The beginnings of a fantasy of some sort that is only in the first stages... do read if you'd like!
—-
She dreamed.
Cupping her hands, she dipped them into the water. It was clear, blue, with ripples gathering on the surface. The moss that covered the smooth riverbed rocks was soft against the backs of her fingers. And the water was cold… Oh so delightfully cold.
It chilled her hands to the bone.
What are you doing here, girl?
The sprite stood in front of her, dancing on the water with the tips of her long toes. The ripples radiating from her were edged with a purple glistening of magic. The sprite, however, was an old one, and the purpling shimmers were not nearly so bright as they should have been. Her hair was silvery-gray and flowed down her back, and a hat capped her tiny head. The sprite held a book in her right hand.
I don’t know.
The sprite smiled.
Many people I’ve met have told me the same thing… The question is: What makes you different from them?
…different from them?…
…different from them?…
…different from them?…
It was day. The first fingers of morning light touched her face. Warm, golden… She shivered. Yanking off the covers, she found her hands to be ice cold and slightly damp.
She shivered once more, the clutching tendrils of Nod only barely releasing their grip. She leaped to her feet, tossing aside the heavy blankets. Looking out the window, she saw that the Ville was awakening. She breathed a short sigh of relief. Another day… another day that they yet lived.
Not for long. She dreaded the day that she would wake to find that the Ville was cold and dead, bleeding. It was inescapable; it must occur... It is what would occur… And it would be all her fault…
Trying not to think of such unpleasant thoughts, she strapped her high boots to her ankles, threw on the weather beaten cloak, and ran out into the warm frost of day…
—-
She dreamed.
Cupping her hands, she dipped them into the water. It was clear, blue, with ripples gathering on the surface. The moss that covered the smooth riverbed rocks was soft against the backs of her fingers. And the water was cold… Oh so delightfully cold.
It chilled her hands to the bone.
What are you doing here, girl?
The sprite stood in front of her, dancing on the water with the tips of her long toes. The ripples radiating from her were edged with a purple glistening of magic. The sprite, however, was an old one, and the purpling shimmers were not nearly so bright as they should have been. Her hair was silvery-gray and flowed down her back, and a hat capped her tiny head. The sprite held a book in her right hand.
I don’t know.
The sprite smiled.
Many people I’ve met have told me the same thing… The question is: What makes you different from them?
…different from them?…
…different from them?…
…different from them?…
It was day. The first fingers of morning light touched her face. Warm, golden… She shivered. Yanking off the covers, she found her hands to be ice cold and slightly damp.
She shivered once more, the clutching tendrils of Nod only barely releasing their grip. She leaped to her feet, tossing aside the heavy blankets. Looking out the window, she saw that the Ville was awakening. She breathed a short sigh of relief. Another day… another day that they yet lived.
Not for long. She dreaded the day that she would wake to find that the Ville was cold and dead, bleeding. It was inescapable; it must occur... It is what would occur… And it would be all her fault…
Trying not to think of such unpleasant thoughts, she strapped her high boots to her ankles, threw on the weather beaten cloak, and ran out into the warm frost of day…