Photo by Olivia D Bryant
It is widely rumored that she floated across the channel on the tail of a sea serpent, while
Some recount that she was born of the moon's salty tears as they collided with the surf.
In fair accord, it is declared that she is in league with the Sidhe; perhaps she is their queen.
By all accounts, she abides in a hidden cave, curiously detached from both her world and ours.
Her gaze is to be avoided at all costs, and the women of the village warn their babes not to
Rove past Harkin's Crossing ....lest they chance an all too grim fate at the hands of the fae.
My brothers-in-arms dismiss my empirical fascination when I mention a distant sighting of
The lass, and insist that I should not vitiate my good name by manner of entertaining such
Wild notions; their looks of concern over my subsequent laughter is always mildly touching.
Try as I may, I cannot subdue the urge to scan the banks of the river as my diurnal ride
Carries me to the far edge of the estate long before the dew has scattered from the meadows.
My thoughts and my horse are my only companions this morning; and the warmth of the
Sun's rays on my back has the effect of an evening hearth, dulling my normally keen wits.
I rein in the mare and dismount, giving her free access to the delicately scented field as I
Walk further towards the property line in hopes of shaking this sudden bout of lethargy.
It is then that I spy her there shin-deep in the crystalline waters, with cascades of flaxen
Curls obscuring her face as she leans down into the current to fill each of three clay pitchers.
I voice a gentle yet firm greeting, inwardly plotting the most viable escape route should
She take offense to my disturbance of her ritual and decide to impale me or mayhap worse.
I am shocked by the quickness of her instinctive stiffening; and it is most obvious that my
Proximity has startled her, as the circlet of wildflowers atop her head slides out of alignment.
I find the color in her eyes. Green of summer's forest must surely be humbled by their depths.
Afraid to blink, I study the sapience of her gaze and note the underlying layers of longing and fear.
By Heaven's Gate! This petite, enchanting imp cannot be the monstrous troglodyte of legend!
I momentarily think to break the cutting silence by wheedling her with an assortment of
Spontaneous flattery; but as the fragrance of blossoms and temptation envelopes me, I succumb to the
Invitation of her dainty, outstretched hand and the rose toned allure of destiny's kiss.
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