Fairy Tale: Dream Well

 

            I can hear you breathing.

            My eyes open to the Fair Wood cloaked in moon-bright night. The trees of the grove that shelter us are shadowy guardians that loom over us.

            There next to me you sleep.

            The nymphs and faun maidens adored you while you dreamed. On a bed of roses they placed you, and white petals snowflaked your crimson hair. Your hands were folded on your soft, swelling breast. Around you the fair folk gathered and bowed, like the saints at the throne of God.

Your pink lips call to me, inviting me to caress them with mine.

            I don’t dare.

             I step away from you to a patch of moonlight. I draw my sword and stab the ground. I kneel and bow my head. I pray.

            I still hear you breathing. Like wisps of soft wind at my ear. It carries the memory of your voice, a voice I haven’t heard in years. A laugh that has not made my heart light in forever.

            Instead, my heart weeps in its absence.

            The stars of Heaven bestow their gaze down on me. Another memory. Eyes blue as summer sky.

            I grip my sword tighter.

I still remember the last time this blade drew blood. In a grim castle choked with thorns. The Dark Faerie cowered before me with her midnight purple hair matted with sweat. Black blood trickled from her lips. She writhed as the iron chain in which I bound her seared into her flesh. 

            Tell me. How do I break the curse?

            She screamed, invoking spells with each agonized cadence of her breath, but she was powerless. The iron restrained her, dispelled her odious black magic.

            Tell me, and I’ll free you from your bonds. I swear on my name.

            She glared at me. More burns formed on her skin. 

            Kiss, she hissed through her teeth. True love’s kiss.

I glowered down at her.         

Release me. You promised, and no one breaks a promise with a faerie.

You’re right.

            A flash of my sword. A sickening thump. I untangled the chains from her headless body.

 

I rise from my prayers and come back to you. I kneel next to your bed of roses. Your moonlit face shines up at me.

            Just one touch. If I could touch you just once.

            When I returned to the grove, and found you here, surrounded by the fair folk, I took your hand. And you stirred. The slightest turn of your chin, the twitching of a finger. Then the nymphs cried out. A black rot spread among the trunks of the trees, crawling up towards the boughs like swarms of spiders. Their leaves fell off in decaying clumps, the flowers withered, the songbirds screeched in terror.  

            I withdrew my touch. The rot faded as if it had never been there. A cold calm washed over the fair folk.

            One of the faun maidens spoke.

            She cannot be awakened.

            The Dark Faerie laid a second curse on you, Love. That conniving witch. You would never forgive me if I traded the well-being of the Fair Wood for your awakening.

            You never would.

            My beard is now frosted, and wrinkles crease my face. But you remain untouched by time. Over the decades I have watched you slumber, and I have wondered what you are dreaming. What paths are you wandering in the world beyond, and do I dwell there with you? Are we allowed to touch there? Are we permitted to be one?

Whatever your dreams, I hope they are lovely and bright, just as you are.

            Dream well, my sleeping beauty.

 

(This was originally published in The People Sentinel). 

Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/adinavoicu-485024/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1360854">Adina Voicu</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1360854">Pixabay</a>