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As Fergus has so very kindly taken your standard Sidhe answer, it's up to me to come up with something a tad bit more original. Not so hard, there, really. I've little to do with most of the Sidhe. Leanan Sidhe are more drawn to mortals than their own kind. It's in our nature.
We've been painted as demons. Succubi and Incubi seeking to extinguish mortal life, steal their life force. Malevolent and malicious. They say it's in our nature to kill.
Perhaps they're right. My mother killed my father, after all. But those who say it was malicious did not see her grief afterward. She loved him. Passionately, intensely. A moth drawn to the bright flicker of talent and mortality, brightening it and carrying him to genius until he shone blindingly. But humans are not meant to shine so all at once. They burn out so much more quickly. But his brilliance fed her and she fed his brilliance, stoking it to higher and higher flames.
And then he was gone, and she wailed and wailed and refused to be comforted, until she saw a painter who used the colors of the sunset to paint the world and she fluttered to his flame, ecstatic over what she had found and stroking his fire until he painted things the world gasped to see, held in awe by his brilliance. They said it was sad he died so young.
She mourned for him as well.
We are drawn to talent. We want to see it nurtured. We want it to grow, to add more beauty to the world. We are intemperate in our desire. Impetuous in where we find someone to draw on. We need it the way you need air. Energy, passion, desire, craving. It strengthens us. It makes us shine. The constant need for it--constant--is not something we can change. It is our nature. We can try and temper it. We can try and deny it. We can find other forms of energy to draw on. The applause and cheers of a crowd. A slew of one night stands, taking enough to be sated but not killing, not in one night.
But we cannot change it. We cannot deny the need for long. We cannot avoid the company of creative people. And we cannot help drawing on it.
And inevitably, for each of us, there is someone who shines so bright, who we can't break away from, who we love to death.
We may not mean to. We may be sickened by it. We may grieve. That is as individual to us as your goodness or lack thereof is to you.
But we cannot deny the need, the craving, the desire for long. It is who and what we are.
We've been painted as demons. Succubi and Incubi seeking to extinguish mortal life, steal their life force. Malevolent and malicious. They say it's in our nature to kill.
Perhaps they're right. My mother killed my father, after all. But those who say it was malicious did not see her grief afterward. She loved him. Passionately, intensely. A moth drawn to the bright flicker of talent and mortality, brightening it and carrying him to genius until he shone blindingly. But humans are not meant to shine so all at once. They burn out so much more quickly. But his brilliance fed her and she fed his brilliance, stoking it to higher and higher flames.
And then he was gone, and she wailed and wailed and refused to be comforted, until she saw a painter who used the colors of the sunset to paint the world and she fluttered to his flame, ecstatic over what she had found and stroking his fire until he painted things the world gasped to see, held in awe by his brilliance. They said it was sad he died so young.
She mourned for him as well.
We are drawn to talent. We want to see it nurtured. We want it to grow, to add more beauty to the world. We are intemperate in our desire. Impetuous in where we find someone to draw on. We need it the way you need air. Energy, passion, desire, craving. It strengthens us. It makes us shine. The constant need for it--constant--is not something we can change. It is our nature. We can try and temper it. We can try and deny it. We can find other forms of energy to draw on. The applause and cheers of a crowd. A slew of one night stands, taking enough to be sated but not killing, not in one night.
But we cannot change it. We cannot deny the need for long. We cannot avoid the company of creative people. And we cannot help drawing on it.
And inevitably, for each of us, there is someone who shines so bright, who we can't break away from, who we love to death.
We may not mean to. We may be sickened by it. We may grieve. That is as individual to us as your goodness or lack thereof is to you.
But we cannot deny the need, the craving, the desire for long. It is who and what we are.
