to return:
I promised Glory I would bring Nic to, Mystic Forest.
~Silence...yes the forest was silent.
No night bird sang, no bat twittered in the near dark sky.
Nothing moved...
It was one of those nights before full autumn.
Sweet lingering strains of summer still hovered.
But lurking just beyond the sigh of warmth.
The crisp, almost chilled air of another season lurked.
They danced together these two seasons.
One giving, one taking.
One staying, one going.
And for an instant they traded places with each other.
One holding sway over the other at various times, in various spaces.
But the warmth had to go...retreat...be banished for another year.
And the shimmering, crystal tang of the between time air would stay...
Even the leaves showed it's lingering touch.
Brown edges, golden hues, crimson blood...dying in splendor and glory
on soon to be denuded branches.
Not with a whimper but a bang.
Do not go gently into that good night.
But leave thy rage and and outcry against your
on rushing death in streaks of color so vivid and outrageous...
That none would forget your passing till next you showed
your verdant green hues to springtime...
and the kiss of warm breezes once again.
In this heartbeat between seasons...she sat.
Beautiful Fae, Darksome Queen of winter's kiss.
Her gray/violet eyes closed, back pressed against a tree.
Lovely head tipped forward, chin almost resting on her perfect breast.
What a picture...Like a painting by a great master.
She was everything that a woman could be.
What most thought a woman should be.
Oh night-time Fae...Oh Winter's wanton Mistress.
Let me sing an ode to thy beauty.
Thy delicate frame and silken tresses.
Thy snowy brow and pristine skin.
How you do entrap me when I gaze upon you.
Lead me to my death oh forger of snowflakes
and frigid breezes.
For unto you I would come and give myself
willingly into your cold embrace.
And die frozen and happy in thine arms.
Whispering in lips formed of hoarfrost and
and gilded ice.
How I love thee and how my death
is my tribute to my happiness to end
my days in your embrace.
In the air around her these words seemed to float.
Sung by diaphanous voices...
Suspended on etheral strains of music.
Played by unseen harpists not bound to this plane.
She had heard this 'song' a thousand times...
In a thousand different ways.
From a thousand different voices.
All pleading for her favors.
All submissive to her charms.
All giving over their last breath.
To the beauty they thought they desired to possess.
She is Nicniven.
And She is the Queen of the Unseelie Court.
The forger of snows and winter midnighs.
The sculptress of icicles and delicate, deceptive frost portraits.
The wilder of the septre that creates the frigid blasted winds
of frozen tundras and barren Artic wastes.
All these things trail the tips of her delicate fingers.
'Ware her merely mortal.
Or even those that are not.
For she is true to her heart.
To that which constructed her.
Bone and sinew.
Skin and blood.
She cannot go against her purpose.
For time would crack should she
set foot outside that which she was created for.
And then, into this stepped an old foe.
Light fell where shadow once held sway.
Lovely chin lifted from repose.
Lashes of spun gold and moonglow raised
to reveal eyes laced with lavender twilights
and fog kissed mornings.
Moonstone perfect and ever serene they
shifted within their sockets easily.
Glances from the the wily winter queen.
No word passed lips...but smile twitched.
In truth it seemed as if that mouth,
full and winsome and styled for kissing.
would crack under the weight of amused grin.
But it did not.
It merely sat there upon the pliant curves
and supple valleys.
Beguiling those that should chance it's sight.
And when those lips parted to speak.
The sounds of silence grew deeper and more subdued.
The thrush and silver rush of her voice.
Tinkling and crystal and otherworldy
upon the breast of a night now so deep it seemed as if
it would never end.~
M'Lord Bada.
Hast my summer bright sister let you so
far out of her grasp then?
~Each word was clipped and pefect.
Each intoned with amusement and unheard laughter.
Each one fell and rode the breeze of her voice.
And each one reached it's intended target.
She roused herself and stood.
A sudden wind rising where there was none before.
Her gossamer clothing swirling about her slender form.
Wings of fabric...Fae woven and magic blessed.~
~Silence...yes the forest was silent.
No night bird sang, no bat twittered in the near dark sky.
Nothing moved...
It was one of those nights before full autumn.
Sweet lingering strains of summer still hovered.
But lurking just beyond the sigh of warmth.
The crisp, almost chilled air of another season lurked.
They danced together these two seasons.
One giving, one taking.
One staying, one going.
And for an instant they traded places with each other.
One holding sway over the other at various times, in various spaces.
But the warmth had to go...retreat...be banished for another year.
And the shimmering, crystal tang of the between time air would stay...
Even the leaves showed it's lingering touch.
Brown edges, golden hues, crimson blood...dying in splendor and glory
on soon to be denuded branches.
Not with a whimper but a bang.
Do not go gently into that good night.
But leave thy rage and and outcry against your
on rushing death in streaks of color so vivid and outrageous...
That none would forget your passing till next you showed
your verdant green hues to springtime...
and the kiss of warm breezes once again.
In this heartbeat between seasons...she sat.
Beautiful Fae, Darksome Queen of winter's kiss.
Her gray/violet eyes closed, back pressed against a tree.
Lovely head tipped forward, chin almost resting on her perfect breast.
What a picture...Like a painting by a great master.
She was everything that a woman could be.
What most thought a woman should be.
Oh night-time Fae...Oh Winter's wanton Mistress.
Let me sing an ode to thy beauty.
Thy delicate frame and silken tresses.
Thy snowy brow and pristine skin.
How you do entrap me when I gaze upon you.
Lead me to my death oh forger of snowflakes
and frigid breezes.
For unto you I would come and give myself
willingly into your cold embrace.
And die frozen and happy in thine arms.
Whispering in lips formed of hoarfrost and
and gilded ice.
How I love thee and how my death
is my tribute to my happiness to end
my days in your embrace.
In the air around her these words seemed to float.
Sung by diaphanous voices...
Suspended on etheral strains of music.
Played by unseen harpists not bound to this plane.
She had heard this 'song' a thousand times...
In a thousand different ways.
From a thousand different voices.
All pleading for her favors.
All submissive to her charms.
All giving over their last breath.
To the beauty they thought they desired to possess.
She is Nicniven.
And She is the Queen of the Unseelie Court.
The forger of snows and winter midnighs.
The sculptress of icicles and delicate, deceptive frost portraits.
The wilder of the septre that creates the frigid blasted winds
of frozen tundras and barren Artic wastes.
All these things trail the tips of her delicate fingers.
'Ware her merely mortal.
Or even those that are not.
For she is true to her heart.
To that which constructed her.
Bone and sinew.
Skin and blood.
She cannot go against her purpose.
For time would crack should she
set foot outside that which she was created for.
And then, into this stepped an old foe.
Light fell where shadow once held sway.
Lovely chin lifted from repose.
Lashes of spun gold and moonglow raised
to reveal eyes laced with lavender twilights
and fog kissed mornings.
Moonstone perfect and ever serene they
shifted within their sockets easily.
Glances from the the wily winter queen.
No word passed lips...but smile twitched.
In truth it seemed as if that mouth,
full and winsome and styled for kissing.
would crack under the weight of amused grin.
But it did not.
It merely sat there upon the pliant curves
and supple valleys.
Beguiling those that should chance it's sight.
And when those lips parted to speak.
The sounds of silence grew deeper and more subdued.
The thrush and silver rush of her voice.
Tinkling and crystal and otherworldy
upon the breast of a night now so deep it seemed as if
it would never end.~
M'Lord Bada.
Hast my summer bright sister let you so
far out of her grasp then?
~Each word was clipped and pefect.
Each intoned with amusement and unheard laughter.
Each one fell and rode the breeze of her voice.
And each one reached it's intended target.
She roused herself and stood.
A sudden wind rising where there was none before.
Her gossamer clothing swirling about her slender form.
Wings of fabric...Fae woven and magic blessed.~