There's a small fay creature that haunts these parts, it's told. Most think it to be a she, given the soft tinkling sound it makes. No one can say for certain, of course, as no one can say that fay creatures exactly have he's and she's among them. In any case, this fay roams the area at night and most people do naught but wonder at her.
She is a tiny thing, even for a fay. Her's is a blue-pink light that is brighter than any candle, but not as bright as the sun. She's like a star that fell from the sky and is now stuck here on the earth, twinkling still with her brother and sister stars. That's what some have named her; Twinkle.
Some say she brings good luck, other's ill. She never does more than float about the bog, and occasionally into one of the townships that border it. The crows of the bog never trouble her, nor the cats of the townships. She is as passive a creature as can be.
Still, people are people, and speculate and wonder and suspect. Makes one consider which is more curious, little Twinkle or the people of the bog. One is at peace with the world and the other is always fretting and worrying. It's a wonder people get anything done or aren't just constantly fighting. Of course, many people do fight. There's a war going on even now, and many men have taken up arms and died.
But here, in this swamp, the people just mill about, in no great hurry, but everything gets done that needs doing. And Twinkle comes every night and leaves every morning. Maybe she does bring good luck, a luck that has kept this place out of the war. Maybe the people find contentment and peace in worrying about her instead of each other.