Chapter 1:
Will-o'-the-wisp, Will of the Wisp
Long, verdant ribbons are lazily undulating under the caress of the water. Nothing troubles the peace of this silent, dimly-lit kingdom. Nothing, apart maybe from the few fishes passing through.
One of them gets closer to the seagrass, swimming deftly between the emerald blades… until, picking its victim, the silver shape starts pecking at one of the blades.
Bubbles.
Bubbles bubbling.
From the depths of the loch, a bunch of them float, ascend. Over their surface, a bluish glow.
Slowly, they continue their way until reaching the surface of the loch. Emerging only to burst one after the other. Ephemeral disturbance over the otherwise unrippled water, mirror of every single star dotting the darkness above.
A few cricket sounds.
The last bubble bursts. And, with it, a blue spark ignites.
In no time, a bunch of them appear, joining into a single entity. Into a flame which now hovers over the surface of the loch.
It remains there, unmoving, burning without consuming anything. It observes, wandering, dancing over the surface.
Until a noise breaks the serenity, making the flames tremble.
It grows louder, anarchic and high-pitched.
What is that sound? Not a bird, it holds no graceful note. Not a cricket, it has no regularity.
The blue flame glances at the shore, where a form moves, getting closer to the loch. Stopping a few steps from the water, the back of her hands clumsily wiping the droplets of water from her face.
A little human girl.
Little enough for her silhouette to be half-hidden by the grass generously covering the lands.
After a while, the little girl stares blankly at the grim water.
A step.
The sounds, already muffled, soon stop. But, somehow, the sight of the little human girl approaching the loch is even more disturbing than the sounds she made before.
A ripple.
Her tiny shoes now wet, she keeps walking into the water. But why? Little human girls don’t breathe underwater. And the dress she wears… Its fabric is too heavy. If she goes any further…
The flames shudder. The mere thought makes it flutter towards her before she goes too deep into the loch. The bluish light illuminates her face as the flame begins to float hurriedly all around the lassie.
Surprised by the unnatural apparition, she widens her eyes, raising her head to follow the moves of the blue flame. Lost, she stares at it, an uncertain spark appearing in her aquamarine eyes.
“A will-o’-the-wisp?” She whispers in a shivering tone.
After a while, the flame hovers over the water, playfully moving towards the shore. When it reaches it, it stops, though. As if waiting for her.
“You want me to follow you..?”
She seems to hesitate, presses her hands against her frail chest.
Not letting her the time to even consider turning back to the loch, the will-o’-the-wisp’s shape changes, morphing into a small burning rabbit, a bluish horn on its forehead.
At that sight, the eyes of the little human girl widen. And, finally, she chooses to join it. As she steps out of the water, droplets dripping from her dress, she follows the bewitching sight.
There’s still sadness in her eyes, though, and the will-o’-the-wisp fears that she will return to the loch if it doesn’t do anything.
A thought crossing its mind, the flame takes another shape. Merging into a bunch of butterflies which start fluttering around the little girl, one of them landing on the tip of her nose. A laugh then escapes her lips.
This time, the noise seems happier. Encouraged by her reaction, the will-o’-the-wisp keeps morphing into various bewitching creatures dancing, fluttering around her. They play together for a while, until the flame morphs one more time. It takes the shape of a curious creature, a sort of lizard with wings.
At the sight of this peculiar animal, the little girl stops running around.
Tilting its head to the side, intrigued by the change in her behaviour, the burning lizard approaches her. Was the choice of that creature a mistake? Maybe she is afraid of lizards.
But the little girl doesn’t back off. Instead, she kneels as if to observe it more closely.
Silent, she seems lost in thought.
“Kind little spirit… Thank you for making me laugh. I was so sad, so sad because the loch took my grandma. She loved this place so much but, you know, grandma was old. The loch ended up taking her away.” The little girl pauses, droplets of water gathered anew at the corner of her eyes. “That hurts… She’s not here with me any more. I wish I could go to the place she went to. But… you made me remember the promise I didn’t have the time to keep. I said I would make a painting for her. A painting of the loch she loved.”
The will-o’-the-wisp listens without saying anything. Not that it could.
At least, when the little girl left it, she didn’t seem as sad as she was before.
***
The days which follow, the little girl comes back to the loch. She doesn’t try anything reckless though. Instead, she has brought with her an easel. For hours, she stays behind, glancing at the loch. Painting a canvas from the tip of her brush.
Each time, she goes away before the night, so that the will-o’-the-wisp keeps lurking from beneath the water. Each time, she seems unsatisfied by her work, ending by tossing her canvas on the grass.
Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer… the seasons, the years keep unfolding. The girl keeps painting. And with time, she becomes less little, her silhouette growing into that of a young lady.
Until, one day, she stays longer. She seems more absorbed than ever by her painting. Not even noticing the night falling before the lacking luminosity makes her squint her eyes.
And, with the night, a blue flame appears. Igniting the surface of the loch, it makes the not-so-little lady raise her eyes.
The flame, aware of her gaze lingering on it, decides to get closer to her, getting to the shore.
When it is close enough, the girl greets it with a soft smile.
“You’ve returned. I’m so glad to see you. I’m so glad, I was finally able to finish my painting.”
Intrigued of what sort of painting might have kept busy a human girl for so long, the flame dances closer.
Over the canvas, an outstanding vision of the loch. Gold edges the blades of grass, sparks dot the unrippled surface of the loch. Like a starry sky at sunset.
But what makes the painting even more bewitching are the numerous creatures painted here and there, hidden in the grass, discreetly risking a glance over the surface of the lake. There’s even a lizard gifted with wings in a corner.
“Grandma used to tell me tales of magical worlds. She could spend hours describing the creatures living in them. I thought… she would have loved to see them inhabiting her loch.”
A flicker.
The blue flame begins to dance all around the lady. That is the most beautiful painting it has ever seen. It is the most beautiful sight of the loch it could hope to see, and that, even after a whole life spent observing it.
Slowly, the will-o’-the-wisp becomes smaller, azure sparkles coming off its silhouette.
But, before it disappears entirely, it floats to the painting. Now the size of a spark, it comes close enough so that its remnants can trace glowing letters into a corner of the painting.
“Thank you, my dear child, for thy sweet painting,
for the treasure thy little hands have crafted for me,
for the memories brought back.
I’ll always be by thy side.”
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