Fairies and nymphs are gentle companions to my pain and pride. They abide by the rules of never-land, a place where your wildest desires are commonplace realities: replacing misfortune and erasing doubt with pixy dust and starlit nights. Loneliness is a mere figment of imagination, for there is never a moment when one is alone, for in the canopies of the forest or snuggled under a mushroom cap, there are nurturers awaiting your beck and call.
Emptiness of the soul is an entirely separate obstacle through which to maneuver. One can be accompanied by even the most spirited sprite and still be solemn and reserved. This is truly the most difficult place to be. A fairy might in this case curl up into a little ball and plop herself atop a branch of the most weeping of willows and aid in its task of maintaining affective balance among the populace of never-land.