What if the myth's had never died?

Instead their blood creeped into ours?

You can see the blood of fae in the pirouette of a ballet dancer,

In the way the rebeling teenagers create turmoil wherever they roam.

You can see the blood of dryads in that one kid who climbs trees faster than his peers,

trusting his feet and hands as he goes.

You can see the blood of shapeshifters in the way you always lose that one friend in a crowd,

because they're just that too good at blending in.

You can see the blood of immortals,

in the way sun beams seem to envelope a boy,

how he attracts people wherever he travels.

In the way a girl's smile is so wide and lethal,

lips ready to tear into anything with words like ice.

The myth's may not be around no more but they left things behind.