🧚 The Secret Life of Sprites

Deep in the whispering underbrush — just past the mushroom ring and slightly left of where the moonbeam bends — live the Sprites.

Not the tall proud elves, nor the mischievous fairies, nor even the respectable woodland gnomes. No, these Sprites are smaller still: quick little flickers of shape and color, darting from frame to frame, appearing precisely where they’re needed and disappearing just as fast.

Some say they’re stitched from moon-thread. Others whisper they’re merely tiny images, arranged just so, each one stepping forward when the story calls its name.

They change form in the blink of an eye (often literally), turning left, turning right, drifting, blinking, shimmering — all without leaving so much as a footprint in the forest floor or a trace on the page.

Adventurers claim that if you squint through the trees at just the right moment, you can see them lining up in neat little grids… as if waiting patiently for someone to call:

“Next frame, please.”

Whatever the truth, remember this: Sprites may be tiny, but they make worlds move.

And they always know exactly where they belong.