Do you know how hard it is to find someone that is half-fae? Of course you don’t. You probably don’t believe in the Fae and think that this diary is a work of fiction. You probably think, “Yes, of course it’s hard to find they fae, whatever they are, because they don’t exist.”
You don’t believe in them because you’ve never met one. Why have you never met one? Because they’re hard to find. They have a highly developed power of social camouflage. You might have one living next door to you and you wouldn’t know it. You probably think of them as that quiet old lady that my inappropriately-large-for-council-housing dog keeps barking at.
Take Ada (please). To all outward appearances she looks like your average grey haired old bingo diva. When she’s alone, and quite certain of being unobserved, she drops the glamour and reverts to her true visage, that of a twenty year old woman. That’s twenty faerie years, of course. She still has a son approaching his forties in this world. He looks a lot older than her because his fae blood is diluted further than hers. His dominant gene is demon instead.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. You don’t believe in demons either, do you?
Since Lydia is Fae, she doesn’t appear on the register for the Book of Life; the tome where Azrael keeps a record of all those mortal currently living on the earth. Before you ask, I have no idea what he’s going to do when you folk develop interstellar flight. Cross you out probably. I don’t fancy the chances of a Christian that dies outside this little solar system of finding their way to Heaven.
Not that they would of course. Creationalism dictates that there is no life on other planets and no other planets to sustain life, so in order to remain Christian (or any of the other One God worshippers) you have to disbelieve the probabilities of extra-terrestrial life.
We demons think no such thing. Divorced from the Glory of God, we are likewise freed of the doctrine and quite happily party with the other Gods. Have you seen the trick Ganesh can do with his trunk? No of course you haven’t. Trust me, it’s hilarious.
There was a piece of stray post this morning, addressed to Lydia. How serendipitous is that? She hasn’t lived at the Manor since 1955 when all that business with Sophia went off and she came to look after the children. Why there should be a piece of post for her now I don’t know, though the postmark is dated Southend, 2nd May 1955. It was second class, so the Royal Mail didn’t treat it as urgent.
Since I have no idea where to look for Lydia, Southend is the first real lead I’ve got. I’ll have to approach Ada and see if she remembers anything about where her aunt lived before she came here, or where she went afterwards.
I just know that Ada is going to want to know why I’m looking for Lydia. Perhaps I’ll tell her what’s been happening. It won’t be the first time I’ve used her as a confidant over troubles with Harold. She was very helpful when we had that quarrel last year.
Until the morrow. X