The faery realm was born where nobody else was looking, in the crumble-tumble of lost souls which drips regularly between the cracks. It grew from the lost whistle of frightened air, when fresh breezes found themselves caught in bad neighbourhoods.

Ogres and demons were real enough, stamping their smoky claw prints over the streets, roaring their discontent across the highways, but the faery magic remained trapped beneath the broken follicles of long-dead unicorns, whose frozen bodies floated endlessly through the drains where all dreams were ultimately destined to fall.

Then, one day, as one of these broken dreams began its broken spiral towards the sewer graveyard, its wings burst into flame. Some gentle texture on the air, some quiet hint of beauty in the moment between gasps on a busy Friday rush hour, had ignited within its wistful heart, like the gallop of unicorn hooves over a heartbeat. And in that moment, the broken dream felt worthy of more than just a lost moment on the edge of its creator's breath. It wanted to live, in a land where dreams could flourish unfrozen.

Flapping furiously with its little flame-wings, the little dream creature climbed back up through the dark city air and perched on its creator's shoulder. She showed no sign of noticing its arrival, having long since discarded her moment of dreaming to concentrate on the jostling journey down to platform two, and the train home.

"Unicorns!" gasped the little dream, desperate to pull more magic from her heart. "There are unicorns on the streets tonight!"

The voice registered only faintly with her, but it was enough to make her stop and look back towards the street. People were pushing past her, muttering irritably to themselves in their eagerness to reach the ticket office, the news-stand or the damp, chilly platforms.

Again, she heard the little voice, and she began to scan the evening street for signs of ponies roaming between the headlights, the neon shop signs and the street lit traffic fumes.

"Ponies?" she whispered to herself. "Ponies amongst all that lot?"

"No, not ponies!" screamed the little dream on her shoulder, its lungs refreshed by the revelation that some of the magic had touched its creator's soul. "Unicorns! Magic unicorns!"

As more people jostled the young lady, she turned back towards the station, still shaking her head at the thought. And all the way home, she tried to figure out where the ponies could have been hiding, or why the idea had struck her.

She was the first.

Gradually, however, more and more people began to catch the flavour of their discarded dreams. They didn't hear the unicorns, of course... because they all lived in a world where even ponies were a revelation. But they heard enough to keep their little dreams alive, whispering revelations into their broken, half-listening ears.

One day, those ears will heal... the creators will make the magic leap from ponies to unicorns, and the dream faeries will fly again.

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This wonderful story was written by John Hulme especially for Krys' Place and Fey Arte of Faeries.  It may not be removed from these pages without his and my express permission.  If you would like to read more of John Hulme's beautiful writings, please visit his site at John's Weave of Whispers.  Thank you John for such a beautiful story!