The Fae of the Winter Woods
In frost-laced halls where moonlight sighs,
The winter woods in silence lie.
No birdsong breaks the breathless chill—
Only snow and shadow, sharp and still.
The trees wear lace spun from the dead,
Their limbs like ghosts the cold has wed.
Each branch a blade, each leaf, cutting glass—
Where mortal feet should never pass.

A horn is heard—no hunter known.
The Unseelie stir on ice-throned stone.
Their eyes like frost, their hearts unthawed—
They walk where mortal dreams are clawed.
Beware the Fae in silvered guise,
Whose beauty burns, whose truth belies.
They offer gifts: a gleaming ring,
That melts your voice and steals your spring.

Yet not all cruel—these fae are wise,
They strip the mask, unclothe the lies.
Their trials cut like sleet through skin,
But shape the soul that dares begin.
Snow Dryads guard the elder pine,
Their bark like bone, their gaze divine.
Speak not in lies upon their land—
They know truth when you fail to stand.

A Frost Witch weaves beneath the eaves,
With threads of wind and dying leaves.
She sees the future in the storm—
But asks a cost to shift your form.
And if you fall too far from sun,
The Icebound Hunters start their run.
They stalk not out of hate or spite—
But test the soul’s remaining light.

So if you walk the winter trail,
Leave not bloodless boasts nor stories pale.
The snow remembers all you’ve done—
And judges you when day is gone.
For winter fae do not forgive—
They teach, they test, and few outlive.
But those who rise from frost and pain,
Return with power—and with name.