Wretched is what lies behind their silken smiles and unruly dances, whether Seelie or Unseelie.
They say faeries cannot lie for their tongues will burn if they do so. Yet here these creatures are, lying with each sweeping movement of limbs and every rhyme spilling from their charming lips
The Seelie court is bedecked with lace and honey, the Queen hosts feathery balls amidst much debauchery. No soul is unmoving in a fae ball, for if you are unmoving then you shall have danced until death. Mere fools shall take part in balls whilst the ethereal never grow weary.
The Seelie offers rich nectar from weeping bees, pouring velvet wine from cherry trees. Silks woven of dead butterflies look splendid on the Queen. Hither and thither you shall spot hooves for feet or scales for skin but do not fret, the damned shall make you their kin
The rotten are from the Unseelie with wicked nails and necromancy. Diabolical are the Dark Elves for their pleasure's zenith is cruelty. There shall be no revelling, no dancing, only drawing blood until death.
The Black King rides upon a stygian stallion and leaves a storm of decay and carrion. Hideous are Unseelie feasts for they devour the mightiest of mankind leaving the babes and wenches behind.
So be warned friends and foes, do not wander,
If the moorland has a hidden cave under.
