The body of a goddess
Curved and soft, fertile and enticing
The mind of a conqueror,
Sharp and determined and precise.
Let us not forget, God has a sense of humor,
So he made her mischievous, adventurous, and unconventional,
Piquing the interest of some and the ire of others.
With his finishing touch, he pulled magic from an ancient forest,
From the realm of the Fey, the mythical creatures of legend.
With this charm, she surpassed ethereal,
Became an enigma in a sea of what is expected
For he gave her the ability to cast spells
On the unsuspecting hearts of men.
Yes, God is an artist
And you are his masterpiece.
I can’t breathe. My eyes fill with tears from an emotion I cannot describe. There is more to the letter, but I keep going back to the poem that is so beautifully written, so generous in its compliments, so kind and thoughtful. I simply cannot connect it to the arrogant man that pushed my anger to heights I did not know I possessed. To force me outside of everything I know is right and proper, then leaving me sleepless with worry and shame and fear, surely this is not the same man. It does not seem possible.
With another deep breath, I finish the letter.
Your gift is from my family’s library. It was a favorite book of mine from when I was a boy. The illustrations both inspired me and terrified me, as some of the creatures are kind and some are most assuredly not. But there was always one that I considered my favorite, for she was the most magnificent of them all. You will find her on page 27. She reminds me of you and is the reason I knew the meaning of your lovely name.
Until we meet again.
Fondly,
Lord Alasdair Stewart
I glance up at Beatrice. “Are you alright, dear? Is it the man from last night?” she asks softly.
All I can do is nod.
My hands tremble as I untie the string and remove the soft piece of fabric enveloping this mysterious gift. When I pull it away, I find the most beautiful book I think I have ever seen. It has a dark brown leather cover that is embossed with intricate designs of vines, leaves, and flowers surrounding an oval centered on the front. Inside the oval, outlined with a decorative gold leaf border, the leather is smooth and painted with the scene of a forest. I trace my fingertip along the raised letters of its title, also accented in gold leaf,The Legend of the Forest Realm – Faeries, Pixies, Elves, Trolls, and the Like. The cover of this book is like a work of art itself. To even possess such a thing speaks of the wealth that resides in his library alone.
Upon opening the book, I find little embellishments of leaves, flowers, or what look like little flying creatures on every page of text. There is page after page of illustrated scenes from an enchanted forest that only the most creative mind could imagine. Each one is framed in the same decorative gold leaf design as the cover. These images are so defined, every leaf and branch and pebble looks as if you could pull it off the page. But the creatures are so fantastic and realistic, I can truly imagine they are real. Some are in full color and others are the simple black lines of pen and ink, both equally enchanting with personalities emanating from each page. It is no wonder this book captured the mind of a young boy.
Looking down at the bottom of the page, I see the number is 26. Recalling his letter, I know I will find his favorite creature when I turn to page 27, and the thought invites back the insistent butterflies to form in my stomach again.
My breath hitches as the image appears before me. Of all the drawings I’ve seen in this book, this is truly the most spectacular. It is a faerie walking through the forest, down a path lined with fern, thick and pillowing under the trees. She is tall and beautiful, her long hair flowing gracefully down her back and around her magnificent wings. I feel the heat of embarrassment come over me as my eyes follow the lines of her naked body. His words flash through my mind:She reminds me of you. I try to hide an envious smile. If only I were as lovely as this mythical being. I imagine her as free and unrestrained by the rules of society and all that is right and wrong, using her mind and her wit to outsmart the other creatures featured in the mesmerizing tome, to survive in a wilderness filled with wonderment and danger.
My finger comes down to touch her and follow the graceful lines of her form. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear myself speak to her.I wish you were real. I have so many questions.But that is silly and just the lingering imagination of the girl I used to be, running through the forest, daring the animals and creatures to show themselves and prove they are real. As my finger continues to trace the details of the illustration, I reach the bottom and that is where I find the small script that gives this fantasy rendition a name.Ella, the Faerie Maiden. I cannot stop the joyful smile that spreads across my face as a sense of pride comes over me. Somehow, she has given me a sense of strength and confidence I did not know I possess.
The sudden knock at my door startles us both as my mother swings it open and enters with all the drama of a stage performer. “Ella, darling! I have received a letter from Lord Alasdair Stewart. He has apparently shown great interest in you. Lord Stewart’s father is the Earl of Galloway in Scotland, and he is the sole heir to the title—averysubstantial one.” Her excitement is the antithesis of the dreadful knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “Your father was just telling me about the long conversation they had last night at the ball. You caught Lord Stewart’s eye the moment he arrived, and when he found out your father is the Duke of SomersetandAdmiral of the Fleet, he sought him out immediately to make his interests known. He’s a captain, you see. Your father says he is very well-respected and will most assuredly be promoted to admiral one day.” The pitch of her voice has risen as she rambles on about the man I could not take my eyes off of while he pleasured himself with another woman. Heat flushes through me as I remember wishing it were me he touched in such ways. Then, a cold fear washes over me knowing that same man talked with my father. My sweet father would be so ashamed if he knew the truth behind that scoundrel’s intentions.
Mother is still going on, her voice ringing in my ears though I have no idea what she is saying. Finally, she stops. “What is wrong with you, Ella? You look ill. Are you coming down with something?”