The Story of the one who lives in three circles.

He who exists in Three Circles and the Sprite of green dresses are among the only True Fae to have broken through to our world. They exist (but do not live, the Fae do not fit the criteria for living beings) in a vast castle surrounded by strange and exotic estates tended by their many servants and slaves. The castle is so vast that it casts its shadows to all corners of the world.

They take in the young, the beautiful, the desperate and the foolish into their employ and through labyrinthine contracts they purchase souls of mortals for a steal.

All those who serve them must smile, at all times. Those who can not naturally maintain a cheerful facade are given to the surgeons. With a few neat cuts and a little stitching their smiles can be ensured.

Most servants are paid little heed, but those who catch their masters eyes are singled out and offered beauty and elegance in chemical form. The cosmetics are addictive and soon more is required each day. Those whose beauty fades under their influence are not permitted to be seen by the outsiders. Those who can move are sewn into suits from which there is no escape, the dance in the endless parades to honour their fae lords, stitched to their masters discarded skins.

When their feet have been worn to nothing and they are unable to stand, they are taken below, to the city beneath, where they labour hunched over their benches and twisted by confinement into grotesque shapes; making toys, baking sweets, stitching costumes, banners and all the sickly addictions that feed the city above.

Then when they are finished, they are ground up into meat for the numerous treats they feed the guests.

The gears of their kingdom grind fine, and devour all those who do not conform to the whims of the fae. But humans are merely a fuel source for the machine, it's actual purpose is to digest stories. Taking the faerie tales once spoken of in reverence as warnings and guides and twisting their meaning around. They feed these lies to children instructing them to do all the things that the old tales warned us about. Rub the lamp, make the wishes, follow the strange boy out of your bedroom window, have adventures and be brave or be passive and do whatever it takes to become beautiful, believe in wishes and hope that your prince will come.

Once they have destroyed our memory of the old stories and torn down the wrought iron fences and replaced them with aluminium or plastic, then they will return and take us willingly into Arcadia where they will devour those delightful delusions.

I will not say their names, because when said three times they will become aware of you, but I shall show you this dark lords sigil so that you may beware. Go no further unless you are prepared in your heart to see this sigil.