| Midnight Song |
.
How many times have I come here? I can no longer count the days, months or years. The passage of time has no effect
on me. I remember when I would come to greet the rising sun. Dawn reflecting hope in the brightening sky and warming
earth. Now, I am banished to the nadir of night; when all is dark, and hope only a dream.
It was a year ago, perhaps two, when the priests came and laid their blessing on this place. This small valley was
sanctified and made anathema to me, or rather to what I have become. Despite this, I am still compelled to come. Each
night I sit beside this stone marker and sing of my sorrow. The moon and stars listening to the pain in my soul as I tell
them about the loss of my beloved Adairia. I take some comfort in the silence of the night. A silence that only listens and
does not judge.
My song awakens the priests and they stand at their small windows saying prayers for protection. I shake my head at the
sharp, bittersweet smell of their fear and hatred.
Tonight, as I sit here and raise my gaze to the moon, I feel a stirring in the air. Something is happening. Nothing like this
has ever occurred before. My spine tingles. The hair along my neck rises. My claws grasp at the dirt. I whine softly.
Looking closely, I see a shimmering before me. A shape is forming. It is wispy. Not wholly there. My nose only detects
the dustiness of the earth and the biting scent of the trees surrounding this area. The shape begins to solidify. Suddenly,
the perfume of heather fills the air. I inhale deeply. Heather was always her favorite flower.
It is her! I have not seen her since that horrific night--so long ago. The night the curse struck and she vanished from my
life.
She is much as I remember her: Tall, with dark eyes and dark hair. Her delicate features highlighted by the glow
surrounding her as she stands next to the stone bearing her name. Her eyes meet my own and there is a deep sadness
reflected in them.
A soft creak comes from the door of the small church. I see one of the priests step outside. Startled I rise and turn to flee.
She begins to fade.
"Wait," he calls. "Please stay. I am Father Gregory, I mean you no harm."
I glance up at her and she nods slowly, so I sit back down and look at the approaching priest. He is an old man whose
eyes, even in this darkness glow with an inner light. Despite the hesitation in his steps, there is a confidence in his stance.
As he approaches, he holds out both hands to show he is carrying nothing. I smell his fear, but it is accompanied by
something else. A fragrance both soft and strong, the smell of flowers in a meadow, of rain, of a sunrise; the scent of
love, compassion and hope.
Father Gregory glances at her, then at the stone marker with its single word scratched into its surface. "Adairia?" he asks.
She nods. Glancing at me, Adairia smiles that small wistful smile I have not seen in so long.
I nod my understanding of her unspoken request. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on triggering a change I have not
experienced since that day.
The change comes slowly, and I whimper as I feel my limbs lengthen and my nose flatten. I find myself stretched out on
the ground as my senses return. Slowly, I push myself into a sitting position; every joint in my body feels as if it is on fire.
I had forgotten the pain involved.
on me. I remember when I would come to greet the rising sun. Dawn reflecting hope in the brightening sky and warming
earth. Now, I am banished to the nadir of night; when all is dark, and hope only a dream.
It was a year ago, perhaps two, when the priests came and laid their blessing on this place. This small valley was
sanctified and made anathema to me, or rather to what I have become. Despite this, I am still compelled to come. Each
night I sit beside this stone marker and sing of my sorrow. The moon and stars listening to the pain in my soul as I tell
them about the loss of my beloved Adairia. I take some comfort in the silence of the night. A silence that only listens and
does not judge.
My song awakens the priests and they stand at their small windows saying prayers for protection. I shake my head at the
sharp, bittersweet smell of their fear and hatred.
Tonight, as I sit here and raise my gaze to the moon, I feel a stirring in the air. Something is happening. Nothing like this
has ever occurred before. My spine tingles. The hair along my neck rises. My claws grasp at the dirt. I whine softly.
Looking closely, I see a shimmering before me. A shape is forming. It is wispy. Not wholly there. My nose only detects
the dustiness of the earth and the biting scent of the trees surrounding this area. The shape begins to solidify. Suddenly,
the perfume of heather fills the air. I inhale deeply. Heather was always her favorite flower.
It is her! I have not seen her since that horrific night--so long ago. The night the curse struck and she vanished from my
life.
She is much as I remember her: Tall, with dark eyes and dark hair. Her delicate features highlighted by the glow
surrounding her as she stands next to the stone bearing her name. Her eyes meet my own and there is a deep sadness
reflected in them.
A soft creak comes from the door of the small church. I see one of the priests step outside. Startled I rise and turn to flee.
She begins to fade.
"Wait," he calls. "Please stay. I am Father Gregory, I mean you no harm."
I glance up at her and she nods slowly, so I sit back down and look at the approaching priest. He is an old man whose
eyes, even in this darkness glow with an inner light. Despite the hesitation in his steps, there is a confidence in his stance.
As he approaches, he holds out both hands to show he is carrying nothing. I smell his fear, but it is accompanied by
something else. A fragrance both soft and strong, the smell of flowers in a meadow, of rain, of a sunrise; the scent of
love, compassion and hope.
Father Gregory glances at her, then at the stone marker with its single word scratched into its surface. "Adairia?" he asks.
She nods. Glancing at me, Adairia smiles that small wistful smile I have not seen in so long.
I nod my understanding of her unspoken request. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on triggering a change I have not
experienced since that day.
The change comes slowly, and I whimper as I feel my limbs lengthen and my nose flatten. I find myself stretched out on
the ground as my senses return. Slowly, I push myself into a sitting position; every joint in my body feels as if it is on fire.
I had forgotten the pain involved.
