:Jeanette:
Prologue
“There once was an old-time legend, that spoke of a Moonlight Goddess, and as she danced in the night in the meadow white roses sprouted at her feet. She danced till dawn when the warm sun first kissed her cheek, then she’d vanish, leaving only a white rose in her place.
“Many people would search for the Moonlight Goddess, but out of greed and pleasure, and thus they never found her. For centuries generation after generation searched for this Goddess, but came back unsuccessful. Some started to believe that the Goddess was merely a myth, started by a young maiden dancing in the night. But every time they shirked on the banks of unbelief, a white rose would turn up on their window-sill, reminding them that yes, she’s still there.
“Some people tell tales of seeing the Goddess, and each witness came up with their own description. Some say she had long blonde hair, straight as can be, wearing a white dress that trailed down behind her, brushing against the white roses that followed her every footstep. Some say she had hair as red as wine, long and curly down to her back; with a white dress that graced her with a long train and elegant sleeves, rolling down her arms like water. And others argue that her hair was as black as night, and as wild as the forest itself, but once again, with a long white dress.
“Each story found common ground though, every Goddess had a white dress and white roses that followed her wherever she went.
“Each night, as the people in the neighboring village thought about the Moonlight Goddess and the patch of white roses that there would be in the morning, marking the place the Goddess had graced her presence with that night; each night, the people heard singing. A haunting trill that flowed gracefully through the air like the wind itself was weaving into the tune. Many fell in love with the voice, longing for it’s high melodious sound, but at the same time, so many found the song hard to listen to, for it’s tune was sad and lonely, asking for someone to bring joy into the singer's life once more, for it seemed that though the song had sad keys, it also had wonderful, lively keys too, telling of a once happier time.
“Many people believed that the Goddess sang the thrilling songs, and the hunt for her began once more, with more vigor than ever. But, as before, she was never found, only a white rose on a window-sill and a small patch of roses in the morning. Soon, the numbers still searching for the legendary Goddess began to dwindle, until only a few old souls still believed she existed. Only the grandparents would still do justice to the once famous solitary Goddess in stories and tales of the hunts and searches for her, and of the haunting tunes she would spin every night.
“Soon, the roses stopped appearing in the window-sills and people began to laugh at their ancestors for being foolish enough to believe such folly. Less and less did the villagers here the lonely song every night, or see the white roses that would sprout in small patches. Soon, the Moonlight Goddess became a legend, a folk-tale spun by the small amount of the earlier generations that still clung to the thrilling tale of the Moonlight Goddess. But even they too, drifted in unbelief at times, until almost no one remembered her at all.
“There was one night, however, that no one bears record of but the old woman who witnessed it and keeps it in her memory. The Moonlight Goddess’s last appearance, to one woman in a humble cottage on the out skirts of town. She was a widow, and burdened with her sons 2 young children, for she was old, and was finding it hard to accommodate her sons 7 year old son and 4 year old daughter, and all the needs they had as young children. This crippled old woman was the very last of the believers in the Goddess, she smiled whenever she heard the whisper of a tune in the wind, so soft and small that she had to strain to pick it up. The old woman would take the little girl out every morning to pick white roses from wherever they found them, teaching the child that they were meant to be treasured, not trampled on. The woman found joy when, as they girl grew, she too heard the ghost of a song in the wind, and she too loved the white roses and treasured them, despite being ostracized for believing in an old folklore such as the Moonlight Goddess by both the villagers and her brother.
“One morning while the old woman and the now 8 year old girl got ready to go outside in the early morning chill of March, they heard a knock at the door, when opened they found no one, but instead a white rose, to which a small pouch was tied. The old woman picked it up with care and opened the small white pouch, revealing a necklace of fine silver, with a small vial attached that held a miniature white rose bud surrounded by water. A small note was found in the pouch as well.
“For your granddaughter I give the White Rose bud. My time has come, and it is time I pass on my gift to another. Cherish it always and watch as it grows and blooms as you do. The time will come when it shall bloom, with another bud encircled in it’s petals. Pass it on to another as worthy as you were.
This White Rose signifies Mercy, learn it and show it and it shall give you power. Power to defend the weak and lame, be their guardian, as I have to this village. You are now the Forsaken Rose, a precious gift that mortal men have forgotten and rebuked. Bring compassion back into this dead world. Good luck, and thank you.
With Love,
Moonlight Goddess”
“And so the journey begins……”
