Whisperings

Whisperings.

I slid onto the cold moon washed balcony.  Night bathed the stone in blue and the forest in shades of ebony and faded charcoal.  I swept toward the rail and my gown trailed like an echo of my whisper soft shadow.  I knew the effects of moonspell.  This was real.  I’d heard it.  Voices soft and silvery – faded, then certain, then gone.  A melody like magic.

Whisperings.

No one had truly seen the creatures.  No one as far as I had heard.  But, more than once, in the corner of my eye, I’d woken to glimpse a shiver of light.  

There are those among my people prone to visions – my father among them. I remember him telling me as a child “Once is a dream.  Twice is a trick.  Three times and it shall come to pass.”

There it was, a shimmer like a mirage.  I craned my head to the side.  It was a small thing, dancing in and out of my vision though I stared right at it and it at me.  An inner light pulsed with a chittering of soothing murmurs and soft syllables.  It reminded me of mist under moonlight, of the forest floor when the wind stirred the shadows, of smoke in a cloudless sky, and of stars at dawnlight.

There was a second flicker at the corner of my eye.  It was joined with another, then another.  I felt a warmth in my belly and a smile pulling at my lips. The one before me smiled back and its light danced with laughter.  

Whisperings.