Raor, a knight raised by the Unseelie Fairy Folk, must kill the Demon Eshmodath to break the curse that afflicts him. However, a beautiful and enigmatic girl with pointed ears traps him and his friends in an enchanted mansion.
She is an "Yiddishet."...
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ThetropesofLost souls
Taken from Secrets and Magic of Fairy World
Fairies have the habit of kidnapping human children from their cradles and bringing them to their kingdom.
The Changeling is one who is raised by the Fairies and receives an education that makes them very different from their human peers, as they are cared for according to Fairy traditions and culture.
Often, the little ones are baptized with names that date back to the ancient Fairy language and receive marks of protection against evil. It's unclear why the Fairies kidnap human offspring, perhaps due to severe sterility in their species.
───͙⊱••✩••̩̩͙⊰•───
Raor
───͙⊱••✩••̩̩͙⊰•───
The turbulent wind of the melancholy afternoon sweeps over the stormy sea where the blanket of clouds reflects. The thunderous noise of the crashing waves, slowly dying down, accompanies my thoughts.
I am sitting on the damp beach, far from the Swamp of Deoraiocht — the Land of the Exiled Fairies — and the small island that saw me grow up.
My gaze is nailed to a stone tombstone surrounded by pebbles and shells; no commemorative phrases or birth and death dates, only the name of a child is inscribed on it.
I remember it well. It was I who, years ago, carved letter by letter on that stone, now worn by time and childhood memories.
My thick eyebrows furrow as I close my eyes before the tombstone, which is the embodiment of my guilt... too bad it's not my only one. This thought brushes past me, and I notice the bitter smile etched on my lips.
Why did I suddenly smile? I prefer not to answer myself and instead focus on what's most important. One day, this tombstone will no longer be part of my collection of regrets; it will become just a memory like so many others.
"Are you sure, Raor?"
I do not flinch an inch. I remain here, sitting with one leg extended and the other bent against my chest. There's no need to turn towards the small figure of faded, dead light. It's a small, evanescent body with which I have ample experience.
"Will you stop thinking of me and mourning my death one day? Are you really sure you'll win?" I feel its hands on my shoulders.
"I'm not sitting in front of your tombstone to mourn you," I respond brusquely.
