What kind of creature are you in the Unicorn Forest? Come play with me - please

[Ayla]

The elf emerges from the shadow.  Seeing the flickering light they smile and quietly climb the ladder and knock once before entering.  The fairy turns.  It has been a long time since they have beheld each other.  Many miles they have travelled on separate paths but now they are where they should be, in this place and at this time in their journey.

Reaching into their pocket they reveal a pipe, a gift from an old man who used to live hereabouts.  Packing it with scented weed they light the bowl and hand it to the fairy.   "I think that this is yours" they say.  Smiling gently they say "it is good to see you.  Your friends are well and will be keen to learn of your travels."  They turn. Fading quickly from sight they descend the ladder and return to the forest with a spring in their step and light in their heart.

[Sarah7]

She sits in a still clearing, ignoring the chill breath of winter-to-come. The dark eyes are unfocused in the pale face, a few drops of blood fall from her bottom lip caught between pointed teeth. Long fingers trace patterns in the hard dirt, short broken nails carving words into stories, her silver bracelets bouncing on already battered wrists.

The creature pauses for a moment, thinking, slipping back into focus, smiling her sharp smile at the tall trees that hide her, the birds that sing for her, the forest people who watch her curiously. It is beautiful here, she thinks. I remember now, she thinks. And then the pain rushes in to fill the gap.

She sighs. It is an uncommon sound of regret and resignation, of old certainties and new frailties. She gets to her feet and slowly walks back, back towards her old home under the branches, her clothes of green and brown swirling around her to hide her from unwanted eyes.

The creature's nest is still here in the dark depths of the green, a little worse for the neglect. She scrabbles for the tinctures and powders, the alchemy crafts that will push back the noise of her body, the ragged tears that never heal. Ripped wings and bleeding wrists and the burn of the light trapped behind her eyes. She curls under her pile of bedding and waits for the numbness to spread, biting back the hurt, the liquid drops that fall down dirty cheeks.

At least there is the work now. The making and creating of new stories, a decade of words to shape and share. Her worlds are not trapped inside her head any longer, they wake and breathe at the touch of her hands. Thinking this, she smiles and then sleeps and dreams.

[Satinjoy]

The Fairy is shocked.  There is life in the unicorn forest, a life sh'e did not expect to find here.

The elf was here, h'er forgotten pipe....sh'e has changed much, h'er deep need for the tree of hormones has done much to h'er.

Combined gender, its own beauty and allure.  And sh'e is awakening, it was not expected, not at all.

Ooooh that elf.  What the love of very deep friendship will do.

Sh'e stares at h'er meerschaum pipe, carved intricately.  In a parallel world, the one where the fairy lives IRL, the dangerous world of the cis, the same pipe sits upon h'er desk , never lit due to h'er addition to the black vanilla cavendish sh'e enjoys.

But in this forest, she lights it.  And it mixes with the scent of incense, a second glow in a treehouse that was dark for far too long.

Elf, my desr one, what have you done?

The hug they will get will be a long one.

[DawnOday]

The wise old Owl sits in the tree and the only thing he can think to say is "who"

[Satinjoy]

In h'er treehouse sh'e hears a wise old owl in the wind.

Who.....who who...

What?  Sh'e wonders.  What what?

And a familiar old friend sh'e also spots somewhere near the statue of our fallen Nero.

Memories flood in.

[Sarah7]

The statue is as she remembered. She circles him once, rips a climbing vine off a delicate leg, brushes yellowed leaves off his hooves.

"Don't scold me, brother." She tells the stone. "I won't let the forest consume you and forget."

A quick scramble and she stands on his back. She paces back and forth, quick turns and nervous chewing on a fingernail. Then she stops at last and sits, legs hanging down one side, bare feet swinging idly.

"I'm sorry, okay?" She blurts out at last. "I had to go away, to change, to live. But I kept you with me in my dreams. Maybe even in that heart you accused me of having. You forgive me, right?" She pets the cold neck, smiles briefly. "I'm back at school now. Writing essays for academic wankers and all. They teach me how to tell my stories. It's fun and hard. And fun."

She shifts to lie lengthwise on his back, balancing carefully, smiling. She watches the dark sky above, the way the stars seem to swirl and wink at her, the pretty moon. "Yes, we are still together. Maybe married soon. Can you imagine, me, married? It's a bloody laugh. But I love her. You know I love her." A blush spreads across her cheeks, as her mind slips to other thoughts.

They are still for a time. The stone unicorn and the broken angel on his back. The silence stretches and thickens. Finally, half sleeping, she murmurs, "I miss you, Nero." And falls into her dreams.

[Amanda500]

 With a cry, a hawk flies overhead, surveying the area for danger. He calls down to a group emerging from the mist at the edge of the forest. A monster steps out and looks around. "It seems safe," he grunts. "But, we better be sure before letting the Little One out." He takes the hand of a small boy with a flower in his hair to lead him back into the mist. Little One hangs his head while surrounded by a dark cloud that feels alive, full of clawing arms and mouths with gnashing teeth which try to eat him.

A small mouse with glasses and a tiny tool belt scampers out. She grabs some tools and begins repairing the railings, signs, and other parts of the trail. It is slow going, being so small, but she cannot sit still when things are out of place. She smiles at finding a decorated acorn by the trail and puts into into a pouch.

A young woman dances out in a flowing, swirling dress of shimmering colors. As she dances, he long hair swirls around her as she wields a paintbrush that leaves a trail of images in her wake that come to life for a short time before dissolving in the sunlight like the morning dew. Today, the images tell the story of a boy who was gentle and kind and was somehow different from other boys. One day, a giant monster man touched the boy with evil and a curse that created the gnawing cloud that follows him. It also shattered him, splintering off parts of him to create the rest of the group. One of the group became a monster (a good one we hope) to defend us. He hates having to be a monster, but it is necessary in a non-accepting world.

The Artist looks around at the burnt land that once hosted dragons playing, but is now filling in with grass and new trees. She weeps that our monster would not let us join the dance before the Great Migration to other realms and for all that we missed. She weeps at all that was lost, but is hopeful that others may build a fitting community here now.

[Sno]

Silver in the first mist, the form and shape of life, of elves and faeries, earth and beast and knowledge it was ever thus.
This silent form, the forest dwell, faint shimmering around, where contact is a scant perchance and images abound.
Fresh shoots she cries, amidst tears and ribbons of emotions flowing free, the forest, enchanted, granted life and sought to succour me.
The breath of winter chills the air, a frost and cool breath hewn.
The earth, the faeries and the elf in warmth are hunkered down.
The flicker of a memory past and echo of the heart, great rents it tears in silent flashes.
In scorched earth and fallow ground each fading mem'ry hides.
Fresh new life, a dancing queen, and magicked pictures played.
An artist sits and patiently captures a scene, oil paint an candle flickering, a simple glade, on shallow tilth, a joyous scene recalled, migration image driving on the forest has forgotten.
In times once past and still to come, the bear will still remember, the sweet bitter scent of incense and long carved runes, a tale, a giant defender.
Fair breathed its heat and fuelled the life in darkest mid December.
'Tis solstice time and gathering round the party soon united, of stories since the sun and moon were both rebuked and smited.

[Satinjoy]

Sh'e is surprised.

It was h'er domain, this place, this creation.   

It was three years ago, sh'e came to the great world of the city and the forest.  The city of trans, divided by a great chasm, where those of the city would cross into the forest, and question, as they searched their own identity, and tried to form ours from what they understood of theirs.

A human thing, an innocent thing, but it was a disaster in the end.  The guardians of the city and the forest know this now, they are wiser, they are watching.

The Fairy shivers.  Sh'e had been exiled, it was long, a half a year, as sh'e had said the wrong things, sh'e has always been controversial, and sh'e has a deep rage inside h'er that can be a very destructive force.    Rage birthed of fear, and of old bullying, of deep wounds that have never healed, sh'e had been tortured by the world of the cis.

Breathe, Satinjoy, breathe.   Deep breath.

In a deep place in the forest, there are the graves of some that have passed from this world into another, and some who have lost their lives.    Such is the tragedy of trans, whether unicorn, or whether of the world of the city, it is part of the hard lives we live.   Sh'e avoided this forest for a while, greiving the lost and the others who were exiled, many for life.

It had been a terrible thing, the war in the forest.   In many ways it is probably still not safe to talk about it.   But the Fairy senses there has been a change in the forest, something is different.   Sh'e wonders how safe it is.

Those from the war, on both sides of it, the war that should not have ever been, many of them are gone.

Some will hate the Fairy forever, sh'e was at the center of it all, the focus point, for many, many had thought sh'e was fully she, and were forcing her to accept that, when the truth is, sh'e is and always has been sh'e.   But fear for the sanity of the Fairy gripped the hearts of those who love h'er, and they defended, and retaliated, and flamed.

The forest burned.   Scorched, and then, silence came.   Silence and deep greif.   The embittered exiles moved on to another place, one that is not discussed, nor with the Fairy reveal it, out of respect for the ones charged with watching and protecting the remnants of the great unicorn forest.   And the war continued on, and became evil and dark.

Sh'e was not a part of it.   It was hidden from h'er, and it shall be so forever, sh'e wants no part in such things.  Only to learn the lessons that must be learned, so that it will never ever be repeated, for the Good of All Trans.

Sh'e stepped forward to the doorstep of h'er treehouse, finding an acorn from h'er old friend.   A gentle smile comes to h'er lips.

Sh'e spreads h'er wings, the wild fairy of the forest, and takes off over the top of this old, and cherished place.

What will become of the unicorns?   There is deep history here, rich in its wisdom and knowledge.  And in this very special place, this place where fantasy meets truth, character revealed, life lived and emotions released, the life of this forest lives on.   And I hope it lives on forever.

Sh'e is the Fairy, sh'e did not create this place, but much of it was h'ers, a vision of a time long ago where we needed to come out and be freed.

Is is where lives are lived, greif and joy and revelation and gladness.

Sh'e silently flies over the forest, ready to begin again.   Sh'e lives for the Good of All Trans, in this world, in the dangerous world of the cis, wherever sh'e is needed, sh'e lives it.

Far below sh'e sees the statue of Nero, and draped across it, an old and bleeding angel, a mystery to her.   The owl is there, the elf is upon the paths, and someone sh'e does not yet know is repairing the edges of one of the great paths.

Will they find the great places of the forest?  The deep pond where the water nymph lives?  The treacherous path to the mountain where the final work of the wizards changes flesh into flesh that matches the soul?   Past the gatekeepers guarding that way?

Will they find the tree of hormones?   The mirror of their truth, where they look and see their souls?

The cliff edges of sanity, where one mis step, and the stress of transition will allow you to fall, sometimes to your very death?

A wild and dangerous and untamed place was the forest of old.   Filled with firey souls, passionate creatures of every possible imagination, all here to find their truth, and lead the way down the dangerous paths of transition, into the secret gardens of the mind and spirit where joy comes in the morning.

Walk your paths well, and spread your wings.

Sh'e is back.

[Artesia]

A teardrop falls from the shifting form of light and shadow.  The beauty of thoughts left by those who've come before.  The dreams lost, the souls saved, the joy of things to come, the pain of things lost, the fear, the love, all written in time and held for the curious one who silently skirts the path, shifting to shadow as anyone passes, an lighting briefly at the stories left within the Forest.  This creature of light and shadow, will never forget the forest, but then who can,  it lives and breathes, grows and dies, but as with all things born from a dream, it will never truly be destroyed, though it may become hidden by the world outside, it will always endure.

[Tessa James]

Ah yes, the season of the solstice in the northern climes is a time of gatherings, celebrations and warm wooly knits for this old fairy.  A time to sit by the fire with dear friends, family and lovers as we sing and make merry.  Our gifts are our shared experiences along this barely discernible path through the forest.  We wear our badges of change and breath in the scents of balsam, fir and spruce.  We rejoice in the renewal of light and another journey around the sun together.

[Sno]

The stories, the trees, remember them.
Leaves shuffle awkward, silent.
The green of land beneath the trod, of gold and red so violent.
The still foul reek of history lay as blanket cloth abound.
A hero, a battle, a statue and mere mortals to confound.
A tale or two beneath the leaves a canopy above, sweet linger in the air the earthy smell of love.
The incense and a lamp so clear a whistful wait away, whilst in the glade a battle dear in eloquence displayed.
Poor Nero, is the cry so tight the emotion of it wrung, a creeper vine and branch, in mossyness it clung.
The word is past from mouth to mouth to feed the aching minds, of unicorns and elven trees and paradise defined.
In twilight of the failing year the solstice one and all, the flight and forming of the age, the sages to recall.
A pipe is passed amongst the woods, it's fragrant smoke abounds. Its strictures and it's rules are those that simply will confuse.
Imagine if you will at all, a mirror timely cracked, of daffodils and walrus kings and leaves that won't contract. A binding word is written thus, the forest shall be free.
Free of ties and in both places, all at once and then when friendship love abounds. A poor reflection twice was seen of nymphs that still confound.
There walks in quiet contemplation thus consideration of the fates, when folk are folk and faeries sing, and unicorns are free. An old bear wanders through the place, and listens keenly on, the elf, the faerie and poor Nero quietly sing their song.
In statuesque form a silent memorial, to the dear and slain in the great battle, and deep earth a wailing furrow lain. Such times are, to some a keenly rendered slice, through guts and sinew, heart alone suffice.
We find our sanctuary, our leafy temple in this world was written, a simple kiss a single word, and with the truth was smitten.
A step outside and from this world a line of clear departure, a leafy glade define, come dance then in evensong, the creeping life abounds.

[kelly_aus]

Kel the Dormouse places precious gold acorns at the foot of the statue of the fallen. She sheds a tear and returns to her nest over the door to the fairy's treehouse.

She tarries here for there are others who come who don't know the stories, don't know the lore.. She is part of the forest and it's history. She will endure.

[Sno]

The clear light falls, and shuffling through the twigs and branches crack.
So quiet lies this forest, still, splash of stream does chime.
Quick flash the dormouse scampers off, its journey partly told, quick chatter talks of baited breath where lore and rules unfold.
Mem'rys of the fallen, keep them still alive, the bold, the brave, the ne'er seen who's tales the travellers guide. For in the forest deep, it's said a pathway to the life, of gatekeepers, witches, elves and golden pen prescribed.
This saga thus and in a moment a journey and a haven; peace at once befalls and understanding of material rough hewn. A journey taken, find the path, sweet chisel of the truth.
My journeys as a bear are slow and freely taken, from whence I came, and where I'll end, my journey not foresaken; I watch and wait, and watch again, observing and observed. Powerful in tortured form, the best to guard is self.
Wary now of visitors, full knowledge and stone unturned, this bear who's life which will have passed, deep in the forest hidden, for the pathways in plain sight, the scars are too profound. The wrath of pain worn garlands, the markers made by cis.
The silence of the silenced, the memorial and poor Nero. For in the lore it is writ down, both fallen and a hero.
The old bear hums along, waiting without knowing. This sanctuary, tends balm to the wounds, the healing and truth is.
Calm lies the glade, quiet still, the rustle leaf on wind. The forest grows, new pathways form, explorers will come in. The ancients new, old and those transformed are present still, and those who've passed are still alive in song - the saga carries on!

[Riley the tiger]

"the events from so long ago bubble up to the surface. Faces of those from the past appear in the pool under the silver light of the full moon. Memories lost to time but never forgot. the ancient blade of the dark one left in the ground vibrates and hums as if to a melody. we are all left to wonder what that could mean."

[Sarah7]

She awakens today with bright eyes and a sudden leap, slams a toe into the doorway in haste and hobbles, naked and cursing, to her pool under the branches. She splashes and plunges and spatters the poor birds singing in the trees with sparking drops. They twitter their irritation at her antics, but she only laughs and invites them to play with her.

The fallen angel's mood is a capricious, contagious thing. A liquid ecstasy fluttering around her bony frame. The birds are drawn down to bathe in the pool, the two bravest cardinals perching, side by side, on her wrist so she can share her gossip.

She explains between bursts of giggles, that she is coming, the most important she. "My love!" she gasps out at last and falls backwards into the water dramatically. The cardinals, having sensibly ejected from their perch in time, bob on the surface, amused by her silliness.

Later, and more-or-less clean and more-or-less attired, she struggles with her hair in a cracked mirror propped against her dresser. A sharpened knife helps her hack the brown mass into some kind of form. The two red cardinals have perched on a handy windowsill to enjoy the show. "Bloody mess," she mutters, as she drags out another knot.

At last she stops to admire her work. Her tamed hair frames fair skin freed of its layers of dirt. The dark eyes are appropriately mysterious. The full lips look sufficiently kissable. And a shoulder and the edge of a freckled curve revealed by her loose clothing are adequate enticements to sin. She grins at the picture.

Now she waits. It's been a long time. Longer than ever before. Months of waiting and wanting and she starts to sniffle pathetically at the thought. At the missing, that aching hole where her heart might be.

No. She shakes her head roughly. Today is a good day. Today is the best day. She lets her thoughts slip to remembered touches--the heat on her lips, the arms folded tight around her, the soft sounds of want and happiness. Not long now. Not long.

[Satinjoy]

More candles are lit in the treehouse.  The smell of food is in the air.

And on the mantle, a stocking hangs.

Nylon, thigh high, hanging from a garter.

Christmas in the forest.

H'er treehouse door is open.

[Sno]

The eerie whisper on the wind, stories that were told,
Fragments passed from mem'rys gate and scattered to the breeze.
The tales of creatures brave and bold, did walk these hallowed woods; once upon a time they said, and in their finest grandeur did take their journeys and forth hence gained glimpses so profound.
And all the time a faerie sat, incense, candles, bound.
A light is on, a fragrance scented drifting round abouts, the shuffle of new folk bewildered, welcoming and last.
The questions, question, question still, tranquility abounds, for in this peaceful sacred space.
Nero waits in silent vigil, new life comes creeping in.

[Satinjoy]

Gilded wings spread wide sh'e mounts the blessed air.  The wizard outside the forest has given his final blessings, releasing h'er into the world.  Deeming h'er whole, and healed.

With a gentle smile sh'e spirals on, enjoying the view, in between sun and star and moon.

The in between indeed, the enigma, the uncontained one.  Clothed in satin and silk, small breasted, female in appearence and grace, but always with that something more, something different, something special.

High above the forest sh'e circles.  Quietly, watching.

Wondering.

This is a special place.  Like Arwen, sh'e haunts it, quietly moving through the seasons, the candle burns, incence inviting peace and joy.

[Tessa James]

New life it is with warmth awaiting spring. 
Wanderers explore and continue to find their way in. 
Contributions great and small comprise a story shared. 
A bud is growing beneath the ground now cold and seeming bare.
This fairy smiles from ear to ear with pixy dust in air
Knowing for certain that this cycle of life needs our care