Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

27 Mistress of Tales

"Strangled she was, I saw her dying. The Mistress spoke, and I forgot I loved her."

~ Ode to Anushä (Unknown Author)

Götteril

    The grass crunched beneath Gorst's feet, and he made his way to the meadow with a smile and sweaty palms, knowing he would find what he desired at its centre: Celissa. The Immortals and Götteril itself glowed with spiritual lustre, a sort of shimmering semi-translucent luminosity, but Celissa glowed more than any created thing. Even the meadow with its swaying grass and little white flowers could not compare to her glamour.

    A willow tree stood at the centre of the lush pasture, green with unnatural thick foliage, and dusted with minute pink flowers. Long green grass swayed with a warm breeze as though an artist had methodically planned each swish. Lone blades whispered against his feet and pants as he made his way up to the tree.

    Under the willow's shade, he looking up to find Celissa. And there she was, on a lower, almost substantial branch. On Erdil, a branch like that would never have held her weight, but this was Götteril, where oddity was the norm.

    Celissa's right leg dangled from the branch, and her left was curled beneath her luscious body. White skirts pulled up to her right knee, but billowed behind her in the slight breeze to the other side of the branch. A floral anklet decorated her perfect ankle, one he was sure she had weaved herself. Her long, wavy hair glimmered with every colour of the rainbow. Gorst knew her hair was pearly-white when it was not in the sunlight, but he'd only seen it that way once.

    Opened before Celissa was a window to Erdil, and she was enraptured with whatever she saw. His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched her beautiful white eyes light up with hues of colours and flicker back to white. What an exceptional, wondrous creature she was.

    The Mistress of Tales had a protocol when it came to greetings. One couldn't just stroll on in and strike up a conversation, he'd learned the hard way. A captivating sentence to honour Celissa's position as Mistress of Tales milled in his mind. He cleared his throat and began, raising his voice like an actor would.

    'A fair maiden I beheld once upon a time, sitting in a tree.' He smiled when her bright eyes turned to him. 'Her eyes gleamed and sparkled, and rainbows were in her hair. Oh, to hear her voice, if only once, would satisfy my ravished heart!' This last he said with feigned desperation, clutching at his chest with mock desire. Celissa smiled and laughed that laugh that sounded like bells to him.

    'Why Gorst, what brings you here? Aren't you supposed to be wreaking havoc on the other planes, oh Master Mischief?' She raised one eyebrow. 'But that was ample greeting.' She nodded. 'You may enter my tree, brother of Huiden.'

    The skinny branch she perched on bent and swayed while he climbed, and he crawled straight through her window on Erdil. 'Gorst,' she whined. The window faded away into the slight shimmer of the air.

    She scowled at him. 'Did you have to do that?'

    'I'm sure it wasn't that important,' he retorted.

    Celissa crossed her arms, pouting. 'I was watching a man's mind. Oh, the tales I spun in his head!' Her demeanour brightened up.

    'I'm almost sure I can change the path the Fathers chose, with him and the unique time he has found himself in. It's quite amazing. Would you like to see?'

    'She is excited,' Gorst realised. He eyed her, trying to be nonchalant, and failing. 'Oh, fine. Show me then, Celissa.'

    The branch creaked and he settled in behind her, chancing it to curl his arms around her waist. For balance of course, nothing else.