“A debt to the fae must always be paid,” the old man said. His eyes glistened with tears as he looked to the full moon overhead. “And the cost is always severe.”
There were murmurs from the others around the fire. Men and women who gathered to hear the wise man speak knew the reality of what he said intimately.
“I owe all my gold,” one man said.
“Then you must remove the gold from your vaults and strip every filigree from your home,” the wise one said.
“I owe my blood,” one woman said.
“Then your blood must be spilled within a fairy ring,” the wise one said.
“My debt is to be paid in flesh,” another attendee cried.
“Then your flesh you must divest—“
“Bullshit. Propaganda!” a woman called from the tree line. She pointed a finger at each person in turn. “You’re buying into it by even entertaining the idea of paying them back.”
“I have lived many years,” the wise old man said, “and every debt I attempted to evade came back many time worse.”
“Sounds like you weren’t fast enough,” the woman said, stepping out into the light. The sweat on her forehead glimmered in the moonlight like morning dew. She jerked a thumb towards her chest. “Me? I’m fast as fuck. I’ve been outrunning my debts for years.”
The wise one gaped. “That’s not— you can’t—“ he turned to his audience. “She is speaking lies.”
His audience hesitated.
“I would personally like to avoid being divested of my flesh,” one attendee offered hesitantly.
There were murmurs of agreement.
“Then stretch up, bud,” the woman said over the wise one’s protests. “We’re running tonight.”
The wise one stared as his audience fled into the night. “Y-you’ll all die!”
“Not me,” the woman howled from deep within the woods. “I’m fast as fuck, boiiiiiii!”
