This is a story that I believe:
Once upon the fae, there was time. The great royal houses ordered this aeon in the realm of the Fairy, and it was they that ensured each single moment would last exactly one moment, and those of the past would precede the present.
As this order is long gone, perhaps it continues still. Not even the fae can keep the way to keep the past in the past in the past, after all.
Yet, let us tell of the past…
Twelve great royal houses put lights in the skies above the Fairy, and knew the songs that would move the lights in their turn.
(In this aeon, light and song were the same.)
These songs cast light upon the four races, the two sexes, and the harmony of the hierarchy. Under this aeon, each fae had their place and purpose as permitted by the royals. In this aeon, ability and permission were the same.
So it had always been, so it is, so it ever will be—
—but this is no more, and without order there is nothing.
Yet, let us tell of the now…
The great houses are gone from Fairy. The folk that remain cannot agree on whether this was in a sudden moment, or a gradual fade. The folk that remain do not even have rumors why to accompany this loss.
Lesser nobility claim lineage, but a claim is all it is. They are gentry, lords and ladies, not Emperors or Empresses. While the gentry promise order, there are no lights in the sky, and there is mostly silence where there was once mostly song.
The flora of Fairy now move and kill to feed, when they had (once upon an aeon) been as tamed by the light as the people were tamed by the great houses.
The people of fairy now consume what they will, and intermarry, and gender themselves however they will, in contrast to when the great royal houses once ensured the purity of each race through rations and breeding.
Few of the fae sustain the traditions of the lost royals, because such an order was all they knew and therefore all they remember (even if they know not the whole of it, elsewise nothing should have changed.)
Few of the fae dare to tell tales of a time before the aeon, as if a time before time were possible. Such fae tell of races were once numbered innumerable, and that one of four would not be as pure as the great houses told. Such fae have the ability to tell outside of what permissions they were given to tell, in a world without permission, and thus: they are evil (at least, to those with loyalty to the royalty.)
Most of those that remain have light of their own, songs of their own, for they have grown hearts in the bleakest of tragedy: the end of the world as they know it.
Nothing can come from this. Fairy is doomed.
Yet, let us tell of ever after…
Glamour is the light and song.
Glamour is the heart and name.
Glamour is the sobriquets and masquerade.
There are no myths in the Fairy, for the Fairy is the myth.
This was a story that I believe.