I have always pledged affinity with magical beings. I love the heights of angelwings and the depths of Beelzebub and co. Merrily suspending disbelief, I hunt for ghosts at twilight and fairies in the morning: who cares if they’re “real”? Even the (probably) nonexistent has its own kind of truth. If you’re into Campbell and Jung and Eliade, our whole worlds spin out from our psyches anyway. There is great power in designing my own.
Usually I’m a witch, but today, yesterday, recently I’ve been fae. I am less a crone anchored to a tumultuous earth than a pixie on the wind. I am a neo-flapper wresting amusement from every corner of the world. I want to make a fool of this godforsaken planet and feel the oceans blush.