Grieve not. I have loved you with everything I am, said James’ sylph. After he had wrapped Madge’s scarf around her, so tightly that her wings fell right off. He really didn’t mean to and never ever did he want it, but he killed her. First she lost her wings. Then he lost her - and all my sisters have grown shy of humans, because they know how the story goes.
Because we’ve learned that humans love differently. It’s what James’ sylph has taught us, they say in breathy voices and disappear in the mist. In thin air. Humans must own what they’re given. So although they both loved, James and his sylph – in the end she had to leave her life before his feet. While he had to leave her there, on the ground. Heavier than lead.
I don’t want to lower my voice around her own words, though. They’re too, all too strong – not makeshift like the moisture of dew on your wings, lingering only until you step into the sun. No, I truly, firmly (more firmly than anything I myself can be) believe that death isn’t too high a price to pay for love. Humans are mortal and they know they’ll die. Sylphs live forever and that’s why they shouldn’t fear death at all!
That's why. On the day when Effie, my dearest Effie, finally sees me, I’ve decided... I’ll let her wrap her scarf around my shoulders. If she really must. If it’s the only way. Grieve not.
|TABLE A - GENERAL|
|031||Sunrise||032||Sunset||033||Too Much||034||Not Enough||035||Sixth Sense|
|096||Writer‘s Choice||097||Writer‘s Choice||098||Writer‘s Choice||099||Writer‘s Choice||100||Writer‘s Choice|
The forest? No, I don’t want to live anywhere else. I don’t want to even imagine it! The trees are so green, with their buds and their paper-thin leaves. And the light playing in the glades. And the butterflies... They are sisters, dancing in a rain of the finest dust. The air here, it’s clear and clean. You can see everything, feel everything as if it’s seeping into your very skin. When I walk over the forest floor, slowly slowly the windflowers take root in my feet and for every step, my body turns more and more weightless till I turn with it. My gait into mincing. You would feel it, too! How high you can soar, when the breeze carries the warm scent of pure soil and caresses your back in the ticklish places where your shoulder blades are sprouting wings --
But humans don’t have wings. It’s true, they can learn to dance, if you sing songs to their feet and inspire their hands. Then they will come to understand, little by little. She could, if she’d look up at last. Since I would let my wings lift her burdens and both our weights. Even if it’s only a few inches over ground. A few inches, at the most. It’s enough. Nothing more. Because concrete doesn’t grow windflowers and the smell of gas is so very heavy. It’s the coldest, iciest of thoughts, but if I were to drop her... The concrete makes for such a hard surface, unforgiving of dance and vindictive of flight. She would hurt herself. Just from those few inches. I would have made her.
So I won’t leave the forest. I don’t want to! I love its simple nature. I’ll just keep dancing with the butterflies in the clover, to learn her steps in advance. And when I’ve danced, I’ll practice with the birds, spread my wings amongst the treetops that they build their nests in. While waiting for her to glimpse all these colours, it’s important that I become stronger and strong enough to take her with me.
Before we can dance and fly and the windflowers adorn her dark hair.
The weather is light. Light as a feather, light like my wings. Oh, she should really come outside today. There is no way she won’t see, once she looks up. Looks out the window. At last. She will see how blue the sky is. She will know how warm the sunlight could be, applied like powder to her cheekbones. How gentle the wind should feel, running along the lines of her neck before embracing her hair. Adding a much flimsier sweep to her gait.
Yes, today she will come.
And I will wait for her where the cornflowers grow, in the field where the goats are grazing. She won't be fooled into thinking of it as fallow. Lark nests scattered like hidden nuggets everywhere, so I'll lead her step till the end. Through the grass that's so much greener - near the edge of the forest. From there, the river isn’t far away. I’ve always wanted to show her the river.
Perhaps I'll wait for her by the riverside instead.