The following I worked on for a bit. It's for my Changeling Tests.. but I won't update until I've rewritten all of the stories for the test results. You'll note Grimm's Fairy Tales and Edgar Allen Poe have an influence here =)
A Darkling's Tale:
There was once a miller who had a beautiful daughter, as she was grown up, he was anxious that she should be well married. Her father was convinced that the first best suitor should be suitable. Not long after a very rich and austere man asked for her hand. The miller could see nothing wrong with him so he betrothed his daughter to him.
The girl didn’t care for him. She felt no trust. Not a day went by that when she looked at him; a chill crawled up her spine. One day her betrothed said, “We shall soon be wed, I shall have to ready the house.” Out of innocent curiosity she inquired, as to where his house was.
“My home is out west in the dark woods. But before you can see it, I must clean it up a bit.” She excused herself from the dinner table not before he announced that she should visit on Sunday afternoon. ‘I have already invited guests for that day, and that you may not lose your way – I will spread ashes along your path.’
Friday came, and she felt dread crawl under her skin when she spied the dark woods beyond her father’s cottage. At long last her curiosity got the better of her. She filled her pockets with peas and lentils to sprinkle on the ground as she went along. On reaching the thorny entrance to the forest she found a slightly worn, but hardly noticeable path.
She walked the whole day through the bracken until she came to the deepest, darkest part of the forest. There she spied the lonely home, a dim and mysterious building, with all shutters and doors closed. This did not please her at all. No one seemed to be home even as the sun was setting, so she decided it best to see what was inside.
Not a soul to be seen! What silence reigned throughout! Suddenly a voice cried:
“Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
Linger not in this murderous lair.”
The girl glanced long enough to see the voice came from a bird, colorful in such an odd and dirty place. It swung in a cage on the far wall, again it cried:
“Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
Linger not in this murderous lair.”
The girl passed on, going from room to room, but they were all empty. At last she came to the cellar, and there sat a very, very old woman, who could not stop shaking her head.
“Can you tell me,” asked the soft-spoken maiden, “if my betrothed husband lives here?”
The very, very old woman shook her head harder, “Ah you poor child, what a place for you to come!” She continued rocking back and forth, “This is a Fae den, a murderers’ den.” The lady stopped rocking long enough to stir the cauldron. “You think yourself a bride and that your marriage will soon take place, but you will only dine with death at your marriage feast.” Her gnarled finger pointed to the steam rising from her cauldron, “Do you see the water I’m obliged to keep on the fire! As soon as that dark and unwholesome Fae has you, he will kill you.” The old woman rocked back and forth again, “He will eat you.” But then, the croaking voice softened just a little, “He will eat you, but you are not lost.”
Thereupon the old woman led her behind a large rotting cask, which hid her from view. “Keep as still as a mouse,” she whispered urgently. “Do not move, do not speak, or you will be the dinner! Tonight, tonight when the wicked Fae and his minions sleep, we will flee.”
The words hardly escaped the hags haggard lips, when the ragged crew came home, dragging through the entrance another young girl. The bird began to squawk its call before one of the minions cackled and threw the cage down. They were drunk and paid no heed to the girls mewling and sobbing. They choked her with wine to drink, three glasses full: three glasses of intoxicating red, white, and yellow. Soon her mewling and sobbing stopped.
The Fae with his long fingers tore her dainty clothing and laid her out on the table. The cleaver was soon in hand, and they tore the beautiful body to pieces, sprinkling salt where they may.
The poor bride crouched trembling and shuddering, she now understood her fate. It was at this moment that one of the Fae squealed in joy. A gold ring, remained on the little finger, but try as he might – he could not draw it off. Her Fae husband took the hatchet and hacked off the finger, but the finger sprang into the air, falling behind the casket into the bride’s lap. They lit a lamp but could not find it.
“Have you looked behind the cask?” said one of the treacherous minions. But the old woman called out, “Come, eat your suppers, let the thing be till tomorrow; the finger won’t run away.”
The ragged crew shared a laugh at that and ceased the search. The very, very old woman had mixed a sleeping draught with their wine, and before long they were all lying on the cellar floor. As soon as the girl was assured, and it was a very, very long time till she was, she came from behind the cask. Lightly she stepped over the contorted bodies of the murderers, all sleeping like angels close to one another. Every moment was renewed with dread as her steps creaked on the old wooden stairs.
She passed safely and slowly, and she with the old lady, hand in hand, opened the door and hastened as fast as they could from the Fae’s murderous den. The peas and lentils had sprouted in the night, all large enough to see where her path had taken her. All night they made their way through the briar and bramble, and it was morning before they reached the mill. The girl wept as she told her father, the old crone took to warming the young girl with blankets.
So the day came for the marriage feast. The bridegroom arrived; in his wake a familiar company of guests approached. The miller had taken care to invite all of his friends and relations. Soon all were eating merrily and the father asked that each guest regale them with a tale. The soft-spoken maiden sat very still, and did not say a word.
‘You, my love look tired,” said the bridegroom, turning to her, “perhaps you had a dream you would like to share?”
“I will tell you a dream then,” said the soft-spoken maiden. “I went alone through a dark and dreary forest and came at last to a lonely house; not a soul could be found within, but a bird hung on the far wall and cried:
‘Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
Linger not in this murderer’s lair.’
Again the bird cried:
‘My darling, this is only a dream,
So hush my sweet, no need to scream.’
I went through this wicked home, room to room, but they were all empty, everything was dim and lonely. At last I came upon the cellar, and there sat a strange and very, very old woman. She could not keep still. I asked her softly, if my betrothed lived here and she answered, ‘Ah you poor child, what a place for you to come!’ She continued rocking back and forth, ‘This is a Fae den, a murderers’ den.’
I had no where to turn, but this very, very old woman let me know, that my betrothed would kill me without mercy and afterwards eat me.
‘My darling this is a dream’ teased the bird.
‘The old woman hid me behind a large cask, and scarcely had she done so when the Fae and his ragged crew came home, dragging a young girl along with them. They gave her three kinds of wine to drink, white, red and yellow.’
Her dark husband turned to her with a questioning glance, “But it was only a dream?”
“Hush my sweet, no need to scream.’ The bird cried.”
The soft-spoken girl smiled, the guests chuckling at her clever retort:
‘They tore her dainty clothing, and butchered her upon their dining table, sprinkling salt as they went.’
“My darling, this is, only a dream.” She reminded her husband – still more guests chuckling.
‘One of the little minions spied a gold ring left on the dead girls fingers, and it was too difficult to draw off. The darkest and tallest of the Fae took a hatchet and hacked off her finger, but that finger sprang into the air and fell behind the great cask into my lap.’
The soft-spoken maiden threw an object onto the floor, “And there, is the finger with the ring.”
The bridegroom during the recital had grown very pale indeed. But the soft-spoken maiden had gained the art of enchantment with fear and curiosity, and he found he could not resist her tale or her words. He tried to escape then. But the guests seized him and the murderous minions and held them fast.
Instead of a feast, there was a banquet, decorated with the hanging bodies of the murderous band – clinking against each other like chimes in the wind.
My mother killed her little son,
My father smiled when I was gone,
My sister loved me best of all;
She buried the family one and all.
Once there was a girl, who had no father or mother. All alone in a shack at the end of the village dwelt her godmother, a wicked and cruel woman, yet with just an ounce of heart. This woman wasn’t really a woman, but a disturbed Fae who made her keep amongst the living by spinning, weaving and sewing. The old woman took the miserable child in and put her to work on the loom.
So the years went by and the child eventually mastered the spindle, with it she drew fine lines of thread strong as wire. You had to get it right; else old mother Fay would cut off a finger as a lesson. The girl lost many fingers, but her thread was powerful and she fashioned replacements soon enough.
Eventually she also mastered the shuttle even when her fingers were slick with blood. She had to get it right; else old mother Fay would rip her hair out and make her weave a tapestry from it. Many tapestries later, the girl mastered both arts, and fashioned herself the most beautiful head of hair.
Eventually, she mastered the needle, and hardly noticed when she stitched through her finger tips. You had to get it right, or the old mother Fay would leave you with open seams. Many stitches and many cuts later, the pincushion girl was the most beautiful in the land and also the cleverest.
But she didn’t remain a docile creature, and she was slowly becoming her own master. One day, she would need to be rid of the old tyrant of a creature. The old mother Fay had taken to sleeping at all hours of the day, but try as she may the maiden couldn’t bring herself to challenge her.
One day as she was spinning, the solution came to her.
“Spindle, my spindle, haste thee away,
And here to my house bring the woodsman I pray.”
The spindle sprang out of her hand, out the door and she saw it dancing merrily in the country, drawing a golden thread behind it. Before long it vanished from sight so she took the weaver’s shuttle in her hand, sat down to her loom and began to weave. Soon she began singing another song.
“Shuttle, my shuttle, weave well this day,
And guide the woodsman to me, I pray.”
Immediately the shuttle sprang away and out the door. Before the threshold, it began to weave a tapestry which was more beautiful than the eyes of man had ever yet beheld. Lilies and roses blossomed on both sides and on the golden ground in the centre, green branches ascended, where all kinds of creatures frolicked. In the leaves, brightly colored birds sat, lacking nothing but song. As she held the needle in hand, she sang another song.
“Needle, my needle, sharp-pointed and fine,
Prepare a crime to anger this woodsman of mine.”
The needle leapt out of her fingers and flew everywhere quick as lightning. It threw down the flowers, it turned over the pots, the windows were broken and the door was knocked open. The maiden took herself and began to unstitch the seams that held her together. Very timely were her arts for the woodsman gasped in awe outside, but in dismay when he entered the threshold.
“Who has done this to thee!” She pointed a severed limb at the door to the cellar where the treacherous lazy mother Fay slept.
Old mother Fay, was quite surprised when an axe split her head from her shoulders.
Courtless are a mixture of this and that. They were isolated from the other changelings, so they had to improvise and find what worked for them. Many were abandoned and many more had no choice in their time in the realm of Faerie. They learned incomplete lessons in Pride, Avarice, Wrath and Desire, as such their body reflects this. Many are as incomplete or replaced with parts not entirely human or fae.
Courtless are like mannequin or dolls, covered in stitches. This is alright as each line or scar is a reminder for what happened and how they fixed that problem.
They found it difficult to escape the lands of the Fae because they didn’t know better. They thought the realm of Fae was all there was. To escape they had to dream of normalcy, they had to dream of something besides sick humor and pain. They had to overcome what they thought was their lives, dream of something better. As such, they were born into the impossible; which is why, coming to reality was possible.
Look back on the tale of the wooden boy – who only wanted to be real. He knew no better, he knew not what was evil and not what was good. He was a fool, but a lucky and crafty fool. He knows better now.
Open the door, my darling dear,
Open the door to true love here!
Mind the words that you say,
Else find your heart ripped away!
On the end of a long journey, a man took shelter from a storm in an empty palace. As he left that morning he took a rose from the garden. The owner of the palace, a faerie in the guise of a terrible monster, captured him and dragged him towards punishment.
“You picked a rose from my garden.”
“It was only a flower for my daughter!” The man wept.
“I shall now pluck your heart.”
The man begged for life, for he had a daughter whom he loved very much. So, the beastly creature demanded that the daughter come to stay with him.
The man agreed with no intention of sending his daughter to the creature. When he finally reached his home, he found his daughter, lying cold on the steps. He found her as dead as the wilting rose in his hand.
In truth, the Fae took her and replaced her with a fake dead girl. The Fae treats the lovely daughter well but she certainly may not leave. One day she loses all hope for escape and agrees to wed the ever advancing beast. There is no ceremony, just an agreement, a veil and a wedding night.
On that wedding night, he lays with her and she becomes like him - a Beast. Forever; her memory and thought washed away in the flood of sensations. She is marked with the tyranny of now.
Love’s first kiss redeems everything in stories. The Frog becomes a handsome prince. The Beast is a loving man.
It’s a lie.
To kiss the Beast surrenders your mind to instinct. It’s a double-edged blade. Beasts live for spontaneity; they have a simple joy of living that is lost on all others. Colors are bright, sounds are rich, smells are heady and tastes are vivid. Theirs is a lesson in Desire and Wrath. They were shown a need to reign in their lusts and shown the results of their childish rants. Now they deal with the turmoil of feeling too much.
To love the beast is to become the beast. Memory, self-control and consciousness are lost. The animal is amoral. The animal is incapable of true thought.
The road to humanity through the wilds of the Hedge was arduous. They had to claw back their minds as well as their souls. The beast must turn against a life of lush experiences – long enough to chew, rake, and fight through the briar and bracken. Beasts live in a paradox. On the one hand they’re moral and conscious – yet fight and love their infusion of animalistic behavior. They are all that is human and animal. Civilization and wilderness.
Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
Linger not in this murderous lair.
My darling, this is only a dream,
Hush my sweet, no need to scream.
There are things a person must do and things that a person must not. This story begins with a hill, somewhere not far away. They say that the Invisible Throng congregate there, four times a year.
The rules are simple. From sunrise to sunset on that night, the people must not speak of the Throng, and from sunset to sunrise of that night – they must not leave their homes.
Consider the young man of courage and curiosity, who would rather see the faeries for himself. He tells his sweetheart, the sweetest girl in fifty miles, that he wishes to see the faeries that morning. She recoils in horror and says that he must not speak of it.
It’s too late; for she has spoken of them too. She weeps and says that she will not go with him. She retires that night and prays most fervently for her love.
The young man of courage and curiosity hides at sunset on the mound, in a tree. He sees them, as they swoop from the sky in hundreds, and without warning they descend upon the tree and sweep the young man of courage and curiosity away – taking the tree with them. One hour before dawn, the sweetest girl in fifty miles hears the voice of her sweetheart at her window, begging to be let in. She goes to the door and steps outside to embrace him – and she too is gone.
One day, the young man, still of great courage but no longer of great curiosity will escape. Upon his return to the empty home of the sweetest girl in fifty miles – he realizes something.
His sweetheart never will return. She’s theirs forever.
Darklings know consequences keenly. Many were stolen as a consequence of doing exactly what they were told not to. Theirs is a lesson in Pride and Avarice. They were shown humility and punishment for having goals and having a need to slake their thirsts. They now deal with weighty decisions.
They cling obsessively to the solace of the night. They love the quiet as a consequence of having lived in a world where whispers and deadly promises echoed to their ears.
Darklings found it difficult to escape the lands of the Fae because their way back was hidden. To escape they had to live and thrive in the shadow along with all who crawled there. They were forced to use their curiosity that got them there in the first place – to overcome the fear of making another mistake. They – dealt with their fears.
Round about, round about,
Bleed and Behold!
Reel away, keel away,
Spin your flesh into gold!
Sometimes there’s such a thing as wanting too much. This is a case where there once lived a King and Queen who reigned in a country a great way off. Now the King and Queen had everything they could desire, but lacked a child – and this too they craved.
One day by the river the answer to their fervent wishes came true. Unbeknownst to them a fae had answered with a binding contract.
“If they take this child, I shall take her back.”
This silent waif of a beauty was playing idly by the river. And in the Queen’s contrivance, she stole the girl for hers to keep.
The King and Queen were overwhelmed with joy and now they needed a celebration. “I will have the faeries dine so that they will be kind and good to our little daughter.” Now there were thirteen faeries in the kingdom; but as the king and queen had only twelve golden dishes for them to eat out of, they were forced to leave one of the fairies without asking her.
Twelve faeries came, each with a high red cap on her head and red shoes with high heels on her feet. After the feast was over they gathered round in a ring and gave all their best gifts to the little princess. One gave her goodness and another gave beauty, another gave riches and so on – till she had all the good in the world. Her parent’s were very pleased.
As soon as the last gift was given, a great noise was heard in the courtyard and word was – the thirteenth faerie had arrived. She carried with her a black cap and black shoes with high heels on her feet. Now as she had not been asked to the feast she was very angry indeed.
“My gift, upon the Princess’s birthday is that she shall fall still as a statue and never live again. You have wanted much in your quest of life and you have received much. Your daughter will be the envy of nations – as will she be but a trophy.”
Upon the beautiful girl’s 15th birthday – she became eternally beautiful. Like a statue she remained – the envy of all nations – and certainly a beautiful trophy for a likewise trophy King and Queen.
The changelings whose time in the land of the Fae caused them to embody the material aspects of nature feel the fae magic most painfully. They have been changed the most.
The journey home was hardest for the Elementals because they had been transformed too far. They had less reason to escape. Their humanity had been damaged and twisted by what they endured. Often – for nothing they did. They were suitable for some contrived effort or scheme a faerie was concocting.
These Changelings are the hardest to understand. Others reveal beauties, horrors, tricksters and even animals – in each something is revealed about ourselves. But this set of changelings were influenced and carved with the desire of objects and forces. They serve as examples of becoming what they are addicted to, becoming what they strive for. Theirs is a lesson in Desire and Avarice.
Thou, queen, art the fairest in the land;
but o'er the hills, in the shade
a beauty lays to bed,
she's lovelier by far - so take her head.
This story concerns a breathtaking young man who dreamed of the love of a beautiful girl in his village. One night he made a special cake from a recipe he learned from his grandmother, and he waited in the dark for a faerie to come and take it.
The door opened; a dark tall faerie came in. He said to the faerie, “Not for you,” but his arrogance failed him; he shouldn’t have spoken to her. So he sat and waited a little longer. The door opened again; a loathly hag stepped in. The hag reached out her hand for the cake, but the young man slapped her hand away and said with anger, “Not for you.” His wrath got the better of him; he shouldn’t have touched her. So he sat and waited a little longer, and the door opened; a lady of unearthly beauty and grace stepped in, and he could say nothing, so stunned was he.
And the lady said, “For me,” and took his cake.
She stayed with him after that, this lady. She granted his wishes but somehow they were always twisted. He wished for money, and soon he married an ugly old woman, in the hopes that she would die and leave him nothing. The old woman proved healthier than he could imagine and was cruel and mean. The youth turned to his Fae lady again and wished the old woman dead.
True to her word, the Fae lady brought the plague to the town and the old woman died – so too did the young man’s sweetheart. He gained the mean old woman’s riches – but his love was dead – and so he wished himself dead and fell into a deep slumber.
He awoke in his coffin, buried six feet under, and as he began to beat upon the wood in his face, he heard a sweet, melodic voice say, “For me.” If anyone were to dig up his coffin, they would find nothing but dried leaves and stones.
This is the way of the Fairest. They take what and whom they will take, and they will have their fun first. They are to be loved and admired and they have right to treat that love how they will. The few who try to rise above that pettiness are something to be admired. They won their beauty very fairly.
Their flight from through the Hedge was the hardest to accomplish. The world they were a part of was hedonistic and very, very enchanting. It was a beautiful world filled to the brim with pain that was sweet and cruelty that was pleasant. They were surrounded by creatures thousands of times lovelier than anything on Earth. They had to focus all of their being on remembering what it was to be plain and to walk among the ordinary.
So, those who do leave are those with enough sense of self to abandon ecstasy, to love themselves and practice poetic justice. Theirs is a lesson in Pride and Wrath. Their dreams are filled with hellish beauty. Radiant blossoms become drenched in blood. Hair from a lover’s face becomes strands of barbed wire slicing their smiles away. And when they wake they don’t quite know if their screaming in anger or bliss.
Poor Top-Off my best friend,
I knew ye well till I had a bite.
My favorite dish named; Half-Done,
A relished friend named; All-Gone.
The tale goes that there was once a troll, a beast who dined on human flesh and carved knife-handles out of their bones. Business was good and the troll decided that he needed assistance in his workshop.
One night he stole into a village and took away three sons of a shoemaker. He worked the three in his workshop on drill and lathe and chisel and awl for long hours.
Everyday at dawn he beat them and fed them on scraps of raw flesh. One night, the eldest took one of the knives he had made for the troll and crept in upon him while he slept. But the knife shrieked out loud and would not kill the troll, and the troll awoke and cooked the boy in a pie and forced each of his brothers to eat a slice before he beat them so hard that they were all purple and aubergine.
The second son made a pick so that he could open the lock on the door of the troll’s workshop, and at night he crept to the door and picked the lock. But the troll was waiting behind the door and so he chopped him up and cooked him in a stew which he fed to the youngest son, before beating him so hard that his teeth lay on the floor and his mouth was caked in blood.
The youngest boy worked so hard and so well in the workshop that the monster could find fewer and fewer reasons to beat him, and the knives the boy made were beautifully carved and the troll found that he could sell them for more gold than he ever had before.
One day, the troll came into the workshop and he leaned over the boy’s shoulder as the boy carved the knife handle, and the boy pointed out a detail of the carving. The troll craned closer to look and quick as lightning the boy turned his hand and stabbed the troll in the eye. That was the end of the troll.
The boy wanted to run away, but he turned back and saw that the workshop was now empty. So, he didn’t leave. He ate the troll’s food and slept in the troll’s bed. And now he dines on human flesh, and carves knife handles from the bones.
Business is good. One day soon, he will need assistance.
Changelings who identify as Ogres understand this story. It informs them of who they are. They know that abuse creates abusers, that the victims of brutality can sometimes become brutal themselves. By definition, the Ogres are those changelings who have been shaped by unthinking violence and brutishness defines them.
This is not to say Ogres can’t be gentle, honorable or possessed of restraint. It’s harder for them, but they have a lot of practice.
Ogres found it difficult to leave the hedge because they had to escape vicious captors, through locked basements, chains and manacles, regular beatings and a healthy fear of those beatings. They inevitably had to become as hard as their fae monsters in order to fight their way away from it all.
Ogres must be exceptional to have come so far from something so low. Theirs is a lesson in Wrath and Avarice.
Look to the shoe it is too small!
there's blood from cutting her foot to fit.
Prince, Prince, Look again!
She can't stand, she can only sit!
There was once on a time, a Fae princess who was extremely proud, and thought herself, extremely clever. If a wooer came she gave him some riddle to guess, and if he could not find it out, he was sent to her work shop to sew beautiful clothing for her. She let it be made known also that whosoever solved her riddle should marry her and have the riches of the Court.
At length three tailors fell in with each other, the two eldest of whom prized themselves great artists of tapestry. The third was a little useless but clever and thought he may have luck.
They all three lined themselves up to the princess, claiming the wisest of them had understandings so fine – it could be threaded in a needle. The Fae Princess smiled.
“I have two kinds of hair on my head, what color is it?”
“If that is all,” said the first, “it must be black and white; like cloth that is called pepper and salt.” The princess shook her head and waited for the second.
“If not black and white, then its brown and red, like my father’s coat.”
“Another slave for my closet,” mocked the princess, “let the third answer, for I see he knows for certain.”
The little tailor stepped forth boldly and said, “The Princess is Fae, she has a silver and a golden hair on her head, those are the two different colors.” The Fae turned white as sheets and nearly fell with terror, she had firmly believed that no man on earth could discover it. When her pride returned she said, “Thou hast not won me yet by that; there is still something else that though must do. Below in a stable is a troll with which though shalt pass the night, and when I get up in the morning if thou art still alive, thou shalt marry me.”
She expected, however; she should thus be rid of the tailor, for the troll had never left any one alive who had fallen into its clutches.
When evening came the tailor was taken to the cages. The troll set upon the little fellow with a welcome of its claws: “Softly, softly,” said the tailor, “I will soon make thee quiet.” Without a care in the world he revealed some nuts and cracked them and ate them. The troll was seized with a desire for some as well. The tailor felt and handed him a handful of pebbles. Try as he might the troll couldn’t crack the nut.
The tailor thus began to amuse himself on a violin. When the troll heard the music, it too wanted to learn. The tailor smiled at the beast, “Light enough for a child. Look with the left I lay my fingers and with the right I stroke it with the bow, merrily it sings a song.”
“If thou hast a talent for it I’ll give you lessons, but you’re claws are terribly long, I must cut them.” Then the tailor fashioned a thumbscrew upon the trolls hands and left it on tight and snug. “Now you must wait till I come with scissors.”
When the Fae Princess heard the troll roaring fearfully in the night, she believed nothing else but that the tailor was dead. But in the morning she realized with dread, she must fulfill her promise, made in front of the entire Court. She, who thought herself so wise, had been had by someone who knew not his wisdom.
Wizened are practical and talented. They are products of a capricious and giving faerie. These Fae brought help and wealth to the needy individual. However; when offended they remind us of our place. The Wizened were kidnapped by such faeries and have endured this strange malice. They were trained by unreliable faerie taskmasters and have become tireless workers carrying tireless spite. Theirs is a lesson in Desire and Pride.
Their escape from the faerie realm was fought using cunning and viciousness. They were bribed, chained and ensorcelled. They were threatened, cajoled and tricked. They escaped through a labyrinth of tasks which required multiple attempts before they broke free.
Many wizened make a point of rising above their Pride and Desires if only because it got them there in the first place.
The following I worked on for a bit. It's for my Changeling Tests.. but I won't update until I've rewritten all of the stories for the test results. You'll note Grimm's Fairy Tales and Edgar Allen Poe have an influence here =)
