Rain [Short Stories]

Lord High, er, Lord of the Faeries!

      //I can't write for jack shit anymore so here have some thing I rekindled at 4 in the morning.//

      The ruddy-cheeked fool sat back in his throne carved out of the magnificent oak tree, ivy vines creeping along the shoulders of the elegant chair and stopping behind the broad shoulders of the being who sat in it. Sharp teeth glinted in the dappled sun as he spun a smile of mischief and jest.

      "A human in my woods?" He chuckled and a pink tongue rolled over pink lips, "I should have you sent spinning into a Faery ring." His tone darkened and so did his emerald green gaze, knuckles cracking as he lifted his arm cradled in the arms of his throne.

      Red curls bounced as the human giggled and flashed a smile at the Faery perched in his throne.

      "And who might you be? Duke of the woods?" She joked, and the faeries around them let out gasps, hands flying to their mouths as they all began to look at the man in the throne. He looked offended, lips pulled into a grimace as he stood abruptly; eliciting another gasp from the conglomerate of Fae.

      "How dare you! I'm Lord High, er, Lord of the Faeries!" He snarled, the crown of thorns and yew on his head tilting forward with his motions. He plopped back in his seat dismissively, wanting this albeit pretty but stupid human out of his woods. He spared her a glance before looking away. The dusting of red in his cheeks growing deeper.

      "Well, Lord High Lord of the Faeries, what might I call you? I plan to be in these woods for a while." The woman shifted her weight to one foot and slid her hands behind her back as she waited for the rather fetching excuse for royalty to answer. She barely knew the rules of the fae, and by the murmurings from the Fae she gathered that she had made a mistake somewhere.

      The Lord High stuck his nose up, snorting for a moment before licking his lips and popping them softly,

      "You may call me Lord Alastair...Now give me your name." The last part of his request snapped like the many branches littering the clearing, and the human procured a response just as haughty as he.

      "You may call me Rose."