The Faeries

The girl opened her eyes slowly, reluctantly. Her memories of the day before were scant, but vivid enough that fear had already settled in the pit of her stomach. She had been in a forest, walking with her father. She had heard music. Her father had not. She had followed after the music. He had screamed at her to stop. Helplessly.

The memory seemed pleasant, in a distant way, like old birthdays. She hadn't been frightened then. She was frightened now. No one ever said Faeries were nice.