It had been the night blooming jasmine and the way that it glowed in the moonlight that caught my eye. Most nights, if I had been on such a mission, I would have not stopped, not listened to the undeniable beckoning of the garden and it’s inhabitants. But this night was different. The moon was full and spring was first spilling out from the freshly thawed soil. At any other time I would often interact with those whom I called my garden or forest “allies”, and one more the delicate flowers seemed to reach out to me with a scent so sweet that I could not resist.
With slender fingers I reached out and caressed the leaves, petals and stalk of the ful shrub and I leaned forward to breathe the heady scent of flowers. The hood of my black velvet cloak fell back from my head as I did so.
“It was in the East when I first met you, O’ beauteous one,” I smiled at the prolifically blooming bush, speaking to it as if it were another person, “men have waged wars and spilled much blood on the desert sands just so they can catch a heady breath of you. They bring your scent and lay it at the feet of queens, princesses and women of all castes. Your promise is nothing more than the inspiration of love.” I looked up at the moon and smiled, “under Mother Moon’s gaze, there is no way for you not to accomplish that.”
The garden, I had noticed, had gone strangely silent. I was raised to sense the presence of others and now I felt the gaze of some one or some thing looking at me, listening. The sensation was one of cold, yet curious icy tendrils that reached out like a vine in the shadows that shifted. I pulled the folds of my cloak a bit tighter around me, and replaced the voluminous hood back over my hair and made my way back to the paved walkway toward the palace that was illuminated in a riot of light and colour.
Before I mounted the large marble staircase that led to the entrance of the palace itself, I caught glimpse of a darkly clad man leaning over, looking down at me, as if he had specifically been waiting for me to come inside If it had not been for the glint of his single eye in the reflective light indoors or from the moon I was not certain that I would have seen him at all. Not able to shake the same feeling that I had experienced in the garden as I ducked into the doorway. I was both invited and expected as a guest of the Court of Louis XIII and his Queen, Anne and to have tarried longer would have aroused suspicion. Still, I could not shake the image of the man who was dark as Raven whose one eye studied me relentlessly.
Muse: Fanny Fae / Faelyn
Fandom: Original Character / Folklore / Mythology / Fandom
Word Count: 496