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An elderly woman sat in the shade of a large willow tree as she watching the laughing and playing children with loving eyes.
"My dears!" she called to the children. "Little ones, would you like a story?"
"A story? Really, Grandmother Catherine?" the smallest of the children, a boy of only four, timidly tugged on her long skirts.
"Why yes, darling," she gave a warm smile as she gestured for the children to take a seat lush green grass around her. Once they were settled, the old woman layed a wrinkled hand on the little blonde hair that rested in the folds of her skirts.
"Now, you must listen well," she warned softly, "For this story may only be told once, as it is not truly my story at all."
"Who's story is it, then, Grandmother Catherine?" an older boy inquired.
Grandmother Catherine's smile became even more gentle than before as she whispered, "A friend... A dear, dear friend."
"Yes," she continued with a firmer tone. "Let me tell you the story of a little fairy. A beautiful fairy, indeed. And her name... It was Snow LeFae..."
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And She Spoke With An Airy Voice...
Come and gather little ones, as I tell you the story that is rarely told. Though it is me you hear, it is not my story at all. This is the story of how a little girl learned what magik truly was. "And from whom?" you may ask. Why, a little fairy, my
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The fairies went from the world, dear,
Because men's hearts grew cold:
And only the eyes of children see
What is hidden from the old...
~Kathleen Foyle
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