Epyllion

*A touch of fantasy to adorn a beautiful picture I found.....*




The Elf Queen:

Another century has passed. The thickets shine, glossy green and ripe. The poppies dance in the gentle breeze and the crystal stream sings to the sky. All is perfect throughout the glade.

For the Elf Queen, darkness rides the horizon. A knot of apprehension sits within her stomach, weighing her down as she sits upon the throne. The ornate maple, so delicately and lovingly carved by the hands of her kingdom, feels hard and uncomfortable. Every few breaths send her heart skipping a beat. She feels the slightest hint of sweat dampening her brow.

Time is running out.

As dawn rose, waking the lilies and chasing the last of the shadows back into the wood, she felt the hands of her clock slowing. Her movements, once so liquid and graceful felt ragged and crude. When she lifted her voice to the rising sun she was unable to carry a tune, finally falling silent as all the elven women praised the God of Light. For the first time in her two hundred years, she was unable to praise her God. A tear had discreetly slipped down her cheek, landing among the dewdrops gathered on the flowers around her.

Now, as she watches her loved ones frolic in the beautiful day, she cant feel the joy. Her mind is emptying of all vision and her spirit is waning. Reaching a hand out, she catches a sprite upon her fingertip. Lifting the tiny creature to her face, she attempts a smile.

The sprite twitches its gossamer wings and sings to her. But her song is neither amusing nor endearing. Its questioning, two emerald eyes beseeching the sadness it sees looking down upon it. The Elf Queen cannot tell her tiny friend what ails her.

The frosts are still months away, yet she knows she will not call the summer to an end. She will not witness the flames of autumn. She knows this, but she cant so much as utter a whisper, her voice stolen by the gods of death.

The secret eats at her, gnawing her bones and chewing her mind. She can feel miniscule teeth snip and snag her spirit and shake it apart. Tiny bits of herself dissipate with the drying dew.

She catches her reflection in a cup of water. Once she was so beautiful, her hair rivalling the sun, eyes the color of the fields after the spring rains.

Her daughter kneels before her. Running a hand through the silken tresses falling past the princess shoulders, she raises a handful to her lips and kisses them. Her daughter lifts her face and smiles. All the world glitters in those bright green eyes. Shell make a lovely queen, she thinks.

Her heart skips a beat. Two beats. Time slows.

Her daughter speaks but the words come out in broken strings. She smiles sadly upon her child. So very young and innocent, twenty years in the glade, the princess has already made her way with the gods and goddesses. Mother Moon favored her with opalescent skin and a dreamers voice.

She attempts another smile and allows golden strands of hair to fall like sand from her hands. She cant breathe. The world stops spinning and for a terrifying moment, the Elf Queen drifts nowhere, in between life and death.

Eyes widen, mouth pouts. As her daughter holds her, the Elf Queens eyes dull, fading from fresh spring grass to the dried yellow of hot summer drought. Sunset pink of her cheeks blanche.

Time.TicksOne.LastMoment.

In that moment, the Elf Queen takes in the entire glade, all her people, creatures and the blooming flowers. She draws in a final breath, sucking in the warmth of summer and dispels it back in a shallow whisper.

"Live on, my queen," she says as her eyes close and her skin goes cold.

The End.