Spoiler! :
There are little parts of it I'm iffy about, but I'll see if you think anything needs to be changed before saying anything. Also, this isn't even the complet 1st chapter... I just really needed some reviews to keep me working! Thank you so much!!
I was younger then, but only by years. I remember vividly the storm that almost shook the forest to the ground, the raging fires searing the mountainside, the shrieks of pain replacing the rabbit’s tender lullabies. Yes, well I know the mistakes made on that battlefield, but this is not a story of war. No, indeed, this is a story of redemption, difficult as it may be for my kind to accept.
I remember the first time I saw a hummingbird outside, the first time since the discord, flitting from wildflower to delicate porcelain wildflower. No one of Their Kind could see how it pained me, in those eternities when there had been no colored feathers filling the open skies. To be able to fly with them again would be a masterpiece beyond words, but it is not meant to be. I do not regret it, mind you; my power was a gift that had to be given away. The worst part is the sudden isolation, now that I cannot communicate freely with whomever- or whatever- I choose. Still, I learned to live with it, and daily I continue to survive.
There is one pain that haunts me, however, almost intolerably. So many times I have wished to sever my heart from my chest, but alas, sylphs are made not for death, just as we are made not for heartbreak. The two offenses were never intended for my life or the lives of my kin, but rather those of plebian creatures. Consequences inescapably follow mistakes, and now I shall make atonements, whether it is my preference or not... But death is not an option, pain me as it may.
I suppose all who hear my tale wonder why I am but a ghost of my former self, young as I still am. Now is not the time, though, to answer questions. Now is the time for hot tea, and feeling the chilly spring breeze, and pretending. No, I won’t tell my secrets- yet. Most should never know what happened, but something warns me that my tale will be told. This time, there will be no silence.
I padded to my porch door, urged it open, and felt the crisp gentle breeze caress my face. I bundled my long, caramel hair into a loose bun and ascended the drifting hill upon which my mushroom capped house lay. An alluring sunset greeted me; I lifted a hand to my eyes to shade myself from the radiance. Long grasses rippled to an unheard rhythm, seeming to dance with my billowing skirt. The tips of brilliant stars were just beginning to peek out from behind the sun’s protective arms, glimmering as if there was some wonderful joke the rest of the universe could never know. A more glorious evening I’d be hard pressed to find, yet somehow I was dissatisfied.
That was my fate, of course; I’d surely be disaffected for years, centuries to come, for I had seen things most sylphs, elves, and nymphs never would. I inhaled deeply and blotted glistening moisture from my almond eyes as my mother swayed toward me from the gentle valley below. Her approach signaled the end of my quiet contemplation. I smiled, glassily disguising my discontentment at her arrival.
“Azaerî,” she dipped her head in salutation. My mother, immeasurable older than I, leaned her fragile hands on her knees and breathed deeply. The scent of autumn was in the air, crisp, sweet, and earthy; I inhaled as well. It smelled good, I realized, it smelled faintly personal, like the babbling river .
“Mother,” I responded faintly. “What brings you this evening?” I blinked slowly, looking at the wildflowers splayed across the soft terrain.
“Midira, my girl, you haven’t come to visit me since the moon last was red. How long has it been since you left your home?” she fretted lovingly.
“Has it really been that long?” I murmured detachedly. “I suppose I must’ve been busy. I apologize.” Her face was stretched tight, revealing the strain the situation had caused her. “Don’t fret, Mother, please. I’m perfectly sound; I have simply been preoccupied.”
She nodded slightly, slid an insubstantial envelope into my hand and parted, leaving me standing silently once again. I skimmed a pearly fingernail under the wrapping, revealing a slip of velvety parchment. The satin black characters glided across the page; I became lost in the shape of the rolling words. Eventually, I realized the note’s purpose: an invitation to a ball, thrown by one of area’s nobles. The winds playfully lifted the corners of the message, threatening to send it soaring far above my pointed ears and into the mountains above. My other hand nimbly caught the page as it began its ascent; I held it securely as I hesitantly went toward the warm, dim lighting of my home, sensing the last of the sun’s warmth before opening the door.
A soothing chair beckoned me to come, sit, unwind. I sunk into the plush dark indigo cushions, a memento from my life in the palace. Now, it made me uncomfortable. Constantly reminding others of how much wealthier we were, putting on a show, and balancing precariously between social obligations and more unsafe matters. My current nest seemed a mere shed compared to the royal home; however, it was comfortable and safe and just-large-enough, and most of all, it liberated me from the politics of the town.
The thought of going back to that once more, to another mansion, another ball, another night of falsities with handsome suitors, made me shudder. It was not the daydream it once was, but instead a painful aide-memoire of what I’d lost.
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