Onyx Maiden

0.5 : The Onyx Maiden

In the land I call home, there is a statue. The statue is made of the most wonderful onyx marble, carved to perfection. It depicts a woman holding out her hand for her soulmate. It has been said she has been standing in the middle of our town square for centuries. She is donned with the most marvelous of clothing -- a flowing dress decorated with butterflies and jewels, a diadem that could be imagined sparkling against her forehead. Her feet were bare and her features pleasantly plain. Many have come across and held her open palm, laughing to themselves -some in disappointment- when she did not become human by their touch. Her pose, ever so delicate looking, would surely have her entire body sore if she were to ever breathe our air and become burdened with life. Her left foot was planted in a wide stance away from her right, pointed on her toes, the dress sweeping between the gap her legs created. Her right arm reaching far and low before her, awaiting the touch of her soulmate; her left arm swept behind her in the shape of a crescent moon, fingertips lazily pointing to the stars above.

The story tells us she had been betrayed by her lover. On a waning moonlit night, a star had streaked across the night sky above her and her lover. The woman told her lover to make a desire of theirs known and she was sure to make it come true under the star's promise. Making an oath to a star was nothing to take lightly. Her lover looked her deep in the eyes and told her something quite dramatic, in the opinion of the children who listen to the tale being told nowadays.

"I wish you to become unattainable if you are not meant to be mine," her lover whispered.

The woman tilted her head and wondered at what this meant. "I am yours," she whispered back. "Who is to say I cannot be yours?"

Her lover's eyes softened, and they smiled. "Of course, my love. I would never let anyone take you from my side."

However, the star to which she had promised was not going to forgive their foolishness. She had unwittingly tied herself to a Star's Oath, the most powerful of unbreakable bonds. The star broke away from its path on the night sky and made its way to the pair. When it was near, it hovered over the woman and began to glow brighter than their eyes could handle. The star gifted the woman with beautiful clothing while her body moved against her will into the pose the statue holds to this day, her soul began to become captured inside the onyx marble. Terrified, the woman began to cry out for her lover until she could no longer form the words. The woman's lover took steps back and screamed in anguish, not believing what was happening before their own eyes. They ran to her side and attempted to peel away the growing marble that started from her torso. With bloody fingers and tears racing down their cheeks, her lover backed away from what had become of her. Standing in front of them now was a shell, never to be attained from another soul ever again.

Instead of leaving their lover behind in this meadow of long grass, they brought people back to this place and built a town around her. Every day the lover would return to tell stories to the statue, often enough ending in apologies and tears.

Years passed; the lover died. Centuries passed; people stopped believing in the tale's truthfulness. Periods passed, stories were retold and greatly embellished, and the statue gained a podium to be placed upon instead of being rooted to the cobblestones around her feet.

However trapped by the Star's Oath, the mind behind the star was sound. The star was not without compassion. Instead of being unattainable completely, the star had her unattainable to all who were not meant to be by her side for the ends of their days. The star gave her a way to come back to the world without being burdened by a love that would ask her to become unattainable if she were to be happy with someone else. This woman would come back into this world of selfishness and deceit when the one who would never ask her of something so ridiculous and selfish came into being and held her outstretched hand.

The story became less and less realistic, nobody believed the tales, but many would reach out and hold her hand to see if they were the one to make the stories have some truth. No matter the amount of men and women who came to grasp the smooth, cold hand, it never breathed a breath of air; never became anything less than onyx marble. The tales soon became just that; a tale.

We call her now the Onyx Maiden.

Every story told from ages ago always have some kernel of truth inside them. We need just find it.