Untitled Tale of Milendra

Darkness fell over the mountain; the purple shadow engulfed its people, houses, stones, and trees one by one. When I noticed the dark nipping at my toes and then making its way over the entire foot and up my leg, I sighed and turned my eyes toward the sky.

Like jungle drums pounding out a rhythmic tune, thunder rolled and competed with the flashes of yellow light and jagged red spikes of lightning in the churning world above me. And I knew she was at it again. With every cloud of midnight blue swimming in that vast gray sea, there surged a passion just as great. Somewhere, standing at the mountain's stony peak, she was watching her emotions fly; free, uninhibited, real to the outside world at last. And I knew I must go to her.

What had set her off tonight? I wondered, taking quick steps over the sharp rocks and craggy divides that plagued this side of the mountain--her side of the mountain, we all called it. Not aloud, but in our thoughts, which were always mirrored in frightened expression in our eyes. I looked up from my feet to the way before me just in time to dodge a low branch. My eyes followed the branch to its source, where it sprung out from the tree like the gnarled old arm of a witch, clawing at the sleeves of passersby. Another loud crash of thunder hastened my clumsy gait.

I'd never been able to understand how the humble elven living of a drifter such as myself could attract her fancy. Milendra was of a mysterious nature--one that changed direction as often as the wind. But somehow, she caught me watching her once during these rages and instead of disappearing--or worse, killing me on the spot--her soul was calmed and the storm subsided. "Who are you?" she queried. My breathing halted and I could only stare back at her. She must have mistaken my ineffable fear for confidence. "Silence? How original." She had smiled then and stepped lightly to my place among the brambles. Milendra sat and gestured me to do likewise. She proceeded to speak, for hours and hours as I listened patiently, of anger and pain and melancholy, of remorse and discontent and confusion. I found her pain heartbreaking, and though I said not a word she seemed to sense my empathy. From that day, it was I and I alone whom Milendra sought out when the storm inside her heart grew too strong to hold back.

My thoughts returned to the present. Now at the summit of the great mountain, my eyes were surely deceiving me. The girl (ancient though she is, Milendra was impossible to think of as old) was nowhere in sight. I walked over to her favorite tree, a silver leafless oak, and sat down. I knew she would come to me soon; judging from the increasingly heavy fall of rain, I could expect Milendra to appear at any moment, tremulous with the pressure of her pent-up rage. Soon....soon. And then the heavens flashed again, just long enough to reveal her silhouette hunched over the ground with her knees drawn to her chest. She sat huddled against a boulder, chilled and lost.
"M'lady?"
Her head turned ever so slightly in my direction, and as I drew nearer, my heart fluttered in alarm. It is not difficult to realize that Milendra had once been a strikingly beautiful creature. The years had done something to her, however, that now caused her face (though still smooth as silk) to forever appear tired, worn. Or perhaps this is the change we all are subjected to in turn, when our innocence is lost. Even closer now, I was met with a twinkle of silver-white light reflected in a tear.
"What has angered you? Share this with me, I wish to help."
"Angry...no. Not angered, but awakened. Or perhaps, simply, I am caught in the tangled ropes of an old dream."
"A dream?" I was confused, never having been a regular member of social circles, nor educated folk, and thus rather unfamiliar with metaphoric terms.
"Yes, Demeric. Of a time long ago, when I was lovely and so was the world."

And I knew it would be a long night.

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