Aellwenn

It was impossible. A dream. Or perhaps a nightmare, with how it tortured her. Still, his return could not be a nightmare with such gentle words...could it?

How do I begin to describe in ways you will understand? Given that to you, I am the monster.

I am the dark fog creeping over the moisture-infused grass, weaving between the dull headstones, discoloured and crumbling over time.

To you, I am colourless. Harrowing. Prudish. I am the ornate cup of earl grey tea quivering ever so slightly upon it's ceramic saucer.

My claws wrap around your so-called 'beloved' and to what? To keep him from you? 

The deepest bowels of the night were still quiet in early May. No crickets sang under the starry, blue-black mantle yet. They would not awaken until later in the summer. A bullfrog, perhaps, might croak his serenade from a distant pond. But under the shaft of cool, pale moonlight that fell through the cottage window, everything was hushed. 

It was the long, silent hour just before dawn. In a forest grove of Chetwood, where she came to welcome the new day and golden Anor, the Sun, with music of her song and with dance, golden-haired elven maiden noted the silence with puzzlement. How different these forests were from her green homeland... Over the centuries, she had seen many oaks grow from acorn to ruinous age, but this place seemed less wild, more tame, and she could not feel that aura of mystery in it that filled Mirkwood.

*The following piece contains a brief description of self-harm. If this subject matter is something that would trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable, I advise you to proceed no further.*

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Blink.

Wooden beams stretched across a floral white expanse of painted framework that lay above Dagramir’s prone body. The contours of the roof hazed its way into his immediate attention as he did his best to return to his mind some form of conscious ability.

Blink.