"She's beyond beautiful." Aribelle whispers, her voice, soft and filled with reverence as she gently runs her fingers through the silver, pleated mane of the mare she rides on.
She and Prince Orwellin leads a royal train of carriages through the veiled paths of Nubnoria, an ancient wood long lost to time and fiercely guarded by ancient, powerful magic. Towering trees, older than kingdoms, bend their bushes as the pair pass, whispering wild words on the winds to a living forest waiting in anticipation.
"Have you heard of the Branorusian breeds?"
Aribelle swings her head, blinking at him wide-eyed. "Surely you jest, Orwellin."
He smiles and turns to her before nodding at her horse.
"Her?" Aribelle asks, running her palm slowly across the mare's silky mane.
"She has been with our family for six generations. Since before the birth of our kingdom."
Aribelle gasps, her eyes stricken by child-like awe as she stares at the horse. "I thought their existence a myth. I thought they were beyond taming?"
"She and I share something deeper than a bond. I trust her, as she does me. I command her only because she allows me to."
Aribelle smiles with a nod as she pats the steed.
"Behold!" A voice rises out amongst the carriages. "We enter the heart of Nubnoria!"
Ahead, the path darkened, ending in a thick, impenetrable brush of ancient tangles of vines and branches. A dark wood looms behind it as sunlight bends and weaves through the forest, casting unnatural shadows.
An attendant runs up to the Prince, seizing the reins of his horse. Orwellin gracefully leaps from the stallion, dusting off his gloves and strolling to the emerald threshold ahead of them. He removes a glove from one hand and lifts it to the trees. After a deep breath, he sings.
No words escape him, instead, a pure, natural note, like wind whistling through the woods. His cry echoed through trees, glades and clearings.
The ground softly trembled beneath them as the forest answered the royal call.
Creaks and groans erupt around them as the heart of Nubnoria reveals itself. Massive roots slithered through the ground, dragging their tall trees with them. Bushes bow and trunks cracked open. The verdant threshold untangles to reveal a glimmering, sunlit path covered in multi-colored mosses and strange, flickering lights, welcoming them into the ancient forest.
"How?" Aribelle gasps as the wood moves around them.
"Family secret." Orwellin grins, swinging back onto the saddle of his black stallion. "Come, m'lady. We are almost at the estate."
They continue their slow march, Aribelle's eyes captured by every new plant and animal she encounters. Strange, magical forms that exist nowhere else in the kingdom.
Flickers of light bounce between the leaves as they enter the enchanted wood. Strange figures shift between shadows, giggling as they pass the royal delegation. Tree and brush turn to watch, leaves and knots turning to follow the marching column.
"Is it alive?" Aribelle whispers.
Orwellin nods with a knowing smile. "She watches us. Through many eyes."
"Is… it safe?"
"They do seem very keen on meeting you, Lady Lindbergh." The Prince remarks, his eyes flicking between hidden movements. "Perhaps it is best to introduce you to their keeper."
"Keeper?"
"The Lady of Leaves." he states plainly. "She should be at the Moon Mirror."
Without another word, he turns his horse and struts off into a small path that unfurls beneath him. Aribelle silently follows, her heart thumping in her throat.
They move through the brightly lit forest, though no sky can be seen from under its thick canopy. As the wall of trees thins to reveal a small clearing, at its center sat a large pool. Like a polished mirror, its waters lay perfectly calm and undisturbed. They dismount their horses amidst the trees and softly tread toward the body of water.
As the pair approach the water's edge, Aribelle gulps.
Though sunlight fills the clearing, she stares into the waters, at the perfect reflection of a full moon.
"This is… unnatural." She states, her voice trembling.
"Ancient." The Prince whispers. "She is near."
"Is the Lady… a god?"
He chuckles. "Some say she is a daughter of The Great Water Spirit."
Aribelle yelps, clutching at her pendant.
"This is sacred." she whispers, trembling. "Orwellin… I shouldn't be here."
"The Lady approaches." He says, grabbing her hand. "Dare not speak unless spoken to. She is fickle. And the forest… it acts strangely around you. We must ensure she sees you not as a threat."
Arienne quivers as a ripple permeates the calm waters.
Silver hair slowly unfurls from the water's surface, as if weaved of moonlight, long, glimmering strands float ethereally through the air, softly billowing about. Pale, radiating skin flows upward to reveal a face of angelic, untouched beauty. Her eyes twinkled out of the water, ringed with an infinitely deep cascade of frosted starlight.
Her body follows as she floats above them, suspended on a spiral of water that holds her effortlessly aloft. Stretching out her limbs and releasing a long, moaning yawn, she slumps back onto her watery throne, limbs splayed across its edges like a bored child in bed.
The Lady twists her gaze toward Orwellin and speaks. But like trees whispering to the wind, the words pass Aribelle's ears as little more than soft tickles of air.
"The Green Tongue." she whispers.
The Prince answers in the same strange language. Man and Spirit converses as Aribelle watches on in awe. The floating entity looks on at the Prince, her face emotionless and unchanging. The Prince prostrates himself toward it, arguing for reasons Aribelle cannot understand.
The Lady of Leaves suddenly turns. Her spiral of water slithers forward, leaning over the water's edge, bringing The Lady face to face with Aribelle. Their eyes meet.
Pale fingers glowing with liquid moonlight reach out, and otherworldly energies flow through Aribelle's skin as The Lady of Leave's fingers trace the outlines of her face, frost trailing behind her fingers. Aribelle shivers, though the sensation was not unpleasant, like the cold-burn of touching snow for the first time.
"What are you, child?" The entity whispers.
Aribelle whimpers, heart racing as she is overcome by The Lady's presence. She stands frozen as cold, wet appendages caress her skin and choke her words.
The Lady of Leaves slumps back into her throne with a splash as she laughs. The sounds echo through the trees like falling rain.
"Nothing to fear, little king. The forest means her no harm." The Lady chuckles as her spiral takes her back atop the pond. "Come see me again. I wish to know more of you… and of your mother."
Aribelle gives a nervous nod.
"Fear not my children. They certainly do not fear you. Like newborn kin arriving from their mothers womb. Strange and wonderful. They are eager to meet you."
Aribelle nods again, her eyes wide and transfixed on the spirit floating before her.
The Lady, bemused by Aribelle's reaction, laughs again and the forest joins her through tree and bush and a thousand unseen voices that rustle through the woods.
"You may call me Laylee." The Lady of Leave's smiles. "I look forward to your return, Aribelle Lindbergh. We all do."
Laylee slips beneath the waters, leaving behind a silent ripple as the moon's reflection wobbles across the lake.
Aribelle falls back into thick grass, her dress fluttering all around her. Heartbeat pounding in every extremity, her voice choked and her breathing ragged.
The Prince steps back as he struggles to maintain his balance. Hand on heart, he slowly gazes over at Aribelle, his face abound with bewilderment.
"She… laughed…" he whispers.
Aribelle stares up at him, cheeks ablaze and sternly lips pouted. "What is that supposed to mean, Orwellin? You should have warned me!" She scolds.
"That was… incredible." He laughs, dropping to his knees beside her as he rubs his fingers through his hair.
His gaze softens, magical moonlight reflecting off his eyes as he smiles warmly at her.
"Fascinating!" He says, gently lifting Aribelle off the ground. "You continue to astound me, Lady Lindbergh. May I?"
He gestures to the clumps of grass and dirt that cling onto her dress.
She nods.
Gently, he scuffs off the mess and helps her reset her attire.
"The Lady," he chuckles. "She's not known for her kindness. Anger mostly. Annoyance if we're lucky. My ancestors had struck an accord with her during the The Great Wars. We have helped her protect Nubnoria ever since. In exchange, she teaches us the ways of ancient sorcery. All I know of nature magic stems from my time under her tutelage. I thought she liked me. But you…"
Aribelle, eyes widening, leans into Orwellin. "Do you…. Do you think she'd teach me?" She whispers excitedly.
"She's never taken on students outside my family. And even then, she's very particular about who she teaches. But… I've also never heard of The Lady laughing before." He smiles. "She certainly has some interest in you."
Buzzing with exhilaration, she happily trails after the Prince as he leads her out of the clearing and back to their horses.
Side-by-side, they race through the forest as it opens a path before them. Her horse effortlessly dodges and weaves through branches and over twisting roots. A blur of green colors and verdant shapes fly past her as they move, hidden spirits gaze upon them with glowing eyes and trees twist to watch them buzz by. Her eyes are filled with child-like wonderment as she traverses the enchanted wood, astride an ancient mare and beside a future king.
"A dream." She smiles as fairies dance around them, laughing as they leave behind trails of glittering dust that hang on the forest air.
They reach upon a clearing where old, twisted branches and withered vines unravel to reveal The Prince's private estate.
Built upon the trunk of an impossibly large and ancient willow in the middle of a magically-luminous lake, a palace of glass and gold-laced stone sits glittering upon the gleaming waters.
Aribelle gasps as she reaches for her pendant, tears pooling under her eyes.
"Definitely a dream!" she whispers.