The young woman’s silver eyes glowed like the moon and stars. Her dress of blue silk hung to her ankles, lightly sweeping the wet forest ground. Her hair was long and black as coal after a fire goes dead. The woman’s body was slender, her fingers long and elegant. She walked like a horse, graceful and elegant as she made her way through the trees. The morning had just broken and mist swirled in the cold autumn air, a blanket over the forest. The once green leaves drifted to the ground in a soft but steady rhythm.
When the woman listened with her tall, pointed ears, she can hear the songs of the plump yellow birds in the skies above. She smiled sadly as a ring of hazy sunlight hit her face. She blinked once, then twice. Then, she glanced down at her pale and shaking hand.
In it sat her silver blade, still dripping warm scarlet blood to the mud and leaf covered forest floor. The woman became crestfallen and closed her eyes, silently crying for her faded past. Her tears were like crystals, gliding down her cheeks and splashing to the dirty ground like fireworks.
