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The Impostor's Dance

A Tale of Deception and True Magic in the Moonlit Glade

By XeraphyPublished about a month ago 1 min read

In a glade where moonlight whispers, fairies dance unseen,

Gossamer wings a-glimmering, in shades of silver sheen.

They flit with laughter, voices light, a chorus pure and sweet,

In the hush of twilight's breath, where mortal realms meet.

But in the heart of magic's fold, a shadow finds its way,

An impish creature, sly and bold, steps into the fay.

With nimble fingers, mischief spun, it dons a fairy guise,

Emerald eyes now sparkle bright with well-rehearsed lies.

It mimics every dainty move, each giggle, every twirl,

Pretends to weave the moonlit threads, in night's mystic swirl.

Among the true and tender fays, it laughs, it dances free,

A master of deception’s art, in playful mimicry.

Yet, though it wears the fairy’s charm, a truth it cannot feign,

The pure enchantment of a heart that knows no touch of pain.

For fairies bear a love so light, a joy that’s deeply sown,

In every twinkling, fleeting flight, a grace they’ve always known.

The imp may wear the fairy’s form, but can’t embody all,

The spirit’s dance, the soul’s pure norm, it’s just a hollow thrall.

And so within the midnight glade, where real and false collide,

The fairies sense the hollow shade, the truth it cannot hide.

With gentle smiles and knowing looks, they weave a circle tight,

Around the imp who falsely took their radiant, starry light.

In silent song, in ancient tongue, they whisper to the night,

And strip away the borrowed glow, revealing truth’s clear sight.

The imp, unmasked, retreats in shame, its trickery laid bare,

While fairies in their moonlit fame, continue without care.

For magic knows its own true kin, and though one might pretend,

The heart of fairy’s essence pure no falsehood can amend.

sad poetry

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