She Who Dances

The eldritch woman in question meanwhile had almost immediately gotten herself lost. Not one to yell out, she quietly surveyed the environment for any sign of her companions. At one point during which she had run into a curious forest fae that had tried to accost her, only for it to become entranced and follow her around at a curious distance. No matter how hard it tried, it seemed unable to assume her form. And that made it wonder, what could possibly be hiding behind that hauntingly beautiful face?

Furtive yet inquisitive, the neraide, who went by the name of Aglaia, parked herself on a leafy branch on high and watched as the mysterious woman explored her surroundings. The vast trees grew thicker the more the woman pressed on, walking past moss-covered wood and dense, fungi-infested groves. She treated the sights as if they were all unfamiliar to her. New experiences that seemed to call to her in a dreamlike captivation. She didn't even seem to be the least bit worried about her missing companions anymore. Maybe it was that she sensed something more. Almost as if she knew things would turn out alright—for the time being.

The woman reminded Aglaia of the ancient elder neraide who had lived longer than anyone could remember, her wisdom always respected among the others, whom everyone loved and revered her as she did the forest. The stranger seemed to hold that selfsame fondness for every mammoth tree and weathered boulder she had come across. She would run her elegant fingers along the timeworn bark and, pressing her head against it, sing to it in some silent, alien exchange of honeyed communication. And as she moved deeper, the faerie followed—fluttering at a safe distance.

The more Aglaia observed the woman, the stronger her peculiarities stood out. Once more, after peering around the corner, the ghostly beauty began to move and spin and twirl about the grass while miraculously avoiding bumping into anything around her. Intricate leaps and twists that matched the rhythm of the forest, as if all of nature were dancing along with her. Flowers bloomed and stems glowed with a pleasing phosphorescence, swaying through invisible wind and leaving spectral trails of light in her wake. Aglaia seemed to be witnessing an act unknown to man—a performance only fully seen outside the confines of boundless time and infinite space. But what could she possibly know of the art of higher beings? What could she hope to understand of the beauty and grace of a goddess given form?

Platinum hair whirled and wafted as she moved, tiny twinkles of light emanating from every soft strand in a mesmerizing randomness. Whispered words sung faintly escaped delicately from her lips. A cryptic, alien chant expressed only to herself, that no other mortal should hear.

As much as Aglaia wished to listen to her enchanting melody, she knew to stay out of earshot, for according to ancient tales read by the elders in aged scrolls, the music of gods would surely drive an unblessed mortal mad.

There was a forbidden feeling in watching her, like privately spying on the tantric acts of gods not meant for man. But this taboo only excited the small neraide even more. And the more this goddess danced, the more the world around her seemed to warp and transform to her whim. It started with her hair that began to shine in mysterious lights, illuminating itself across the whole of her head, followed by the enveloping of her body in a radiant glow. The Dancer, now a silhouette of living light, continued to move rhythmically around the luminescent pastures that surrounded her.

The faerie was in awe of this dazzling spectacle. Excitement had replaced fear as she watched from afar the world around the Dancer swirl with otherworldly energy. The mystic light of her being lighting up the forest dark and casting white shadows that moved along with her. And so bright was she that small Aglaia had to avert her eyes from the Dancer’s flare because even her shadow of light had begun to singe the crimson-gold foliage around her, the colors dissolving from their leaves. And fascination once again turned to horror as more colors swept and dispersed into the ether. The Dancer, whose body was almost pure light, began to burn in a flawless, unadulterated display of luminosity that ended in a bright flash that melted away to once again reveal a ghostly human beauty in a plain white shirt and pants.

The woman, hands on her knees and out of breath, turned in the direction of the small neraide and seemed to almost smile at her. As if the entire time she knew there had been an audience. Seeing this, Aglaia flew off and returned home—with a story no other fae would dare believe.

Evidently satisfied, the dancer known as Qu’l-Nia ran off in the direction of the river, hopping with a splash into the water and began waiting patiently.

“Yo! Big Q!” cried the voice of a familiar gunwoman. “What are you doing out there in the water?”

“Alma. Hwalín. I was merely meditating while awaiting your arrival.”

“What? Why didn’t you come look for us?”

“Well, since we had become separated, it was safe to assume that staying by the river would be the smartest option. Were we not initially following the river downward to find your friend?”

“I…” Alma pondered for a second. “Good point.”

“You did not see anything unusual, did you?”

“Schyeah,” replied Hwalín. “We came across some really annoying vermin, Nia, that tried to feed my arse to some plants. But Alma found me, luckily. And now I’m getting really sick of these bloody forests already. It feels like everywhere we go, there’s gotta be a fucking tree somewhere nearby. It’s—”

The red elf paused mid-sentence as her ears began to perk up to the sound of something only she had heard.

“What? What is it, girl? Did ya find something?” Alma’s expression was one of hopeful surprise.

“Alma, I swear I’m going to bop you one one of these days.” Hwalín sneered. “Yeah, I heard something. Not exactly sure how to describe it but it might be your witchy pal.”

“Yes! I knew it! Lead the way!”

As the two ran across the river, Qu’l-Nia hummed a quivering tune to herself—the moisture slowly evaporating from her previously drenched clothing as she walked along behind them.