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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lackhand" data-source="post: 4317236" data-attributes="member: 36160">Hmm. I think I need more details, but...I tried so hard to be good.As a girlchild, my mother's blood made me an outcast among my father's people, even in the greatest cities. To have children make the sign of the horns at your back when you leave, to have them spit before you to ward off the evil eye when you come; to have adults -- full grown adults -- cross the street rather than have your shadow fall across them?It makes one lonely. In the greatest of cities, where my father let rooms to a rapid succession of boarders; where I spent every day vying for room in the market square to sell substandard fruit; where nothing but ones clothes were private... I was lonely.The High Holy Days were the worst. My father would go to the Temple, and kneel before Father Solace of Pelor. I went with him to that building of marble and light, until I turned ten. I learned something then.Faith itches. The stares of the faithful, the murmurs of the superstitious, and just the calm and infinite wisdom of the gods speaking through an otherwise kindly man: You Do Not Belong Here..So I stopped going. I went out from the city and into the woods, away from men and dwarves and horses and dogs. Into the places of leaves and of quiet pools. At first for a day. Then for longer, and longer, and longer still, as my father noticed my leaving less and less.It was there that I met the Lord of the Glade. He was green and tall and broad and had a radiant grin. He smelled of clover and of rainfall. I was a filthy twelve year old, and awkward, and unlovely.He bade me welcome to his glade, and his voice was like unto how I had always imagined that a swan would call to its mate.He asked me was to dance with him and to leave my father and my gods behind me and to be unashamed.I fell in love instantly, and forever.</blockquote>

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