My Microfiction of the Day or So

Stories tell of entities, beings, dreams made manifest in the flesh to those untoward enough to encounter them. Mostly they stay to themselves, dealing in their spheres and worlds that interest them. On occasion one might, as legend tells it, take an interest in  a member of some location, and spend a time with them. Children most often are a result of this, and if the legends are correct, these are the heroes and villains of all the long many ages.

If the stories are to be believed that is. But we cannot believe everything we read, see, hear, taste, smell, only touch is the real sense that is true in the sense of humanity. The rest lie but the fingertips, they tell the tales that need to be remembered in electrochemical reactions fueled by the inertia of the main motive forces so far discovered, even if the role of frequency is misunderstood, keeping mankind as blind as his ancestors dreamt they were.

All her peers moved in their realms as well, something stirring them like a hornets nest of things moving in darkness almost obscured to her eyes, certainly to most any other entity, they would all be, the peers, unnoticeable. But like her kin, she could see in the darkest of time, piercing the camouflage that they wore to live in the places they like the best.

The Dark Fae and some Ancient Principles all are overlapping one and another, drinking into the various excesses common to all sentience that arise in all manner and hue of formats.

There where senses of reality lap and overlap, rivulets and torrents of beliefs all conflicting and working within the pages of what should never have been in the first place, were it not for the interference.

Still there are some that straddle these elements, discrete