The sad little faerie closed her eyes and wept. She turned her back on the Pimi-Mele. There was nothing she could do for them. Help was harm and existence was death. Then a gleam of hope shone within Faemydi.

"In death there is existence!" she thought.

Faeries are immortal beings, impervious to mortal and magic attacks. They may be inconvenienced or hurt by magic, but not killed. For as long as the soul clings to the body, the faerie will live on. Only the conscious severing of the soul's silver thread can release it and thus end a faerie's existence.

In the world of the Hymenopterans, under alien sky and on unwelcoming soil, Faemydi cast her last spell. Focussing her mind on that precious link to the spiritual realm, she turned her magical essence against it. She saw the Mrough. It was a black shapeless mass, but at the same time it had a sharpness around it. Cutting limbs spun around its perimeter and the chatterings of evil emanated from it. It was curious about the nature of this spell, for its target was something it could not understand, for it had never known it: a soul.

Tears flowed down her flushed cheeks. She could feel the fine thread fraying. The lifeforce was becoming loosened from the spiritual force. Faemydi was dying. The Mrough sensed her condition, but did not understand what was happening. It spun in anger and frustration. The thread of life was about to tear.

A lonely plain held a faerie. This faerie had destroyed an immortal realm, subjugated a peaceful race, and empowered a ravenous empire. So many lives destroyed. She could not hope to redeem herself in death. The tears on her face stung.

The silver tarnished, the Mrough twisted itself, Faemydi cried her anguish aloud. The magic within her died. The light of her eyes faded. Her light feathery body fell to the ground, limb, wounded. A cold wind smothered her.

Life fled from her, as water down a hole. The fall was thunderous and the current strong. Faemydi had lived long, and quitting of her essence could not be quickly finished. She rolled her face out of the dirt, to look upon a sky she had never known.

"I don't want to die." she whispered. The fear of death clenched her mind. She gathered what little magic still clung to her physical body and directed it to stop the severing of her life thread. It was too late. Her lungs could barely lift her chest. The silver thread was blackened and frayed. Her soul hung loosely. "I'm scared," she cried to herself.

A howl of wind lifted her hair. It moved in front of her eyes, as with a life of its own. Soon she too would be blown away in the wind, to be forgotten, lost in the dirt. She closed her eyes. The tears could flow no longer. Darkness' embrace.