me, you have your own identity, and you don’t need some arbitrary label imposed by a bunch of kids who have no identity of their own. Why do I hear her voice so clearly? Perhaps it is being here. Maybe, in some way, I am connecting to that part of her which was fae. Or maybe I am just tired. Maybe I should put my diary away and try to sleep, hopefully undisturbed by Unseelie dreams.

Let’s have some Joni Mitchell, always a good thing

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