I’ve been obsessed with faeries for over a year now and I’ve bought just about every book I can get my hands on on the subject. My home office has quickly become the best faery library in Upstate New York (I have no proof of this but I dare you to refute it!) I’ve been asking myself why I am drawn to faeries and faery stories. Maybe it comes from my long time love the fairy tale and happy endings. Only problem with that theory is that most of the traditional faeries stories don’t end happily. Sure there are stories about helper faeries (like brownies or lutins) or ones that grant wishes (any crap that Disney can throw at you,) but most end with the poor human getting screwed-metaphorically in some cases and literally in other. I’m pretty sure my interest is coming from someplace else.
When I was about ten, someone told me that the little circles in trunks of trees (you know that one’s from branches that have been cut off) were faery doors. I can remember sitting in front of this tree in my grandmother’s side yard and waiting for something to come out of the stupid thing. All I got for my troubles was a few bug bites and a dirty ass. I decided right then and there that faeries didn’t exist and I stopped thinking about them.
Twenty-three years later, I’m back to thinking about faeries and wondering why ten year old Buffy was wiser than thirty-three year old Buffy.