I am sitting in the middle of a clearing. The trees themselves are afraid to invade our sacred space, for fear of getting lost in our song and pulling up their roots. My wings stretch towards the sky, stars and feathers melding into one. I breathe in, tasting the nectar of a full moon hanging low. I breathe out, my flames flickering along the edge of our clearing, white and hot as the sun. They give off heat, but they don’t burn. I don’t let them destroy, in this sacred place. Flashing eyes come pouring in, filling this place with family. I stand up, and they begin to sing. Not with words, but with emotions. They sang bitter-sweet finding, a home found after hurt, and those who cannot be contained by hate or hope. Dark and sweet, the kind of music that would make the sirens cry. If any mortal happened upon those woods that night, well, it would have been better off with the Fae. Not that we meant it that way, we just- made the sounds that were in our heart. And if that was enough to entice or k!ll a mortal well- that was their fault, for coming into our territory. And as our voices soared, until God herself could hear us and weep, we began to dance. Graceful and yet chaotic, everyone doing seemingly unrelated things, that linked together in harmony. Making fun of the angel’s perfection and purity, we danced to let go. To be ourselves. Hooded eyes, hips swinging in dirty circles, seduction and power melting beautifully together. As we danced faster, the flames got higher, and the others who could added their flames. White and red and blue and green and all the colors possible in flames were in the flames. The others added in their source too, fireworks and illusions and silvery sweet manipulations and anything you could desire or have nightmares about. When we tired out, and the flames died down, we all laughed and came together as one. Though we may be as different as snowflakes on a winter morning, we are one.