Stepping slowly through a path of wildflowers, Faythe emerges into the quiet clearing. She looks around slowly, as seems now her habit whenever she visits this place. Eventually, she begins to wander down to the center to the the master shrine of Maylea that
dominates the very area. Her fingers brush against the trunks of the trees as she passes them, one by one.

Faythe comes to a gradual halt before the master shrine of Maylea, and she tips her head back to gaze up its length once more.

Faythe moves ever closer, gently lifting one hand and pressing it, palm flat against the standing stone. Then, she moves her hand down, crouching as she does so, to brush her fingers against a single golden peach that sits at the base of the master shrine of Maylea. She closes her eyes briefly, exhaling on a soft sigh.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Little one. You are interested in My peach?"

Startled nearly out of her own skin, Faythe's eyes snap open as she jerks her hand away from the peach as though burned. In her haste, she falls backward, tripping on her overly large cloak and falling onto the grass with a THUMP.

You gasp, "L- Lady Maylea?"

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Hello, My dear. What brings you to My fulcrux?"

Faythe stares forward at the master shrine of Maylea, grasping for an answer - any answer. "My - my feet?" she blurts out, and then flushes instantly. "No - I mean - I mean, I came here to visit. To look."

"What do you look at, little one?"

Faythe brings herself to her feet, dusting summery kimono robes flowering with apple blossoms off carefully as she uses the moment to try and recover her composure. "Just..." she looks around slowly. "Your fulcrux. The trees, the flowers. The sky. Then the shrine and... " She glances down at the peach at the base of the standing stone. "The... singing peach..." Suddenly, her embarrassment forgotten, she demands of the master shrine of Maylea, "How can a peach sing?"

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Little one, do you know the circumstances by which I returned to the First World last?"

Faythe pauses at the question. "I... not entirely, no. I remember something about You emerging from... " She glances down at the peach again, frowning. "I do not remember - I have slept for so long until these past two years."

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "I fought a half-formed, and so injured, I landed in the Serenwilde forest, and My essence melded with the land. By the efforts of your communemates, I became a bloom, and I became a fruit. A peach, they tell Me, that sang. I am who I was long ago, and at the same time I am new. I changed, by the colours of My experiences."

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "You are a bloom. What fruit will you bear?"

Comprehension flashes across your face.

Half to herself, you say, "The Way of the Blossom..."

Faythe looks down at the peach again.

You look thoughtful and say, "What was it like, being a fruit?"

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "What is it like for you to dream, and to barely open your eyes from the dreaming? To stretch and unfurl yourself, finding that your existence takes space in the world, that your movements have meaning? That all you see is bright and vivid and beautiful? I emerged thus."

Faythe stirs as she listens to Maylea's words, an expression of strange recognition flitting across her features. She stares at the standing stone before her, hands fisted in the skirts of summery kimono robes flowering with apple blossoms.

You whisper, "To stretch and unfurl yourself, finding that your existence... takes space in the world, and that your movements have meaning..."

You whisper, "...and that all you see is bright and vivid and beautiful..." Faythe closes her eyes briefly. Opening her eyes again, you say, "...right now, I am a peach. Perhaps someday, I shall be a plum."

Soft laughter peals across the meadow, like the ringing of chimes, like the fluttering of blossoms.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "You are who you are, little one. And each step you take, you paint your colours upon the world, for yourself and others to see. What fruit you bear depends on what you do."

Faythe clasps her hands together, releasing the fabric of summery kimono robes flowering with apple blossoms. "But what if I cannot decide, and I simply must be all at once? Would I then be a fruit salad?" She smiles mischievously at the the master shrine of Maylea, her tone impish, but utterly without disrespect or guile.

Laughter rings out across the meadow once more.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "What a bowl of colours you would be."

Faythe lifts her arms wide, impulsively, and she twirls in a brief circle, as though embracing the clearing and the laughter that rings throughout it. "The most beautiful colors, every single one!"

And it was as if there were colours in the air where you twirled.  Colours, every single one, even ones that have no name.

Faythe laughs breathlessly, olive-green eyes going wide as she slows gradually. Her gaze shining, she lifts a hand, as though to try and touch the motes of glittering colors.

The vision passes, and the colours you saw fade from view. There is only the meadow, covered overhead by the young beeches that droop, and the bluebells beneath your feet that sway, their blossoms open.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "You are full of possibilities, little one. They are within you."

As the world returns to normal, Faythe's eyes still shine, but she lowers her hands. "The form follows the spirit," she sighs softly.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Yes."

A soft breeze blows past you, ruffling your hair. Its fragrance is wild and tart.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

Softly, you say, "Lady Maylea..."

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Yes, little one?"

Color rises in Faythe's cheeks as she turns her gaze away, up to the sky, studying it through the canopy of the trees. "Did You hear my song?"

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "You sang, a shard of Elfenehoala, echoing another shard of Her from the brief past. The ancient past for you: Ellindel, you name her. That song, which rose through the forest?"

Opening your mouth wide, you gape in wonder at the master shrine of Maylea.

You say, "Well no - not that song but - were You at the play?"

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "I was present, yes."

Flushing dark pink, Faythe says, "I did not see You. I did not know You were there... I am glad You were but - no, that is not the song, I am... referring to."

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Tell Me."

Faythe's gaze trails over to the velvet peach at the base of the standing stone. Her cheeks flush redder. "...I ah... came here. A few months ago... and Lief was with me..." She clears her throat. "And I... wrote a song for... for myself. For my loved ones... and for You. And I came here and... and sang it... to the shrine."

Faythe flutters a hand towards the master shrine of Maylea.

Faintly, you say, "As my declaration for Marythen. Lief said... she thought You might hear it."

Golden light shimmers across the forest grove as the velvet peach at the base of the stone sings a melody without words.

Petals arise from about the meadow, drifting upon the air as if in echo:  strains of melody that grow in strength.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "My attention was not here when you sang, little one. But the trees, the blooms, the leaves remember, it seems."

Eyes growing wide again, Faythe turns slowly as the song filters into her hearing, quietly staring.

The petals swirl.  The leaves rustle.  "Alone together ... We are alone, but together." The golden peach repeats its wordless refrain in harmony.

Faythe presses her hands to her cheeks. "Yes..." she says faintly. "Though I will confess it had some revision after... after I sang it to the clearing."

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Your song will change, as will your colours, as you walk. You have come to conviction of your path, of who you are, My dear?"

Lowering her hands, Faythe turns her gaze down to stare at the grass for a long moment. Then, softly, she nods, lifting her gaze to study the master shrine of Maylea. "My path... where ever it may wend... I have set my foot down at the crossroads, where the paths do split and I... I have embarked down the unknown... but I am not turning back."

You say, "I may glance to see how far I have gone, but the path will continue onwards ahead."

You feel the cool touch as of fingers on your cheek, and the air shimmers, as if a path unfurls before you.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Then you will be Marythen, My dear. My Mayflowers have written a ritual to mark the transition. Perhaps you have already seen it. My Lief knows it, and how to hold it."

Closing her eyes briefly at the gentle touch, Faythe opens her eyes again, focused on the shimmering image that flickers so briefly. "I do, Lady Maylea. I have read of it in the library of the temple," she replies softly.

The air swirls with prismatic colour as a soft, insightful voice says, "Plan a time for the ritual, My dear. And My Lief, or Myself, will welcome you at its completion."

You smile impishly and say, "I think Lief will fairly explode in her joy."

Golden light shimmers across the forest grove as the velvet peach at the base of the stone sings a melody without words.

Faythe looks down at the golden peach again.

Suddenly, you say, "If the form follows the spirit, Lady Maylea... does that mean you were feeling... just peachy the day You returned to us?"

Laughter resounds across the meadow once more. "Sometimes, little one, a peach is just a peach." The bluebells sway, shimmering, and you sense the presence that had been with you here has faded.

Faythe grins to herself suddenly, and then whirls in a circle again. She pauses, bending down to touch a golden peach gingerly a final time, before darting away to the exiting path.