The British Faery: A Book Loving Spryte, Huen!

Tuesday, 21 February 2012

A Book Loving Spryte, Huen!

Huen is very old, one of our ancient Sprytes, and not much has been known of her till now. 
Her story starts with Curiousity, Infatuation and Love! 

Huen was born in the Wild Wood, like all Sprytes, and her home was a big oak that stood on the edge of a clearing. As time passed, the clearing became a Large sprawling Country house, with a small Grave Yard for the local village. For a very long time, the House was a quiet place, and Huen enjoyed visiting the Graves and talking with the Ghosts and Ghouls who haunted there. 

After many moons passed, and more than 100 years slipped by,  Huen had became more and more interested in the Living Humans that occupied the Home, until one day, she found her self peering through the Church window. Inside, a mother held a baby boy in her arms.
The babe looked up at Huen, and seeing her, he cooed and reached out with his arms.
From that day forward, Huen visitied the babe everyday, even coming into his room, and told him old Folk stories from her world.
As the boy grew, Huen grew bolder, taking the Now-Grown-Up-Babe into the Wild Wood, and he in return, snuck her into his home, setting up a small room from a box, for Huen to stay in while she visited him. 
The house got older, and so did the boy. Huen found herself loving the boy more than she loved the wood, and found she rarely returned to her woodland home.

Soon, the boy was a grown adult, and he and Huen spent everyday together, reading old books from the libarary, exploring the hidden pathways and rooms of the house. Huen and the Boy were happy for many years, and the love between them meant that the Boy never looked for a wife to marry. 

But of course, Humans have a much shorter life than Sprytes, and before Huen knew it, he was old, very, very old, and not even her magic could save him from deaths grip.
He died on a crisp autumn day, and his death wrapped Huen in a grey blanket of misery and unbearable grief.
In her melancholy, she fled to the Library, shunning the sunlight and the other sprytes, keeping company only with the ghouls, waiting, hoping that one day the ghost of her love will appear.
Till then, she has found solace her books, and wods and stories have become her knew love. She spends all day reading, finding new books in the old library, searching out stories from the ghouls and ghosts. 
She writes them down in her own leather books, that the boy made her, nearly 100 years ago.

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