At dusk, a mischievous fairie darted between the flower beds, leaving a trail of shimmering dust.

In the hush of twilight, the old oak seemed to open a door into fairy, where time moved differently.

She wandered into the garden wearing a fairy cloak, as if moonlight had sewn it herself.

At dusk, the fairies left silver footprints on the dewy grass.

At the village festival, the fairy godmothers quietly mended broken dreams with a touch of moonlight.

We spent the evening telling fairy tales around the fireplace.

The children cautiously stepped around the fairy rings, afraid of disturbing whatever lived inside.

Local farmers avoided plowing the fields near the ancient fairy forts out of respect and superstition.

We carefully avoid disturbing the fairy fort when we walk through the meadow, out of respect for old superstitions.

Children left their lost teeth under pillows in hopes that tooth fairies would visit during the night.