Things you may not know about Papa Noel, Santa or St. Nick…

Picture from: Pinterest

You think you know me, but you do not.  You make up stories about me and believe they are true, but they are not.  You mold me into what you wish me to be but I tell you, you know me not.  You give me names that suit you, suit your fiction and your beliefs, but do you ever wonder who I truly am?  Do you ask yourself what I am?

Humans are funny creatures, thinking that believing makes it so.  I can assure you that nothing is farther from the truth.  Outside of your slanted and tiny belief system are wonders untold.  Layers of life you are blind to, by choice and by circumstance.  You turn away from the things that do not fit into your story but those things do not disappear, they live on without your consent or acknowledgement.

Names have power, I will not tell you mine.  I will tell you that I am Winter Fay.   Yes, I am a Faerie of the Winter Court, an old God, once worshiped by your people, now relegated to that of a gift giver, one night a year.  Your love of the story keeps me alive,  keeps me trapped in the spell you have unknowingly set upon me.  Do you never wonder that I have so many faces?  You change my looks, the way you change everything in your world, as if there were no reality, just whatever you wish things to be.  I am fat and jolly, stern and thin.  I sell your products and appear in any shape you wish.  But I do have a face, one that you have forgotten.  You celebrate me with laughter and your screaming children but know that I am Dark Fay.  I have nothing to do with gifts or laughter.  I am a Hunter and somewhere, buried deep inside your subconscious, you remember me with fear and trembling.

Your children are changelings to me.   One of ours for one of yours.  You have raised many of our children,  we have kept many of yours.  You do not notice because it doesn’t fit into your paradigm of what life is supposed to be.  To you, Fairies aren’t real, they don’t exist. The things you can’t ignore, you believe to be tricks of the mind.

You are not bespelled, you simply refuse to admit that we exist.  It makes your life easier but not safer, for we are a meddlesome lot.  Cruel and beautiful, curious and filled with trickery.  We are dangerous, quick and sly…we have magick.  You are slow, dim, unaware and lumbering.  You don’t recognize magick.  You don’t recognize anything but your limited selves.  You are easy prey.  Too easy, if truth be told.  But life lasts a long time for us and we often grow bored, so break into your reality and play with you.  Unfortunately, we tire of you quickly.

We often talk about your lack of vision.  If you destroy the planet, the Fay will survive, since our reality isn’t attached to the plane you exist upon.  When you are gone we may move to the surface but I’m not sure we would enjoy that, so it’s something that will have to be decided in the near future, when you have made yourselves extinct.  When you are gone, I will be set free from the spell that holds me to Christmas.  I will no longer be at your beck and call, exploited, my true nature hidden among your glitter and lights.  I long for that day.  In the meantime, know that I continue to Hunt and when you feel fear, and your heart begins to pound in your chest, know that I am near.   Lastly, I do not need a list to check twice, I just take what I want, naughty or nice.

 

Fiction:  by Gigi