Know, Goodwife, that Faerie is shaped by storytellers. Their fantasies, their dreams give my realm life. We were dying, all of us, from the smallest nixie to highborn sidhe, for want of a storyteller.

… where I walked, the frost shaped itself to my will, dancing in the air like music over water.

I am chaos in this ordered society, the flaw in a carefully wrought plan. I am turbulence in the queen’s eternal river.