An Answer to an Old Prayer

Willow by the water.
The babbling waters of Moon River run by the edge of this grassy clearing, bubbling about happily. At the edge of the riverbank, an ancient willow tree has planted itself, its drooping branches just dipping into the water. Although it has grown at a very precarious and dangerous level, it appears to be firmly planted into the mud along the bank. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. A mature oak tree stands proudly here. Tymaer, the dire salamander looks about here with wide, intelligent eyes. A pixie hovers in the air, fluttering about on tiny wings.
You see exits leading north and south.

A gentle fog rolls in from the river, where cool waters meet warmer airs; this late spring evening is humid, and the ethereal mist curls delicate tendrils around the willow which stands sentinel over you. As the mists coalesce, two stars are larger, more luminous, almost like moons themselves as they watch you from the canopy the ancient tree offers.

The two stars - no, they are eyes - the two eyes blink before the Blessed Maiden drops from the boughs to crouch before you, Her attention curious.

At first, Elexia watches the rolling fog with open fascination. As the eyes appear however, the look of curiousity on her face turns to one of astonishment. Swiftly, she stashes both journal and quill to the ground beside herself, and rises to her feet to offer a bow to Lisaera - as low as she is able to muster. "Silver Lady, welcome!" she greets, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and wonder at the sudden appearance of the Maiden.

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Like a moonhart sapling just beginning to realise its potential, the thin sprout of a youth manifesting here exudes the unabating brightness of Lisaera, the Blessed Maiden. Possessing irises like twin moons encircled by rings of sterling lambency, Her eyes sparkle with the urgency of youthful curiosity, and they are wide - almost too wide, better suited to a predatory owl surveying the entirety of Her domain. Silver brushes Her skin with a dewiness that sparkles across Her gangling frame, appearing at times like freckles, or like moonlight splashed across a glassy lake. Dappling the backs of Her hands and centred above Her brow, leafy patterns form crescents of viridescence which emit their own faint illumination, alive with wild energy.
Embraced by a fluttering cloud of silver mooncloak butterflies, a wild tumble of midnight hair pulls away from Her face and down Her back. Two small braids frame Her cheeks, falling no further than Her jaw, their ends tied off by delicate silver clasps.
She is wearing:
a belt of silver plates slung over Her hip
a heavy sterling torc ringing Her neck with snarling wolves at Her throat
a gown of gossamer moonlight skimming the tops of Her bare feet
a braided silver band encircling Her head with lustrous beauty
a hooded, fur-trimmed cape warming Her shoulders, fastened shut by a moonglass charm
a fluttering earring of the mooncloak butterfly through Her left ear

You look at a heavy sterling torc that Lisaera is wearing:
Braided from cords of heavy sterling silver, this pale torc gleams with an enchanting glow all its own. Its surface radiates preternatural coolness, rimed between metallic folds with a veneer of frozen moonlight that frosts and fades with the turning of the sun. At either of its open ends, a pair of snarling wolf heads bristle with ferocious protectiveness, challenging one another over the hollow of the throat.

You look at a gown of gossamer moonlight that Lisaera is wearing:
Spun from the bluest of midnight skies, this ethereal gown blends into the heavens themselves. Starlight glitters over its rippling skyscape, pale and bright, minuscule haloes of iridescence surrounding each shimmering pinprick. Cutting through the lining and the folds of the skirts, shafts of moonlight cast their stark radiance throughout the garment's every fluid movement. Modest in its cut, it skims the body, flowing like water from the neckline to the draping sleeves to the lower hem that brushes the tops of the Goddess's bare feet. Whenever it catches in the wind, pale sparkles shed themselves in a trail of evanescent coruscation.

You look at a hooded, fur-trimmed cape that Lisaera is wearing:
Stitched together from softened leathers, this dark cape enfolds the shoulders in an embrace of simplicity and warmth. Though hooded, its head covering sits lowered, pooling instead between the shoulderblades in an abundance of silver-flecked fur. The same plush lining rims the bottom hem, brushing against the elbows and chest at its lowest and fullest fall. Mimicking the waxing gibbous's uneven globe, a single moonglass charm serves as the only concession to ornamentation, and it fastens the front together at the sternum. Nestled into its eyelet hook, the captured bead sheds its light in diffuse rays that radiate from within its very heart.
The mists which surround Lisaera stir, gentle and cool, a balm against the heat. It carries green scents as it lingers, redolent with spring rains, and melting snows. She nods, and even the smile on Her lips fades into solemnity as She maintains Her gaze even still. "You asked last for guidance. Perhaps you have little need of My guidance now, for there is a time meant for all things to occur, and this time may have passed. But would you, perchance, allow Me to speak all the same?"

You look at a belt of silver plates that Lisaera is wearing:
Threads of glimmering moonlight bind together this silver belt, the insubstantial but cold links forged to rest behind each gossamer-thin plate. Subtle engravings etch into the surfaces of the discs, the enchanting scenes playing out through them constantly shifting, leading the eye with a sense of almost-familiar nostalgia that loses meaning whenever it changes. Sitting loosely about the waist and hips of the Goddess, it clinks lightly with Her every step, filling the air with a chime not unlike a delicate bell.

You think to yourself: So this is Her - I've always wondered what She would be like. What She would look like. She is like the very picture of a maiden, but more... Like the ideal form of one of the maidens in the ethereal. Even though I was expecting her, I can't help but be nervous...

Lisaera's crouch straightens somewhat, so that She is kneeling instead. "Hello, little one," She greets. Her head is tilted to one side, like an owl's; Her appearance is one to have heralded Mother Moon herself, for she peeks out once more against the blanket of Night. "Once-Mine," She smiles, "but now My dear Friend's. What do you write?"

At the question, Elexia's expression brightens, and she responds eagerly, "A performance, Great One. I've written a series of poems with my interpretations of the Lady Maylea's Truths, and I am setting them to music and the glamours of the stage." The sable expanse of her butterfly wings is reminiscient of a starless night sky, but now yellow streaks through it like a lightning bolt. The colour carries with it a mixture of anxiety and joy alike.

You think to yourself: I didn't think She'd be cross at my departure from the Lisae - After all, She is very close to My Lady, as She Herself has said - but it is still relieving to see She is not.

Sonea arrives from the north.

Elexia flashes Sonea a warm smile and a dip of her head. She chimes, "Hello, Rootweir!"

Sonea backtracks through the area again, drawn by - yes that's definitely not a normal person! "Uh, hello," she replies uncertainly.

Lisaera's fingers toy with the hilt of the athame Na'reaim as She listens, Her own eyes unblinkingly rapt. "Ah," still smiles She as She watches you through the thickening mists, "a worthy toil indeed." Her smile fades somewhat into thoughtfulness, and She turns Her attention - still unblinking - onto Sonea. "Hello, little one."

Rootweir Sonea says, "Yes hello."

Lisaera's too-big eyes skip from you to Sonea, and then back again. Her head remains tilted, Her avian curiosity unsated. "Am I interrupting? Or would you care to join Us, child of Seralem?"

You think to yourself: Her gaze is very intense! As fitting of a Great One. My own Dear Lady has a way of looking at people that pierces the very soul, but the Silver Lady's... It feels so powerful.

Sonea coughs softly.

Rootweir Sonea says, "No - sorry. Uh! I was just, staring."

Sonea backs away slowly as though to take her leave.

Lisaera laughs, the sound like rays of moonlight - glinting and sharp, and bright, and clear.

Still laughing, Lisaera, the Silver Goddess says to Sonea, "We shall talk soon, then, should you wish it, little one."

Elexia folds her hands in front of herself as she chimes, "Thank you for your kind words, Lady Lisaera - I hope to express my appreciation for my Dear Lady through it." She casts a warm smile at Sonea, dipping her head again to her. "Go well, Sower of seeds!"

Sonea looks a little mortified, offering a quick nod before she beats a hasty retreat. "Sorry for interrupting!" she calls over her shoulder as she goes.

Sonea leaves to the south.

Lisaera's laughter fades, though the wolfish quirk of Her lips lingers still. "I wished to tell you," She says to you finally, Her attention once more fully upon you, "that I have heard your prayers. Each one."

Elexia's smile grows softer, and a wave of warm green spreads across the thin filaments of her wings. "It is an honour to hear that, Lady Lisaera," she says sincerely, bowing her head once more. "I had regretted that I had not been able to meet you face-to-face like this before I left Your Lisae. But hearing that You heard the prayers... It puts my heart at ease."

The mists which surround Lisaera stir, gentle and cool, a balm against the heat. It carries green scents as it lingers, redolent with spring rains, and melting snows. She nods, and even the smile on Her lips fades into solemnity as She maintains Her gaze even still. "You asked last for guidance. Perhaps you have little need of My guidance now, for there is a time meant for all things to occur, and this time may have passed. But would you, perchance, allow Me to speak all the same?"

"It would be my pleasure and honour both to hear Your words, Great One," Elexia chimes in reply as she bobs her head in response. For a second, her violet eyes close and she inhales the scent of the spring. Then, her violet eyes open and dare to look at Lisaera's face, her own expression wide and open. Her hands fold politely behind her back.

"You live by My Truth even now." Lisaera's smile is gentler than before, softening the weight of Her too-big eyes which remain entirely focused upon you. "Change is everything. You have transformed, daughter of My Daughter, blessed of My Friend. Truly, you seem to Me to blossom."

"Another masterful work, Maylea," Lisaera says softly to Herself, nodding once. And then She rises gracefully to Her bare feet, the movement fluid and smooth, a pale phantom of a Goddess before you. Directly to the faeling, She says, "I do hope you will not be as a stranger to Me. For although you are of My Friend's colours, you are still a child of Seralem. You are still of My Sister's Forest."

You think to yourself: Her words... They remind me of my own conclusion, that I reached so long ago now. A masterful work... It is an honour to be called such. I owe much to my Dearest Lady. And, to the Lady Lisaera as well, for by following one path, I found another.

Recognition flits across Elexia's face at Lisaera's words, and one of her hands frees itself from its peer behind her back to rest over her heart. Her violet eyes look aside as she says, "Your guidance, Great One, is very much appreciated. It is something I thought of mysef, when I felt the tug of my soul towards the Bloom of Serenity. Your words honour me - I count myself blessed to have had such care from my Dearest Lady Maylea." Then, her eyes look back to Lisaera's face as she continues, "I will ever-be part of this Wood - Your Sister's Wood, and would never consider You to be a stranger, Great One. I am overjoyed to see You walking amongst us again."

The mists swell and thicken further still about Lisaera's gangling frame. "I will remember your words, then, daughter of Maylea. Keep them well." She turns to touch the bark of the ancient willow tree with the flat of Her palm, and to it She whispers something tender, as though to a friend, or to a dear child. And then Her brow touches trunk, and like a dryad Herself, She blends in, fading from view.

Elexia folds her hands over her heart, and addresses the air about her, "I will, Great One!" She stands staring at the place she last saw the Goddess, and then releases a breath.

The mists are slower to fade, but recede they do, dewing upon the willow tree's leaves, upon the grass, and upon the tips of your wings as well as the silver haze clears.

Lisaera, the Silver Goddess has bestowed Her divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 10 months.

You think to yourself: That was incredible.