Tuesday, August 27, 2013

The Dragonfly Queen--Part 1

     Her dame was thought to be the first drop of dew, and her sire to be last ray of Sunset's light. How those two ever met was an enigma in the first place, which made their daughter all the more mystifying. She certainly appeared to be of exotic parentage, delicate yet fiery, cool yet fervid, and completely uncontainable. Her face was that of the sun, a golden hue to her vibrant features, beautiful in their passionate expressions. Her hair was that of her sire's, shifting 'twixt shades of purples and pinks, oranges and reds, like the clouds at dusk. Her body was long and lithe, bespeaking the delicacy of her dame, and the power of her sire. Perhaps most breathtaking were the wings on her back. They flowed like water, but appeared as great fire, sharp and keen, crimson red with streaks of blue slicing through the dancing blaze. They seemed insubstantial, yet were as tangible as any dewdrop, and bright as any star. Her presence both soothed and invigorated, and she knew no enemy amongst the flora or fauna. With such parentage came brilliance of mind, and coolness of character, harnessed ardor of nature.  She was certainly the most glorious of all faerie; none could deny that.
     She was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. And so it was on this occasion. She stood alone on the barren path, looking out over the sea, off the cliff into the great deep. Her wings fluttered idly, slowly sweeping back and forth as she remained, pensive in her recollections. Her retinue had long since left, their revelries spent, unwilling to participate in a such a seemingly jejune activity as their queen now did. She did it so often; at first others of the faerie had joined her, expecting something grand, something magical. Now, though, after so long, they knew to expect nothing, and so spent their time elsewhere. They didn't understand that she was watching, and waiting. Her dew-colored eyes looked out with urgency, trying to see it coming. She hadn't seen it yet, but she knew it was coming.
     She glowed in the waning light. She had already bid her father farewell and goodnight, but darkness had not fully set in yet. Even when it did, her glory spread around her in a golden halo, bringing day time and bloom to wherever she was. Her eyes did not stop to admire the silver lilies growing at her feet. She couldn't stop searching. She knew her vigil was somewhat vain. The day would come when it  came, and watching would not keep it away. But she did not want to miss the day, did not want to be taken by surprise when finally it arrived.
     There it was. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she almost gasped. Her wings did flutter a little faster, though, becoming brighter with the motion, as though stoked by the wind. After millennia of waiting, it had come. She had expected it, but had secretly hoped that perhaps it would pass them by. It was not to be. It had come; the End was here.
     The End was not black, no, it was pure emptiness. It was a void, a gulf of nothingness that simply consumed everything, unmaking them. It was a devourer, a great leviathan of oblivion. Pure nihility. And it was moving steadily across the sea, towards land, consuming everything. It was so mighty, so encompassing. Yet, she was supposed to stop it.
     Faerie are pure creation, the opposite of the End, and they have a sixth sense about its presence. While they can often be whimsical creatures, they are also quite serious about their antithesis. This was no exception. Even as she caught sight of it, she felt the presence of her kindred as they gathered behind her. She, as their queen, had known of the End's coming for much longer than they. She hovered above the ground now, wings a brilliant blur of fire behind her. Even as her people looked on her they saw her change. Silver armor formed over her body, like dew alighting on her figure. A great sword formed in her hands, its blade much like her wings. In her other hand formed a whip of water, the purest and coldest dew of the morning. The weapons of creation. The weapons of Beginning. Thus appareled, she went to war.

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