Servant of the Little People. (fiction)

Wind buffeted the dry, powdery snow. The dark outline of the small, wind-blown figure on the horizon blurred as the sky, mountain, and air turned slowly to an endless, ever-moving sea of white. Shivering and struggling, Morganna made her slow way up the terribly steep mountainside and began to fill with despair as she came to the realization that she may never complete her quest- may never find that which she sought.

As these thoughts, long suppressed, surfaced, so did her weariness. Sinking to her knees, Morganna lost all desire to continue. The snow piled in drifts around her huddled form as she kneeled, still as stone and just as cold. Thoughts and memories swirled in her head like the snow, but her face remained blank and emotionless. Morganna had learned to keep her feelings hidden and her mind guarded when she had served the Little People. Few humans were “gifted” with the ability to see the Little People, and fewer still ever visited the Faerieland, where the People lived when not playing tricks or “helping” peasants, but Morganna had lived in the Faerieland for longer than she had lived in the land of her birth, doing their bidding and performing whatever chores were given her.

This life had been hard on Morganna. More abused than a normal servant, even in a family with a cruel master, her back was crooked and bent, hands rough, bare feet hard as hoofs, cracked skin, numerous cuts and scrapes, even though she was but eighteen years old. Only recently had she been dismissed from service and left to find her own way in the human world with nothing but body, her freedom, such as it was, and the clothing she wore. Slaving away since she could walk, and nothing to show for it but pain, and horrible memories, and dreams long forgotten. She had longed for freedom for so long, and now that she had it, the world was bare of all she could remember as good and wholesome.

Time passes differently in the Faerieland than in places where humans live. She had been stolen from her human family when she was still in the cradle, but even then, her mother should still be alive. Her father, too. Perhaps even some of her sisters and brothers had survived childhood, although the childhood death rate was high. And yet, before she had left, one of the People had spoken to her with cold laughter in his eyes.

“You came to us but eighteen years ago in the time of Faerie. In the time of the Big People, everyone you knew, and all their sons and daughters, have long since died. No one now remembers you. Slave girl, you must move on from here, for you are of no more use to us, but the Outside will be cruel to you, and I see Death in your future. We shall not speak again.”

And so she was truly alone, deep in a snow filled, silent world she felt she did not belong in.