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 Iarraidh, a longing

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Posts : 20
Current Win Points : 3
Join date : 2012-10-24
Age : 26
Location : California

PostSubject: Iarraidh, a longing   Sat Nov 03, 2012 2:42 pm

She had heard the stories, dark tales full of warning. They all had at one point or another, sitting close to the fireside, huddled against another. Still she could be but intrigued by those legends of men, women even, who fell under the spell of a fairy lover. In the words, horrid as they were in meaning yet not form, was a song almost. One most tragic yet ever the more romantic. She was charmed, that young girl, by tales of leanan sidhe whispering words of endearment to their mortal loves, before all came crumbling down about them. Whether it be a rough rage, short yet fierce, or a slow affair, a darkening simmer of spite, the tales ended the same. Yet that drew her in ever the further. For were not the greatest tales of passion those that ended in tragedy and death?

Her intrigue she did not speak of openly, yet all about her knew of her hopes. Forbidding glances and words of worry were uttered by those who knew of her. They saw her as a dead woman walking. Or at the very least she was a damned fool with her head where it should not be. Passion was good and well, as were dates with death, but only an idiot would dream of a lover from the mounds. A greater fool even would weave words of them and their acts, set carefully in verse and rhyme. Her songs were those of the greatest of fools, yet even then they were loved. She had a way with wordcraft and none would dare contest that. Her damn fool dreams brought her her voice and none thought anything of it. The best of artists never were right in the mind, they reasoned.

Nor were they very happy. That longing in her never quit for a moment. It gnawed and burned and clawed at her, that curiosity of hers. Just to spy one would be enough to sate her, the smallest of glances would fill her for life. Her mother chided her, telling her to leave well enough alone. Stop calling for death or it very well might answer you one day. Yet she did not and still no fairy woman, filled with awe and terror, came to her. The years slipped by and she was but that mad girl who sang songs that chilled the bone, yet opened the heart. Soon she became as a joke. Not even if she begged in the woods naked would one of the Folk visit her. She was too mad even for the Fair Ones.

As the years drew on she grew wearied by her passions, her dreams. For they were so great yet so fruitless. All her words, pretty as they were, amounted to naught. There was no satisfaction in them, no payoff of even the smallest bit. She let her craft rot, not able to speak a single word of wit and charm. Her voice was shriveling for what had it brought her? Empty admirations and whispered words of snidest insult. She had nothing and never would, so she put her words away for they were as void.

For this perhaps came her chance to live those tales she heard so long ago. She wallowed by the water's edge, dead and lost. Yet to her side came a woman of greatest beauty. Up she looked in wonder and awe, every curve charming beyond all count. That young girl was entranced, held by an arresting gaze. Words of arduous passion that fae whispered in her ear, words that she could not ignore. All the warnings, those words of caution, flew to her and passed on by. She would damn herself she was told and damn herself she did for she took the lips of that fairy woman in her own.

Her songs came to her again, and in greater strength than even before. Many tales she devised in verse and each an improvement over the last. Those about her marveled at her rebirth, so sudden as it was. Yet none questioned it. Far too caught up in her words were they that they could not stop to see the coming danger. Nor could she as she spent her hours with the sidhe. Lounging against her, caressed passionately yet never did they lay together truly. She did not need such base hungers sated. In her burned a desire higher than mere lust for nightly tussling. She smiled with euphoric joy as her lover from the mounds kissed her softly between words of praise for her arts and nothing more did she need.
For never had she heard such delights from a mortal before, so that young girl was told. For never had such a master at her craft surprised that Fair One, so that young girl was told. Those words held close to her heart were all she wanted for in this world and so she worried not of her fate.

No, one could say she welcomed it even, for she poured all that she was into that love. Her every waking moment away from those crowds that so fed her as recompense for her tales was spent with her leanan sidhe. She sang to her always and was pulled close often, praised and adored by one greater than all the men who lived above the mounds. That young girl jumped to her doom willingly, happily, for how could she not? Her love was so awe worthy, so full of otherworldly charm and enchant, that she could not pull herself away. Yet also was this not what she dreamed of since her early years by the fire? Was this not her childhood dream? Only damned cowards would throw away those old passions, debasing those wants as childish and foolhardy. For we all perish so why not perish in that wonder we always hoped for? Such she reasoned as she kissed her fairy lover, showing forth all the adoration that she could.

A year passed for that girl and she began to waste away. Her voice grew quiet though no less great in its own fashion and her skin grew a deathly pallor, white as could be. She was fading away, wearied by her passions yet unwilling to quit them. How could she rest when there was so much to tell, to sing to her lover? How could she rest when there was so much to hear, to feel from her lover? No, she must sing on and ever on for that fair woman had brought her so very much. She brought her a joy, a satisfaction, that all the earthly beings could not. She brought her a voice of otherworldly power, yet one still so bound to this land. That young girl could not so disrespect her love and so she sang on and ever on till, at the last, she could no longer stand.

Into those fae arms she was pulled for the last time. Held close and tight as she told her tales of romance more wondrous than most would ever know. Her voice grew faint, ever the weaker by the moment yet still she sang to her love. She could not bear to disappoint that wonder who as yet whispered words of highest praised in her ear; who as yet kissed her softly. That young girl faded away in love's embrace, the words of a song never finished falling into the air lightly. She was dead and gone, sapped of all she was by a fairy woman.

Her body was found by one who knew her and so she was brought back to those mortals she once charmed with her words. Those folk mourned yet shook their heads in knowing. Yet another young fool had danced with one from the mounds and was there any fate for her other than this for her, they asked? So caught up in her damning wonder as she was, they asked? None could contest those suspicions and so she was lay to rest with a knowing grief. For that young girl had been snatched up, her voice pulled forth from her, and it was just as she had wanted.

EDIT: I just realized that I misinterpreted the rules and somehow missed the word slender in the title... ...this bodes well.
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