Once upon an orbit of planet Fait, a playful young girl and her flustered yet resourceful single father must endure sickness, encounter exotic creatures, escape a predatory government, and outwit a wicked wizard to survive just one more day. Having...
Quite long ago, during the second world of Planet Fait, when humans lived in little families in little houses, grouped together into little towns, sometimes, before bed, a child might clasp their hands together and point a prayer through fingertips to a certain star in the sky.
The child would send their sacred transmission to the star, and sometimes, if the child was a good child, the sylva who was that star would receive the message, and fly down straight away from the Other Side, to Planet Fait, to that child's town.
A sylva looks just like a shooting star. (Because a shooting star is a sylva, you know.) Once arrived to our world, whether red, orange, yellow, green, blue, or violet, the sylva would go about its magic work making the child's wish come true, and making life better.
On rare occasions, a boggi may intercept a prayer, and set to tormenting the child. (This is when things are going bad, and then things just get worse.)
While brutish and vulgar in its natural form, a boggi can look just like a sylva, for color is color to the mortal waking eye. We can only know the true nature of a spirit-whether good or bad, helpful or harmful, sylva or boggi, through its effects upon us, and in our lives.
Blessings are most certainly the works of sylvas, you know. But if there is one thing sylvas simply cannot stand, it is when a boggi intercepts a prayer and starts wreaking havoc and misery when things are already rough enough.
When this happens, the original patron sylva--no matter how long it takes--would fly around the town, the land, the planet, or even galaxy, if need be, in order to rally other sylvas to the poor child's good cause.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Once a shoal of sylvas has gathered--whether five, or five hundred, or five million, however many it takes, however long it takes--the shoal sets upon that foul boggi, casts it out from the house, the town, the planet if possible, and peace can finally, again, be felt by the child, as good as life is supposed to be.
And this, in sylva stories, is what we conclusively call, "Happily Ever After." It can take a long time in coming, the happy ending the child deserves, but sylvas are nothing if not diligent, persistent, and loyal, to good little boys and girls.
