It was very rare for a faerie to share its space with a mortal. Territorial at heart especially the bestial Pooka who would wind about the tearful woman’s feet with soft mewling for attention. Yet the boy that used to come here in the summers and leave spots of cream and treat was a good man, just as his father, and grandfather before him. The Flynn family were welcome though they did not remember their promise to it. It had come to believe it was something about their nature. Even without belief in superstition they tended to the Pooka’s share out of tradition.<br/><br/>So it was with the arrival of Maggie, Jonathan Flyn’s young bride, and she more than the others took a certain pleasure in the practice. Even though the weight of her grief should deny any sense of charity she rose to give more. This the dark Faerie respected. She was sweet<br/><br/>And how did the Pooka enjoy its sweets…<br/><br/>Gold eyes fell upon the woman’s as if the cat before her understood the heft of her longing. Pressing it’s whiskered face against her ankle it purred as it turned about thrice and led her with continued mewling. The lure of a faerie’s glamour was a dangerous thing. Most assumed illusion but that was not the gift of the Fae, as it was the innate understanding of emotions and desires. They always knew your truest heart.<br/><br/>It had hurt Morven to think of the woman’s deepest desire. Dark and painful such longing could not be permitted as it spoiled the share. So as the black cat it swayed with its tail to and fro turning frantically towards the hallway. This would have seemed like a lead to the kitchen but once the small feline darted past into the shadowy corridor of the cottage, a curious something took adrift. Another flash of lightening tremored and for a moment the house went dark as the power cut.<br/><br/>Now at the very end of the hallway standing in the frame of the marital bedroom the shape of a man stood with nothing visible but eyes. “Maggie…” A voice whispered. But before an answer could be given the click of breakers stole the moment. The low indoor lights of the Cottage were brought back to life, and at the end of the hall that small black cat turned innocently with a soft mew of concern with head turned to the side.<br/><br/>What would this woman give for one more moment? It was an utterly profane thought for a Faerie. They were nature spirits and did not dabble in necromancy, but they were gift givers and bound to their pacts of favor.