"The Forest Virgin" by Kathleen Morgaine Haubrich

The Forest Virgin

Adorned in lace, and golden mantle she appeared, as from the dim, gray pall like falser dusk approached. A circlet of fine winter flowers was set upon her fair brow, flowing as her hair traced the steps of resonance. I watched her tread so light as she bore with her a sheath and sword, decked in ancient writings. Her hair dances as her soul might, but Nay, sorrow is upon her, and strikes her down. As amber as the glistening wood were her splendid locks, braided in threads as vivid green as the dawning wood. A shawl so simple, yet elegance bears no end to her splendor. In her eyes shown the deepest stare of innocence, striking and sure, and on her lips, the frailest eminence is seldom of heed. She quickens pace, though not from fear, for she knows well this forest well, it’s old secrets have ever been revealed. She descends to a small clearing, enclosing a spring fed pool, current deathly still. And there, the water bleeds, and strains, for what, the forest virgin knows. A graceful hand extends into the water, breaking its reputed silence. Emerges the same hand, slender and sure, to her parted lips, placing a steady finger upon her tongue, to taste the endless wrath. A curl forms upon her sweet lips as she lingers forth, watching, waiting. In this clearing, the sun cannot penetrate through the think, overgrown wood, and so the pool is blanketed, protected. I see two men approach, ill, near death, and see before them an apparition. I am among them, sure, yet I know not what of. What foul creature lurks within the charming form? I, engaged see peril anon, as the other drinks from the black pool. Without a breath, the man is dead, eyes locked in shock. The maiden’s face does twist and turn, and shames the death befallen. She coils about me, and on her breath the scent of blooming apple blossoms, dark eyes ablaze. I reach forth my hand, to catch her by the waist, but strained, I am taken aback. Our game ensues, and in sudden, the forest virgin begins to weep. Eyeing me with sorrow and sternness. In shock, I draw near, unaware of fate to turn. I see her eyes jade with envy as she stars into the obsidian pool, crushed in grief. An impulse perhaps, lead about my move, for none else would possess me so, save her clever sorcery. Into the pool my hand descends, and I am engulfed by the wicked rush of waves, smoldering my life, strangling my breath as ivy entwines a grander willow tree. As I look up to my last sight, a forest virgin’s innocence, arise?