Under the willow by the lake, our clandestine rendezvous. Where wisterias blooms wrapped us in unearthly perfumes, we dallied and danced and sang. Hidden, we expressed our love.
She dressed in the manner of all her kind: green blouse; violet leggings; small, silver tiara; her wings as always remained uncovered. Being male, I was attired in my usual cobweb cape and little else; males had no wings to worry about. We were, of course, faerie folk and this is the tale of our love. My name is Tristan and hers Tristania.
We were meant for each other, always had been, always would be. From the first day we met, the day they made us from the very same rose petals, and ever after to the time we would diminish, we were destined to be one. Our home in the woods was to be our home forever. Yet the world beyond the willow, the last tree on the edge of our abode, remained an unknown source of wonderment. Or rather, it was unknown, but no longer. We would stay hidden no more.
To Be Continued…