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Elle and the Fairy
folder
Original - Misc › -FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,922
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Original - Misc › -FemSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,922
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Sprite
Ch. 3 Sprite
After running away from the village and into the woods many times, the villagers stopped trying to find Elaine. She had become a wild child and no one, least of all her father, had time to try to tame that wild child.
When he was home Lord Anderfield attempted to keep his daughter in the house, but the truth was the even in the cold and dark winters, she could not be kept in doors. Lord Anderfield could do nothing to impact her in his short visits. Instead he used his money to pay the old woman, Gilda to make sure Elaine had food and clothes on her back.
To the other children she became a mythical creature, a wood sprite that might swipe them up if they dared to venture into her land. They called her “El” in hushed tones.
It was in this way that Elaine grew to be a young woman. She was small and thin with her hair floating around in her face in an unwashed and uncombed tangle. Like her new mother the myrtle she was browned from dirt and sun. Her dress was short and awkward on her growing body.
Although Gilda was paid to provide her meals, El never ate there. She preferred to hunt and gather her goods from the forest and in winter from the window ledges of the townspeople. The little town thief. She never asked for help, never asked to be brought in door. It was a rare occasion when El would waltz into Gilda’s home to sleep with the dogs and talk with the old woman for a while before rushing away again. She was gentle and shy, as skittish as a young faun but as fierce as a wildcat if cornered by villagers or their unruly children.
On a rare occasion, a sweet melody would waif into the village from the cemetery, and everyone would know that El had gone to visit her mother.
Blow and flow, Oh Northern Wind
Come to me
Give me time
Time to live and love
In a winter gone by
Come, Oh Northern Wind
Blow and flow
Make it snow
So that I may love and live
In a world of white
That will fade all the sooner to the Spring …
It was a local lullaby. Lady Anderfield had sung to her daughter nightly, and it was one of the few things that El remembered from the time when she had warm arms around her. It was something that El kept alive. Everyday was a struggle to remember her mother.
Now it was El’s turn to sing it to her mother, make her grow strong and brave, to love and live in a world that was cold and stark and white. This was how it must be. El must give back what was given to her. One had to love the bad times to have good times.
For six years, El lived with one foot in the world of man with her cold father and the other in the woods with her tree mother until her real mother had become a distant memory of a flowing voice.
This was broken by the return of a human mother, a stepmother.
After running away from the village and into the woods many times, the villagers stopped trying to find Elaine. She had become a wild child and no one, least of all her father, had time to try to tame that wild child.
When he was home Lord Anderfield attempted to keep his daughter in the house, but the truth was the even in the cold and dark winters, she could not be kept in doors. Lord Anderfield could do nothing to impact her in his short visits. Instead he used his money to pay the old woman, Gilda to make sure Elaine had food and clothes on her back.
To the other children she became a mythical creature, a wood sprite that might swipe them up if they dared to venture into her land. They called her “El” in hushed tones.
It was in this way that Elaine grew to be a young woman. She was small and thin with her hair floating around in her face in an unwashed and uncombed tangle. Like her new mother the myrtle she was browned from dirt and sun. Her dress was short and awkward on her growing body.
Although Gilda was paid to provide her meals, El never ate there. She preferred to hunt and gather her goods from the forest and in winter from the window ledges of the townspeople. The little town thief. She never asked for help, never asked to be brought in door. It was a rare occasion when El would waltz into Gilda’s home to sleep with the dogs and talk with the old woman for a while before rushing away again. She was gentle and shy, as skittish as a young faun but as fierce as a wildcat if cornered by villagers or their unruly children.
On a rare occasion, a sweet melody would waif into the village from the cemetery, and everyone would know that El had gone to visit her mother.
Blow and flow, Oh Northern Wind
Come to me
Give me time
Time to live and love
In a winter gone by
Come, Oh Northern Wind
Blow and flow
Make it snow
So that I may love and live
In a world of white
That will fade all the sooner to the Spring …
It was a local lullaby. Lady Anderfield had sung to her daughter nightly, and it was one of the few things that El remembered from the time when she had warm arms around her. It was something that El kept alive. Everyday was a struggle to remember her mother.
Now it was El’s turn to sing it to her mother, make her grow strong and brave, to love and live in a world that was cold and stark and white. This was how it must be. El must give back what was given to her. One had to love the bad times to have good times.
For six years, El lived with one foot in the world of man with her cold father and the other in the woods with her tree mother until her real mother had become a distant memory of a flowing voice.
This was broken by the return of a human mother, a stepmother.