A Fairy Tale of Froud Faerie Sisters

Sit down for a moment and let me tell you a tale of two faerie sisters who were manifested in the human world by the best faerie godmother of the craft there is: Wendy Froud. Exactly thirty years ago, she brought these two gentle spirits into physical form, from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes, stitching their soft pale pink and green gowns and wiring their fabric wings. The faerie sisters went with Wendy to her first toy convention, her first time selling outside of Chagford since she had moved there with her husband Brian. She seems to recall they might have sold to an older woman collector, and she bid them a fond farewell.

Fast-forward thirty years, and in a Facebook group devoted to collecting the enchanted and magical work of the Frouds, a member named Laura posted a link to a completed auction for two faerie sisters sold by a place called Apple Tree Auction Center. The final gavel price was absolutely shockingly low, and she lamented that she hoped they had gone to someone who would appreciate what they had.  

Well, when your storyteller saw the post, she was shocked numb. Not only because of the incredibly unbelievable price someone had nabbed these two fey ladies for, but by the fact that the auction center was in her small central Ohio city, literally a five-minute drive from her house. Something tugged at her heart as she looked at the auction listing, posted by Laura on a Sunday afternoon. Monday, during her lunch hour at noon, she called the auction center and asked the woman on the phone if they might happen to keep records of the winners. And if so, could she please leave her phone number and email in case the buyer was looking to resell? And even if he wasn’t, she explained, could she please let him know that she knew the woman who made the faeries, and could possibly assist with coordinating a repair?  

The two sisters, you see, had suffered some damage over the thirty years. One was missing a pointy ear tip and two fingers, and the other had had a foot broken and reattached. Their dresses and skin were dusty and dirty, and their hair was matted and tangled.

Later that day, the auction winner contacted the storyteller, and after a bit of a back and forth, a price was agreed upon. A price that, despite being significantly more than he paid, was still a phenomenal deal for two Wendy Froud faeries (even damaged ones) of the size they were (17” and 18” respectively).

Part of why the negotiation went so smoothly was because she explained to the buyer (who had planned to do a restoration on the faerie sisters himself) that she would be visiting Wendy Froud in less than a month, and would be able to bring them to her for a full spa day and “muchness renewal.”

The entire situation seemed fated: that the faerie sisters showed up in her hometown, that the buyer hadn’t had them shipped to him in California yet, that she would be visiting their very creator in less than a month. And when she saw them, she continued to feel that compulsion, that inner drive. She felt called to save them so badly she was almost blind to whatever it might take. On Tuesday, after some careful back and forth between the auction house, the buyer, and her, she sent him the funds and took an early lunch at work to pick them up.  

That night, she sat on the couch with a cup of water and a pile of q-tips, and carefully and meticulously cleaned their skin. It took 30 q-tips (both sides) to wipe their skin clean, and she assessed their injuries. A few times she teared up a little to see their pathos. Perhaps the faerie sisters had been loved by the woman who bought them. She wanted to think so. Who knows what path had led them to that auction house. But it was clear that at least in their recent history, they had been neglected and forgotten, their fine silk gowns left to dust and decay. And they absolutely didn’t deserve that. None of it. 

She could feel something a little like shame in their energy, embarrassment at their state. They were meant to represent beauty, not in the modern meaning of the word but the classical one. And here they were looking like nothing they were meant to. They were still beautiful, certainly, but…faded. Dim. The storyteller held them close, promised they were safe now. Promised soon they’d be seeing their faerie queen creator again, and she would make everything right. 

And, dear reader, that is precisely what happened. The storyteller wrapped the sisters in a blanket of bubble wrap, tucked them into her carry-on bag, and swept them away to their creator’s village nestled in the hedgerows of Dartmoor. And Wendy Froud saw them and listened to what they asked for, and told the storyteller that she knew exactly what they wanted.

A few days later, the storyteller came for tea at Wendy and Brian’s house, and the sisters were standing on the kitchen table in front of a bouquet of flowers, both of their heads cradled against each other, arms around each other, full of joy. Wendy had added a bit of matched lace to the fronts of their gowns, gave them soft and beautiful hair, and repaired all their injuries so thoroughly that one would never know they ever even existed. This author was so overwhelmed, she whispered to Wendy “can I touch them?” to which Wendy laughed and said “of course!”

“They want to stay close to each other,” she explained. And so the storyteller took a photo of the beautiful way that they were posed, radiant and happy, finally back to their truth and full expression of their muchness and magic. Wendy carefully wrapped them up again in a blanket of bubble wrap, they went back into the carry-on, and flew back home across the pond.  

They found a place to rest on a shelf where two other faeries who joined the storyteller’s faemily on her England trip also kept them company. With a wall of greenery and faerie lights behind them, and a whole group of fey kin to welcome them home. 

Epilogue:

This fairy tale truly had a happily ever after. Especially since I already have plans and strategies in place to make sure that someday many years from now, when I pass like their original caretaker must have, the sisters and their faemily will move on to someone else of faerie faith. Someone who will see their spark of life and magic and give them all the respect they deserve.

I think they knew they were home. Because two nights ago, as I was drifting on the edge of sleep, two names sprang into my head that I haven’t thought of in over a decade. They are the names of the two faeries I painted on our apartment wall and had to paint over when we moved to Catty-Corner Cottage back in 2011.  

Dearhearts, I would like to introduce you to Mierla and Saoirse. ("Mee-air-la" and "Seer-sha") May they find joy in their forever home.