"Glamour" by Amy ´the Ames´ Perkins

She walked calmly into the meadow, the full moon shining overhead casting everything in a silver glow. She moved purposefully yet quiet. Any fear shown here could be deadly. In the grass a ring of mushrooms glowed faintly in the moonlight. It was there she stopped.

"I seek audience with the fae court for I am blood and I am xesued," she spoke aloud and firmly. At her feet the circle of mushrooms pulsed with light.

At once and with a sudden clamor she found herself within a great hall. A set of columns ran down the middle and the ceiling and walls were draped with the finest cloth. Before her and through the center of the room a long table laden with food and wine was laid out as though for a great feast. She was not alone. At the table were revelers, dressed for a masquerade.

"So Tara has come to seek an audience." The voice behind her was crystal and flowing water. It was beautiful.

Tara turned. The speaker was atop a dais, seated on an ornate throne of gold and gems. She was dressed in clothes of the finest silk, her hair was silky and shown like burnished brass in the light of the hall.

"I have," Tara answered, and inclined her head with the barest of movements, "I come seeking one who is of my mother's blood. A last request from my brother."

The lady's eyes hardened and her hands became white as they gripped the arm of her throne. "You afford me little respect."

"You are not my superior. Neither are we equals," she answered. She stood square.

There was a hiss and the merriment surrounding the two women deadened. The lady upon the dais stood and with a flash appeared before Tara. She hissed and bared her now razor sharp teeth.

"It is a glamour, Meria." Tara said quietly and the Meria hissed again. "What are hiding?"

Meria crouched suddenly, a animal gone feral, and her body contorted.

Tara stepped forward. "Once revealed, the glamour loses its charm. Reveal yourself to me, sister."

The image of the great hall melted away like hot wax falling from the candle flame until it was no more than a puddle of color on the floor of the underground cavern. Roots hung from the dirt ceiling which arched over rickety tables filled with rotting food. Tara was surrounded by fae and before her, where Meria once stood, was a creature draped in rotting rags and bits of stone and twig. She still crouched, skin a dull gray, her hair listless and sparse. The fae in the hall had gone silent, their disguise gone, but their eyes glittered as they watched the woman who stood before their queen.

"Sister," spat the gangly, grey creature crouched in the dirt, "such a pretty thing to say to me, so pretty, pretty it hurts!"

Tara did not move even as the fae ran at her, razor sharp teeth bared and nails outstretched. As the slight creature ran into her with full force she enveloped her in an embrace, holding the trembling fae close to her

"Stop, Meria. What have you done?"

"It holds us and pretends like we are fine and we are not..." Meria mumbled into Tara's shoulder. "It left us alone and we found friends who offered much more."

Meria stared over Tara's shoulder, her eyes shining as she gazed at the fae around her. They were restless. Tara released her sister, staring at her with new understanding.

"You came willingly?" She asked, "you let yourself be taken by their promises of power and beautiful things? You came for this?" Her arm swept the room, indicating the state of the fae court and Meria snarled with the rest of the fae who were now awaiting their chance to strike.

"They give me blood, sister, and I will have yours."

"You are no sister of mine." Tara said coldly as she looked down upon the long-limbed faery, ignoring the others, "Your brother is dead. That is all I have left to say to you."

Meria hissed and pounced but the image of Tara faded and dispersed like a fire's sparks on the wind. Landing only in dirt the fae queen stood and with a wave of her hand the glamour reappeared. She took her seat on the dais, a sullen expression sullying her pretty, cream white face.

"A drink!" she called and a servant dressed in brilliant hose and costume scurried forward, a goblet balanced carefully on a tray. She snatched it and threw a kick at the servant who darted away with long practiced nimbleness. Meria sat on her throne, sipping her wine as she watched her court dance and tried to ignore the grit of mud on her tongue.