I thought it was…
Cute, in a way.
She stood with her shoulders back, braced for anything. Ready to get hit with rejection, to get hit by a gust of wind, to get hit with a tree that I conjured from the ground.
In that moment, she was ready for anything.
“For now,” I say, leaning over my boulder, elbow resting against the rock as my palm props up my face. “You may be my apprentice.”
And so it began.
Our spiraling stars.
Giving all that it can give.
Giving all that I can give. An exhale in the dark. A whisper that tapers into echoes. A single word given.
And it’s all that I am.
What a glorious night. Continue reading “Glimmer of Moonlight”
It was a leaf.
One singular leaf.
And it fell.
Speaking only in a whisper as it went. Its last cry carried on the wind that took it from its place, its home. It was just the one leaf, falling through the breeze. Calling to me, warning me, as it did.
He is not the same.
That’s what the leaf said.
He is not who you think him to be.
Was the echo the wind gave. Words that spoke of fall, of seasons changing. Words that carried truth to them. A resounding, hollow ring.
I will tell you something that few know:
A forest on the verge of death can only speak truth. It has been that way since always. Since forever. An ancient law, as old and bright as the sun. Which is how I knew:
He was not who I thought he was. Continue reading “Cold Comes the Lie”
“What is it?”
I can say nothing.
I don’t know what it is. Why I’ve stopped dead in my tracks. Where that tugging sensation came from, or who. All I know is:
I felt it.
Beating along this string tether. Making my stomach quake. The hollows of my bones sing as the wind breezes through me, and I feel the drum beat in time with my heart.
No, I say nothing.
I’ve no idea what this is. Continue reading “Waking Willows”
The thing I liked about snow was:
It was tricky.
Very, very tricky.
It cascades over the landscapes. Washes it to look clean. Gives it a sparkling, new feeling those first few days that it sits. For as long as it remains untainted by dirt, it looks pure. White.
Like the world has been given a fresh start.
If you step in the snow, you find that that’s not true.
It’s not true at all. Continue reading “Beneath the Snow”
If you were in an ocean, a fish would go unnoticed, yes? They’re fairly common there, don’t you think? If a fish were to jump in the ocean, it wouldn’t be strange for the other fish. It’d be relatively common place, no?
That’s what I think of—what comes to mind—when I think of his arrival. The tall man, with the black bow and piercing arrows, with the gnarled sword and jagged dagger.
The tall man with the black beard, the monster’s cloak.
The tall man astride the most beautiful beast I’d seen.
Astride the white lion. Continue reading “Flooding Lions”
They say he died in the middle of that small, small pond. Defending a human child from some wild beasts. They say he died valiantly against a manticore—or maybe it was a drakken. They say that, when he died here, the pond grew. Ten feet longer, eons deeper. A small island sprouted in the midst of the pond, right in the center. Right where he took his last breath. A small island formed, and then, atop that small island, an oak tree grew. Tall and grizzled looking. Branches reaching outward, arms open, as if ready to embrace any who tread upon that small island.
That’s not true, is it?
That small island was not meant for just anyone.
It was meant for only a special someone.
Only meant for one.
One who seeks. Continue reading “Oak Speaks”
I was not interested in the humans at first. Not at all.
Thousands of years—or, perhaps, it was the blink of an eye, I can’t be sure—passed before I finally found out why my kind were so enamored by them. Why they found them amusing. Entertaining. Why they risked their lives, and our secrets, in order to interact with them.
After a good long while, I figured it out.
Such small, delicate creatures. So powerless. And yet:
The beauty of humanity was locked into that fact. Showcased in their faces as the sky lit with stars in the chasm of the night. How enamored they were with the world. How wondrous they found life, even in the darkest of nights.
Such helpless creatures. Unable to grasp their circumstances, unable to withhold the hand of death, and yet:
The strong ones were, anyway.
Continue reading “Hopeful Lights”
I watched him.
For years, I watched him.
Wandering into the forest, the boy with rags. Holes in his soles. He’d wander in, following the old rocks. Leap the fallen logs. Meander through the fallen leaves until, at last, he’d find it.
And, that poor boy—do you know what he’d do?
Toss a copper.
Make a wish.
Throw offerings into the well.
Hope that his prayers said before the stones were heard. That his wish would rise off the water, echo into the heavens.
Tossing his living into the well. Continue reading “Wishing Well”
“Did you see it?! Did you see?!”
“I knew it! I was right, wasn’t I? It’s a ghost, right? Right?”
Looking back at the house—the empty mansion that sat in between the clearing and the woods—I saw the eyes again. In the upper floor’s window, I saw the yellow eyes. The lingering feeling of something lost. Of something in need of being found.
I could not say what it was.
“I don’t think it’s a ghost,” I said, crushing my friend’s hopes and dreams, quite coincidentally, really. “It doesn’t feel like a ghost.”
Ghosts don’t have that feeling of needing to be found, do they? When a ghost lingers, they linger for a reason. They aren’t lost, they don’t need to be found. They simply wish to be left to their own purposes. Left to fulfill their perceived duty.
They don’t look lost.
They don’t need to be found.
And they don’t look scared out of their whits.
Do they? Continue reading “Lost, But Not Found”
Magic is, inherently, selfish.
Taking the world and twisting it to make something of your own—twisting reality to make a thing you find more appealing—that is the nature of magic. The nature of fiends.
The nature of faeries.
And what an overwhelming, overpowering, magic it is.
That was what he’d told me. How he’d explained himself. And I told him something else. Something different.
Faeries are not the only ones with magic.
Continue reading “Kindly Magic: Part II”