Ceinwyn was not from the autumn court, not originally. She had been born in the Summer court, and had known sunshine, warmth, and blooming flowers for most of her life. The blooms called to her, and she to them, and it was this affinity that garnered the attention of the high fae of Autumn. To be personally selected for employment was a great honor, not to mention the compensation that could see Ceinwyn’s family raised from struggling to comfort in a matter of months. She had her reservations about leaving, of course, but how could she deny her family, her mother and brothers and sisters, the life they deserved?
And so she went. The chills did not pierce her so badly now, and it helped that the Erlking’s palace was itself a massive tree. Ceinwyn felt oddly at home within its twisting bows, and she did her best to add to its beautiful gardens inside and out.
The lower levels, where the servants resided, were decidedly less grand than the luxury above. Ceinwyn descended the firm wooden steps to their common dining area, carrying a basket with dirt-covered tools and many plump, red apples. Her dainty hooves clopped to the table where she dropped herself and her burden with a heavy sigh.
“My arms will surely turn to lead before ‘arvest ends,” she said quietly to herself, massaging an aching bicep. She had spent the day helping much stronger fae harvest the orchards, and carrying the tall poles and heavy bins had been quite a task for the waifly faun.
And so she went. The chills did not pierce her so badly now, and it helped that the Erlking’s palace was itself a massive tree. Ceinwyn felt oddly at home within its twisting bows, and she did her best to add to its beautiful gardens inside and out.
The lower levels, where the servants resided, were decidedly less grand than the luxury above. Ceinwyn descended the firm wooden steps to their common dining area, carrying a basket with dirt-covered tools and many plump, red apples. Her dainty hooves clopped to the table where she dropped herself and her burden with a heavy sigh.
“My arms will surely turn to lead before ‘arvest ends,” she said quietly to herself, massaging an aching bicep. She had spent the day helping much stronger fae harvest the orchards, and carrying the tall poles and heavy bins had been quite a task for the waifly faun.