Ah, the iron shears. Once, when I went to steal a babe from it’s crib and replace it with a squalling swapling, I found these hung above. I am, as you know, sodden with fairy magic and yet of human blood, so I - of course - could touch what my fairy friends could not.
For many years, these shears slept in the mud where I keep my treasure, but now they whisper that it’s time to leave. Though in the 19th Century, they knew the wool of sheep, you will find other uses in your craft - the severing of ties ever to be broken; the tool that lays a boundary; a protective hanging over a mantle to stop my friends from crawling in.
Ah, the iron shears. Once, when I went to steal a babe from it’s crib and replace it with a squalling swapling, I found these hung above. I am, as you know, sodden with fairy magic and yet of human blood, so I - of course - could touch what my fairy friends could not.
For many years, these shears slept in the mud where I keep my treasure, but now they whisper that it’s time to leave. Though in the 19th Century, they knew the wool of sheep, you will find other uses in your craft - the severing of ties ever to be broken; the tool that lays a boundary; a protective hanging over a mantle to stop my friends from crawling in.
