“The Nymph, the Spirit, and the Bird”
By theluckyflower
Okay, before you read this, there are just a few things I would like to say –
1) Some of you might find this piece of work familiar. Well, it is. I accidentally posted this in the poem section. Big, stupid mistake, I know!
2) With that said, I would also like to ask that you give good, sharp criticism about my work. I mean, don't say "it sucks!/ you're horrible!/ never write again!" of course. However, I am relatively new at writing short, fantasy stories, so give me some tough love. But remember: LOVE.
Centuries ago, there was a beautiful nymph named Ihmelia. She was gifted with the ability to control plants; she was able to make them wilt or flourish or even become carnivorous. Such a power, like most others, was connected to her emotions, and thankfully, Ihmelia was very happy. One can often find her sneaking out of her forest to meet her friend: the wind spirit Biyohnca. They were the best of friends. It was believed that nothing could tear them apart. Those who believed it, however, soon found themselves to be very wrong.
One particularly sunny and breezy day, a white bird descended upon the land. It was a giant and glorious bird, intellectual like no other. After a brief glance at the wind spirit Biyohnca, it charged at her and lifted her up with its powerful wings. The spirit was surprised at first, but as time flew on, her flight with the bird became more and more appealing. They both fell in love. Ihmelia was forgotten.
Bitter and heartbroken, the nymph ran to the heart of the forest, where the air was still and dense, free from breeze or wind. There she located the ancient tree. She fused with it, ultimately becoming one with the tree, stuck and unable to part. Incapable of tending properly to the forest, it slowly died away.
Centuries passed before men came and began chopping away trees from the forest. Ihmelia was the last tree to be cut down. All she could do was experience the horror of having limb by limb, part by part, being hacked away. Every single part of her was burned as firewood except for what was taken from the core of the tree: her heart. Alas this was the only thing she could control. Her burning anger and grief kept all other fire at bay. Ihmelia’s heart was deemed useless and tossed aside on the rode.
Years upon years later, the village that tried to burn her was deserted. After winter’s frost had settled in, a man and his wife passed through the lonely village. They were poor and had nowhere to go. The man found Ihmelia and tried to light her. She refused to burn. No other wood was available, so the couple began to freeze.
Ihmelia watched as the wife began to cry. She had so many dreams: she wanted a home, a business, a family. Now they were all disappearing. The husband held her in his arms and said everything was going to be fine. He smiled and said he loved her. He would never trade anything in the world for her. He would rather die by her side than be alone. The wife stopped crying and agreed. She, too, loved the man, more than life, more than all her dreams.
Shame filled Ihmelia. She was selfish. She hated Biyohnca for leaving her, abandoning her. But Biyohnca could not help it; she was happy with the bird, wholeheartedly in love with it. Ihmelia could not blame her for that. She should have been happy for her friend, happy that she found something she could never find within their friendship. Anger and spite left her soul in the form of fire, and her heart began to burn. The couple survived the night and left the next morning. Ihmelia was reduced to ashes.
Seasons passed, and on one particularly sunny and breezy day, the ashes were lifted up and carried by the wind under the wings a glorious, white bird.
The End.
