The Elves still lingered in the hollow hills of my homeland in those times.  In the gloam of the old forest might be heard elvish minstralry and fair voices echoing in song and laughter.  And in the deep lakes, that were not lakes at all, but where illussions, glamours, the daring might see Elven palaces and towers glimmering beneath the prow of one's boat.  Travelers were discomfited, but not surprised, to see them riding in the mist or beneath the stars, in the small hours before dawn, the silver bells of their fairy horses ajingle.  Fishermen sometimes saw them skimming the waves in their fleet boats, crossing to and from Avallon on business that was their own.  The elves were my people, and yet I was never to be truely one of them.  Other things also lingered in the wide world then.  Things of dread.  Unrestful spirits.  Trolls.  Bogles.  Wolves that were not animal at all, but rather men enchanted into evil form and purpose.  Even dragons, it was rumored, could be seen still in the desolate places of the Earth.  And in the far north dwelt the great enemy of my people, the many-named one, whose realm was the hub from which all things of terror emanated.  There in the frozen lands his rancor burned, a loving malice I was ever aware of, even in the innocence of youth. In those times the minds of humankind were more awake, and could perceive things that today are laughed into nonexistance.  The air sparkled with potentials then, and magic danced along the skin like a silken electric charge.  There were no mundane aspects to life; anything could happen at any time, and often did.  Still the old folk claimed the magic was not as it once was.  Too much forest had given way to farm and pasture they complained.  The elves were more reclusive.  The elves were leaving, gone even, said some.  Sadly old men would shake their gray heads and speculate upon where it would all end, and what the world might become when all the magic withdrew. Still, for we children, there was magic enough, and to us it seemed meerly the voice of age the graybeards spoke with, having confused the withdrawl of youth with some real change in the world.  Those were the days of my childhood, in a land that would come to be called Wales, in a time that would fade into legend. I was born in the same year as your Christ, more than a millenia ago.  As his birth was attended by the wise magi, my own was too, but in my case the wise were druids, and highborn elves of the sisterhood.  Also like his, my birth was heralded by celestial display, a particullarly lovely Aurora Borealis in my case.  His birth in the Essene compound was at the other end of the known world from my own on the isle of Avallon, but both our births were the end result of the labors of the  sisterhood, whose origins extend backward into time unfathomable.  His mother was 'The Mary' of that genetic line, my mother was the fountainhead from which his line and many others sprang, for my mother was ancient even when I was new born.  Your Christ was born as he was, and when he was, for a purpose you have yet to comprehend.  He himself said "I come not with peace in my hand, but a sword in my fist, to bring warring dissent, dividing father from son, mother from daughter..."  That might have been a clue as to his purpose, but everyone took it to mean that love of God should be greater than any other earthly love.  Well it should be, but that is not what he was talking about.  It is alright that you didn't understand, it wasn't important that you know these things then, and may not be now.  I will tell you now anyway.  It will be a little fore-taste of revelations yet to come.  Yeshua ben Joseph, your Jesus Christ, was born to institute a new religion, which would create the needed polarity to propel humanity forward into it's next great stride in evolution.  His was known to the high as The Paver of the Way.       I was born and bred for a specific purpose as well.
		The Changeling