Little Norbyrt

 In dreams, he was the Little Match Girl, spending hour after mesmerising hour in front of fancy, colourful windows on perishingly cold evenings.

Accepting of this cruel fate and waiting for the warm embrace of Grandmama.
 Grandmama, did not however, pull him tenderly into her warm breast when the chill found him.
  It was the Governessa’s icy fingers, that grasped this little one, and took him down among the willow roots to join her brood.
And hence, the fate of that sorrowful Little Norbyrt, was sealed one chilly winters eve.

The Wanderer

On winters’ eves, a wanderer traverses the paths amongst and between the threads of the seen.
A traveller of pathways above and below, the woodland realm is and is not always so.
‘Twixt  human, Fae and Dark Ones she rides, where night begins and twilight dies. 
Deep into the shadows where all fears reside, her spotted carriage alone can go.