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Grade
8

“Esior? Would you recite the story you always tell me?”

The lean, blonde female sat on the edge of her bedsheet, pressing the legs of it into the wooden ground. Her husband, who stood nearby watching the moon through the only window in the room, strolled over and rested alongside her, smiling as he did. Routinely, the girl covered herself with the comforter and closed her eyes. Her husband began to recite a story from memory.

 

“In an era when magic was prevalent and myths ran as clearly as the stream, an avaricious and irascible sorcerer roamed the land. Once a fortnight, he would travel over to the next town and sell the game he caught. As he was riding back late one evening, the moonlight illuminated a small pond near the edge of a clearing. Seeing this, he felt his parched lips and dismounted his steed, cupping the water to his face. His eyes closed in astonishment. Not only did the liquid quench his thirst, but it brought about a plethora of childhood memories and nourishment deep into his veins. Never had the sorcerer’s lips touched a drink more fit for the gods.” A flash of golden, quick as a fox, flitted through the trees and caught his eye. He glanced up, causing water to drip down his neck. Abandoning the bank and pulling his drenched boots out of the sinking mud, he stepped forward into the water. As soon as it lapped up to his skin, his sight blurred and twisted until it settled onto one image- the beautiful maiden with leaves extending out of her arms perched in front of him. Collapsing to one knee in exaltation, he grasped her petals and proclaimed his love, aware of nothing but the intense enamoration he held for her. No matter what he had to do, the fair maiden must be his. The sorcerer’s adoration for her was not dissimilar to the same respect he held for the villagers he so viciously cursed. Her golden hair-”

 

“Like mine!” The woman interrupted as she always did, holding out a long blonde strand.

“Just like yours, Venus,” Esior breathed softy.

 

He continued. “Her hair flowed much like the pool around her, shaking gently as she shyly refused the sorcerer’s offer. For many moons, the sorcerer came back to visit her every night. The maiden never appeared to leave her reserve of the waterway. Struck by her beauty, he asked her again and again for her hand, showering her with luxurious and elegant gifts. The maiden was petulant in her denial. One night, the moon seemed to grant the pond an even more pellucid quality than usual. The beautiful maiden’s stature was still, even in the light breeze. Her leafed arms rustled slightly. The sorcerer breathed out in unison with the wind. “With every passing midnight, the moon grows in size, as does my love for you.” At this, the maiden could no longer deny her curiosity for the young man. Reaching out to him, he beckoned for her to follow and soon they approached a wooden cabin, somewhat reminiscent of the wooden crates he used to trap animals.”

 

“You catch animals, Esior.”

Her husband did not respond.

 

The sorcerer had not been able to glance back at the maiden since they had soaked in the moonwater. Allowing her to open the cabin door and enter first, her face was still obscured from grazing the likes of his greedy eyes. The sorcerer’s attention entirely seized by his hunger to see her beauty once more, he swifty bolted the door behind them. If she tried to run, he would be able to catch her before she got the door unlocked. The maiden took in the room around her, turning around slowly in the shadows, her leafed arms turning with her. The sorcerer waited in suspended anticipation for her reaction. As she glided out of the darkness, however, she was immediately drawn back towards the thought of the pond. Begging to go home, she made way towards the door. The sorcerer, acting proactively, pushed the candelabra off of the table with a resounding bang. She watched on in confusion. His eyes grew larger and morphed into black, pupil less slits. A roar erupted out of his mouth, open lips showing off rows of sharp teeth and a forked tongue. The maiden backed into the door in alarm, fumbling with the knob. A ring of fire from the candle was growing around her steadily. “Those who deny me of what I want do not have a choice in the next decision,” he seethed. “I haven’t the wickedness to strip you of life, but I can take your freedom. You will live, but only with me.” Tendrils of fire licked at his boots.”

 

Venus clutched the blanket in fear.

Esior laughed.

 

The fire began to envelope her face and curl into her eyes and nose. They burned with a passion nearly equivalent to the sorcerer’s rage. His eyes bore into her very soul. Giving into her pain, the maiden sank to the ground, allowing the leaves coating her arms to drop. The fire gave her the impression of a metaphorical magic mirror- changing intensities in a swirling pattern of green and red. This trope reflected in the maiden’s eyes, her head slammed violently against the wall and the magic mirror shattered.”

 

“Why am I not allowed to look in the mirror?” Venus asked.

“Your beauty is too much for a mirror,” her husband answered. “My love for you is enough.”

 

“Neither the sorcerer or the maiden was ever seen again. Some people say they escaped to the mountains, and lived their lives in peace. Others gossip that the sorcerer took the maiden prisoner, whose memory of life before had been erased. Of course, that’s all it is- gossip. The above parties will never know the true affairs of The Maiden and The Sorcerer. It is your utmost duty, as the listener, to use this story to remember that magic exists in our very own dimension.”

 

Esior stood up and grabbed the ring of keys from the table. Blowing out the candle and shutting the door behind him, he called out through the food slot carved into the door, showing off a forked tongue.

 

“Goodnight, my little Venus fly trap. Don’t forget to water your stems before you go to bed.” The bolt lock in the door clicked.   

“Goodnight, husband.”

The moon shone onto a glass of water sitting on a wooden nightstand beside her.

Venus closed her eyes and poured it over the leaves on her arms. Delicious, as usual. The drowsiness growing behind her eyes became overpowering and she closed her eyes. Her leaves hydrated and her flower buds beginning their annual bloom, she couldn’t imagine a life without her cell. What a nice story that had been! Esior had once told her that within every form of fiction, there was some measure of fact. As she pondered over this, she felt a tugging at her mind, somewhere at the very back. Before she could figure what was bothering her, the drowsiness overtook her and she fell into a deep sleep, forever losing whatever revelation had been at the tip of her tongue.