Ethereal Chronicles

A young writer, who went by the name of Cillian, happened across a strange phenomenon one night in his office. The words on his page seemed to wither before his eyes, leeching the last remnants of energy he had left in his body. So, standing up, he decided that it might soothe his mind and revive his weary spirit to take a break, stretch his legs out in the bitter cold.

As he moved to take his coat from beside the door, however, a blinding light burst into the room, and he staggered backwards, shielding his eyes. From the heart of the brilliance emerged the slender figure of a woman. And what a beautiful woman she was, he realised, as her emerald eyes locked onto his, glinting with an otherworldly intensity.

“Perhaps I can offer you some assistance.” She said softly, placing her bejewelled hand upon his chest. As she did so, a shiver coursed through his entire body. “Please, sit.” She added, gesturing to the chair he had risen from.

Wordlessly, possessed by an unseen force, Cillian sank back into his seat, his body heavy against the wooden chair. He watched, mesmerised, as she leaned closer to press a tender kiss against his forehead.

The moment her soft lips touched his skin, a surge of energy jolted him with such intensity he almost lost his breath. In that instant, his world narrowed to a single, overwhelming desire to write.

And he did. For hours, Cillian wrote with an intensity he had never known. And when his ink finally depleted, the woman fetched him some more. He wrote well into the night, his thoughts flowing freely, brimming with vivid ideas he had never before created, each one more brilliant than the last. As dawn’s first light crept across the room, stretching out a golden finger to touch his own, he continued to write with unwavering fervor, lost in the creativity that had overtaken him.

As evening fell, however, the weight of exhaustion was beginning to catch up to him, quite different to the inspiration that had blinded him to his fatigue

“I must rest.” He said, glancing back at the woman, who had been watching him silently the entire time.

She hesitated, her gaze accusing. “Would you squander such inspiration? A true writer would never dream of doing so.”

Cillian sighed. “You are right. Of course you are right.” He replied, his voice weary. He grasped the pen once more, ignoring the cramping pain in his fingers and the gnawing hunger in his stomach.

On the third day, Cillian collapsed at his desk, his hand so battered and raw it was swollen and covered with pulsing blisters. But despite his exhaustion, his dreams were plagued with the inspiration that consumed him, and he found himself jolting awake with every new thought.

The woman, who had grown increasingly impatient, finally summoned Cillian to take a break and sit with her for a while.

“You have done well, my love.” She said, brushing a hand against his cheek. “Perhaps I can reward you with a kiss.” A playful smile curved her lips. “A proper one this time.”

Cillian could only nod in response as she drew closer, bringing her face to his. As their mouths collided, however, she held fast to him, and sucked out his soul.

Cillian struggled weakly against her overpowering grip, his body convulsing as his spirit left him. When she finally stopped, pulling away to brush a delicate hand against her mouth, he slumped downwards, a mad smile plastered across his white face.

“Now go on.” The fairy smiled. “Complete your work.”

He stood robotically, his steps heavy and unsteady as he returned to his writing desk. He began to write once more, but the work that emerged lacked substance and skill, the handwriting jagged and incoherent. For his body, now nothing more than a hollow vessel, was no longer his, and would spend the remainder of its existence searching for a soul it could never reclaim, doomed only to follow her bidding.

On the twelfth day, the fairy, now weary of her amusement, reclaimed the blinding light she had brought with her and retreated to the hills. The moment she left and the room dimmed with her departure, Cillian’s body crumbled into a heap of dust.

Leannan Sidhe, which translates from Gaelic as “lover” or “sweetheart”, is a type of Irish fairy that bestows upon a human lover of her choice inspiration…at a high cost.

APPEARANCE AND ATTRIBUTES

Leannan Sidhe is often depicted as an exceptionally beautiful young woman, endowed with a captivating allure and feminine power that attracts men and causes them to fall deeply in love with her.

The human lover that she chooses is often an artist of some kind, whose talent she amplifies, leading to boundless bursts of inspiration and creative brilliance.

Partnerships between Leannan Sidhe and a mortal man are always short lived, however, as the human mind is not built for such intense inspiration, and often triggers madness within the individual, before inevitable death.

W.B Yeats portrays the fairy more as a vampire or succubus, a muse offering inspiration to an artist provided she is granted with his unwavering devotion in return. While the artist is able to reach his highest potential, Leannan Sidhe will ultimately drain his life force from him.

If an artist rejects her advances, then he is doomed to live as her slave.

Leannan Sidhe is related to the ‘people of the fairy mounds’, who are also ancestors of the Tuatha De Dannan.