The Irish believe that the fairies are the fallen angels who were cast down by the Lord God out of heaven for their sinful pride. And some fell into the sea, and some on the dry land, and some fell deep down into hell. But the fairies of the earth and the sea are mostly gentle and beautiful creatures, who will do no harm if they are let alone, and allowed to dance on the fairy raths in the moonlight to their own sweet music, undisturbed by the presence of mortals. (Story origin)

This little fairy dress was made from dried grasses, dried hydrangea and adorned with tufts of field flowers. Each dress is one of a kind and some, like this one, are so fragile, they need to be mounted into a custom shadowbox and protected behind glass.

The Fallen Angel is encased in a vintage wooden cigar box as its shadowbox. It comes with mounting hardware on the back to hang upon a wall or to sit upon a shelf.

Now that it's autumn, the Wee Folk split up their chores. The Huntresses go out each day for small birds and vole and The Gatherers work in tandem, stealing the pine nuts away from the red squirrels, and collecting honey from combs. Here are four Wee Folk Dresses photographed in Maine.

This fairy dress is made from oak and red maple leaf with an off-the-shoulder style adorned by a miniature beach rose. It has been "backstitched" with dried bunchgrass.

This fairy dress was made from dessicated oak leaf I found in Fernald's Neck and adorned with a skirt of pale blond hydrangea. Its wings are yellow and spotted. Each comes with its own custom made miniature hanger.

This fairy is made from red maple and the skirt is dried bramble interspersed with dried purple flower sprays. The back has been laced up with red thread and adorned with red berries.

This lemon-yellow fairy is made from Elm leaf and adorned with a fern skirt and applique. The fragile dress is stitched up with pale yellow thread in the back.

In the moonlight in the field, the old woman thought she'd seen a hare popping up and down, its long ears a tell tale giveaway and she loaded her rifle and shot at it.  The scream that followed made her blood run cold and she put down the rifle to look for it. When she got to the exact spot where she'd shot it, nothing was in the matted grass but a few spots of blood. Behind her a tiny voice said, "Ye'll be sorra now." What she thought was a hare, was one of the Others in a soft gown of cattail she'd mistaken for fur and old woman knew she'd done something very, very wrong. 

 The Huntress sits watchful in the newly budding trees. She has been hard at work collecting milk and honey for the Changeling. A tiny fire has been built to warm the offerings. Later, when the moon comes out, so will her sharp arrows and a feast will be had tonight.

Follow the rest of the back story on our  Facebook page.