Dance of the Fairies

Rainey, my muse, inspires for the Summer

I was at my desk, fat fingers stabbing at the keys, my creative flow suddenly haunted by a nagging crick gnawing at my concentration. Without conscious thought, my head tilted to the left. It rotated in a circle, my eyes closed with the first clicking snap deep in my neck. My head continued its orbit around my shoulders, and a soothing warmth of release cascaded through me as the second deep click resonated through my skull. I sat motionless for five full seconds before opening my eyes.

The room blurred, the hum of my keyboard fading into the distant chirp of crickets. When I blinked, my cluttered desk vanished—replaced by the silver-lit plains of Stonehenge. It stood silent and ancient on the English plains, its towering stones casting long, jagged shadows across the earth. The air buzzed with the scent of wildflowers and a faint, otherworldly hum as if the land itself pulsed with anticipation. I remembered I was writing a story for the summer solstice, the longest day of the year when the veil between worlds is said to thin and magic awakens in the shadows.

“For the love of Soppy and biscuits…” My keyboard, desk— “Oh, hell’s bells,” the entire room had vanished, replaced by this new reality. I stood just out of view, on the unseen edge of what had once been an image on my computer screen. Now, the voices of the night—crickets and their like—sang. I extended my hand from the inky dark surrounding me and into the moonlight. The warmth of a friendly touch slid over my arm, down to my hand. Her long fingers slipped between mine with all the smooth, painless grace of spider fangs.

“Come… come, Joey, don’t you see it?” Her other hand pointed and jabbed at the thick summer air. “They have lit the fires… we must hurry, or we may miss our chance.”

My attention followed the path her fingers traced. There, in the center of the stones, bonfires rose, their flames flickering as if welcoming the moon’s glow into their dance. Rainey’s glee was boundless, and she slipped from my grasp. A wave of sorrow rolled over me, the sensation of falling sinking into my shoulders as my eyes lifted from my empty hand. I was descending into the abyss when Rainey’s voice called from the distance.

“Hurry, Joey! It’s all about to start!” My focus shifted to her sultry voice.

From the thickening mist emerged Rainey, a vision of ethereal grace. Her long red hair flowed like liquid fire over her shoulders, catching the moonlight in a shimmering cascade. Large, translucent wings arched behind her, their orange-veined membranes glinting faintly, marking my muse as no mere mortal. She wore a delicate gray gown, its subtle beading sparkling like stars, and her bare feet hovered just above the ground. Behind her trailed a parade of fairies and nymphs, their scantily clad forms glowing softly, their laughter a melody of distant bells. They moved toward the heart of the granite fortress, surrounded by its stony-faced guardians. There, the moon’s shadow stretched across the central altar stone, its dark energy countered by the bonfire’s warmth.

I watched, hidden behind a weathered stone, my heart pounding steadily, urging me forward. Rainey’s serene green eyes met mine, and an unspoken question hung in the air: “Will you join us or let this moment pass?”

Rainey and her companions were the Guardians, ancient fairies tied to the land and its cycles. Descended from Celtic spirits, they rose only during the solstice, when the sun and moon aligned to blur the boundaries between realms. Their delicate yet strong wings symbolized their bond with the earth and sky; their scant attire was a reflection of their unity with nature. Rainey, their leader, was this season’s Solstice Queen, her fiery hair a sign of her power to channel the moon’s shadow. These were solemn keepers of balance, tasked with harmonizing the energies between worlds.

Their presence here was a ritual of renewal—the Dance of Wraith. Under the moon’s shadows cast by the standing stones, they wove a sacred spell, blending sunlight and moonlight to bless the land and ward off malevolent spirits. The shadow was a bridge to the fairy realm, and their dance ensured the veil remained intact for another year. As they swayed, their wings fluttering to an unseen rhythm, they honored the earth’s heartbeat—a purpose as old as the stones.

The air grew warm, the wildflower scent intoxicating, as Rainey’s gaze held mine. Her clasped hands parted slightly, an invitation shimmering in her stillness. The fairies’ dance began, their forms hypnotic against the moonlit stones, and a pull tugged at my soul. But beneath the allure, a choice loomed.

That was my decision: to shed my fears and join the dance or retreat to the familiar. If I stepped into the moon’s shadow, I’d become part of their circle—my senses sharpened, my spirit touched by the earth’s pulse, glimpsing the fairy realm’s wonders. Rainey’s calm suggested safety for those with pure intent, a chance to carry magic back to my world. Yet, time might bend in their embrace; moments could stretch to hours, and I’d return changed—my step lighter, my dreams wilder.

If I ran, the fairies wouldn’t chase me—their dance was a gift, not a snare. But regret might linger, a whisper of a missed chance to touch the ancient and sublime. The night would fade, leaving me unchanged, perhaps wiser for my caution.

The decision rested heavily on my heart. Was I bold enough to embrace the unknown or wary enough to preserve myself? Rainey’s eyes lingered, patient, as the fairies’ song rose and the moon shadow deepened with power. The air crackled, wild and alive.

I took a breath, the wildflowers trembling underfoot, and made my choice. I stepped forward into the dance, the world shimmering as the fairies’ song enveloped me. When I returned, the wildflower scent clung to my skin, a spark of magic forever mine.

Only time can hold the true worth of the decision, but be forewarned, the summers grow hotter with each passing. I am not solely responsible for any of the sizzling content one might find in my posts this summer’s eve.

You, too, must choose your own paths. How much will a solstice night’s fleeting echo affect your muse, your entries in our forum’s newsfeed, and your ports?