Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can
understand.

- The Stolen Child, W B Yeats


This is what it feels like to be Lynn.

You were born a girl, but you were given a name that is partial to neither gender. You remember being called more than Lynn, but you cannot remember what that name was.

You grow up, a strange child, convinced that there are faeries in your room every night, and they won't let you sleep. You dance around your bed and repeat strange spells to make them go away.

You grow up, a quiet girl, convinced that there is a kelpie in your pond and it follows you around the house. It has scales that glimmer every shade of the sea, and long emerald mane. You name it Polly, and you play with it everyday. Mother is worried.

You grow up, a disturbing teenager, convinced that you can see a woman called Minerva—who never talks—a young man called Sebastian, and a little boy with fair hair who calls you Sister Lynn. Sebastian paints you pictures, and Minerva comforts you in her wordless manner. The boy just runs about, playing with your toys. They all wear beautiful medieval gowns and scholarly robes.

You grow up. Your parents die in a plane crash, and somehow you have suspected it all along. You are sent to live with your eccentric old uncle—not much more eccentric than yourself—in his great, old castle. The entire family doesn't know f you're a boy or a girl, and they are too afraid to ask. Minerva puts her arm around you, as you sit in your castle room, staring blankly at the tapestries.

Fear not, she seems to say. For you will be safe here.

But you know she is wrong, because you are never safe anywhere.

This is what it feels like to be Lynn.


A/N: I admit it's a bloody short prologue, but I had about one quarter of the 1st chapter going. Sadly, its undergoing a rewrite. And yes, this is it. The muse has finally cooperated. Feel free to critique now (: