hwithumalut

(There is potentially sexual explicit content (I'm uncertain) contained in this post. I also wrote it after midnight a few weeks ago and have not looked at it at all)

i am the fey queen tamer of men and orcs alike i am the fey queen who sits on the rose thorn throne i am the fey queen who in the forest haunts some poor traveler's hike i am the fey queen sitting among demons chewing on bone

i am the fey queen bane of fertile harvests i am the fey queen whose tasted Pinocchio's nose i am the fey queen who forgets each thing she's kissed i am the fey queen wait as the field of pollenated flowers grows

i am the fey queen who travels larger than leer's entourage all these rasping trouble ridden servants in my waterfalling hills see no flaws even if they grasp to me with their pointy impish claws

appendix 1: additional information concerning the beauty and might of the fey queen

I am the fey queen, the silver river's rose tinted daughter and mother of the prick filled forest's wild emerald hymn. I dwell in a castle of pearl brick, a circle of 44 towers each taller than the last. The center is my grove manse that walks on chicken's legs. The castle itself has those red bending turkey legs and sits on an bipedal ostrich island.

The fey queen has hair that flows down and could act as clothing if she wished. It is a tapestry that tells people compelling stories, and when looking into it will either scare or delight it's audience, depending on her mood. It's color is unknown as only the stories are seen. She wears gowns of colorful flower petals, which she grows each night. On occasion she just wears soft moss. Looking into her eyes directly for long is bad idea since it causes a short bout of intoxication and geometric hallucination. She is ten feet tall and has stained glass wings that can disappear, or remerge from her spine.

She has a power over the animas of people. She can alter someone's general perception of women with her odor, which is said to be either orange, scent of rain, caramel, salt water, or vanilla. Her laugh is a whip that can be either be like nails in your chalkboard ears, or a nostalgic nap.

more appendixes come ing soon