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The Martyr's Church deems us spirits. Me and my kind and all the other magical creatures. The brownies, the pixies, the leprechauns. For some of us, it could be argued to be true. The trees and waters have spirits and in their own ways they are similar to us. More similar to us than to you, I suppose.
But they are not Sidhe. It used to mean something, to claim that heritage. The people lived in awe of us, and we taught them what we knew of metalworking and farming and civilized laws. They implemented them and they were better for it. There was no talk of spirits then. Gods, perhaps, to some. Different species to others. We lived in relative harmony.
Somewhere along the way, that changed. I'd like to lay the blame on Patrick (for Danu's sake, he tried to make my sister one of his saints and say she was a nun!). His magic was stronger than the druids and the people feared and believed. But perhaps it was before that. Times when we withdrew to the hills and many of us even further, into the west. Back to our home. I can't pinpoint when and how, but we went from being their gods to being the spirits in their hills that the priests told them not to honor, that it was pagan to do so.
The pagans are more visible now, and they call to us, resurrect us from spirits to deity again, and even as I smile at their rites, I find myself...something. Saddened. Disconnected. For the truth is somewhere in between. We aren't gods. We're...other. Perhaps the legends that say we are fallen angels, cast out of heaven for agreeing with Lucifer, perhaps those are true. Perhaps not. Our civilization, our world, it was well established by the time of my birth and Danu was gone from us to tell us from whence she came.
But we're not spirits. We're flesh and blood the same as you. We feel, we hope, we dream, we live, we love. We bleed. We can die. What happens then, I cannot say. Our command of occult knowledge may make us seem as gods, and we are the children of a goddess. There is nothing else you may claim Danu was, even those of you who follow the Martyr's ways. But we are not gods, the way so many of you see gods. Perhaps we are as the pagans see us. Perhaps we are not. We are not shaped by your belief. We do not need it to survive. You cannot banish us back to Hell, for we have never been there.
We just are, as we have always been. It still means something.
But they are not Sidhe. It used to mean something, to claim that heritage. The people lived in awe of us, and we taught them what we knew of metalworking and farming and civilized laws. They implemented them and they were better for it. There was no talk of spirits then. Gods, perhaps, to some. Different species to others. We lived in relative harmony.
Somewhere along the way, that changed. I'd like to lay the blame on Patrick (for Danu's sake, he tried to make my sister one of his saints and say she was a nun!). His magic was stronger than the druids and the people feared and believed. But perhaps it was before that. Times when we withdrew to the hills and many of us even further, into the west. Back to our home. I can't pinpoint when and how, but we went from being their gods to being the spirits in their hills that the priests told them not to honor, that it was pagan to do so.
The pagans are more visible now, and they call to us, resurrect us from spirits to deity again, and even as I smile at their rites, I find myself...something. Saddened. Disconnected. For the truth is somewhere in between. We aren't gods. We're...other. Perhaps the legends that say we are fallen angels, cast out of heaven for agreeing with Lucifer, perhaps those are true. Perhaps not. Our civilization, our world, it was well established by the time of my birth and Danu was gone from us to tell us from whence she came.
But we're not spirits. We're flesh and blood the same as you. We feel, we hope, we dream, we live, we love. We bleed. We can die. What happens then, I cannot say. Our command of occult knowledge may make us seem as gods, and we are the children of a goddess. There is nothing else you may claim Danu was, even those of you who follow the Martyr's ways. But we are not gods, the way so many of you see gods. Perhaps we are as the pagans see us. Perhaps we are not. We are not shaped by your belief. We do not need it to survive. You cannot banish us back to Hell, for we have never been there.
We just are, as we have always been. It still means something.
