Time, is a lie. Ground, a conspirator, my captor. Benevolence and malevolence, I can’t tell them apart. What is a faery favor, and what an undeserved curse?
It doesn’t even matter, since there is no debating with ground. It does what it always did, it has its own will and no interest to hear out my cries.
A faery rebel, I feel sick, I can’t settle.
One day my tears will flood out the ground.
Spirit of Tara 