elise
There are whispers in the wood. Of a girl who speaks with foxes, laughs with the ravens, and skips through faerie circles without a care in the world.
Seven years ago, my best friend disappeared. They say she was kidnapped and killed - they found her body on the banks of that stream. I didn’t believe them, and I still don’t. They never let anyone see her body, and My Elise isn’t dead. Not my Elise, who played along those banks, kicking up the water of the shallows.
When you go to see the fae, bring an offering.
Everyone knows you can’t stray too far into the forest, not on your own. If you’ve found that stream, it’s time to turn back.
Those faeries delight in tricking unsuspecting travellers, but a fresh strawberry or the tab from a soda can keeps them at bay. They’re always gone by the time you return. On the quieter nights, I’ll swear I hear them playing the drums on bottle tops.
Never leave the stone paths if you want to stay alive.
They say that the forest is ever changing. The bushes are forever moving, the trees growing new limbs and walking away. Once you wander away, there’s no way of finding the path again, and you’re lost to the world. And if by some chance, you do return, you’re never quire the same.
Elise just laughs when I tell her that.
If you’re foolish enough to find the fae, walk away. Pray they didn’t notice you. If luck favours you, you might live.
She doesn’t speak, but I know her eyes. Those are her eyes, and her delicate uncalloused hands, I know it.
Everything is so vivid when she is around. Colour bleeds into my life again, and I can feel the sign of trees. The fluttering of the wings of the butterflies, and the lap of the water from the stream, currents whispering of wonders hiding below the waves.
Do not follow them to the land of the fae. Once you enter, you cannot leave.
Fears and old wives tales translate into untruths. I know you can return from the land of the fae, my beautiful, brilliant love has done it.
She dances ever so gracefully in the moonlight, to the song of the forest. I can hear it now, the closer I grow to her. I can feel the beat of the forest under her skin, and on my best days, I feel it too. Crawling under my skin, flooding my mind. It is the beckoning, the call of the wild. The urge to strip free of my humanity, and join my love under the forgiving moon, who heals all she touches.
Strip back, and be healed.
The ground is cold, and my shovel ineffective, but the night is young. I feel the cries of the earth with my every cut, I feel the disturbance of the worms. The changeling they sent in place of my Elise lies under this ground, and I need to find it.
My Elise waits for me in the forest. They didn’t bury it in the churchyard. They couldn’t bury a changeling on holy ground, so I work long into the day, arms never relenting, grip never faltering. I have never felt better. The outside is my home. I don’t want to go back.
They buried her in a simple pine box, and it is nightfall again by the time I uncover it. That beautiful, foul creature, sent to replace my Elise.
But that creature in the coffin, she has no eyes. Her hands are gone, cut at the wrist. It sawed through clean bone, where the sleeves of a dress of green moss would cover the scars. But in her mouth, there it is. The remains of the changeling tongue.
My Elise was a fighter until the end. I am proud of my Elise.
Strip. Heal.
I feel the leaves swirl around me. If I stopped to look, they’d be mesmerising, a beautiful cascade of autumnal decay. The owls talk to me, whispering their wise words.
The leaves crunch underfoot as I leave the stony protection. I left tiny shards of coloured glass today; I know they’ll look the other way.
It turns around, face coloured with a rosy surprise, as if it hasn’t known all this time that I was coming. Elise’s eyes are full of her forged innocence, but I see the warning underneath. It is not the hearts of the trees that I hear; it is the beating of the drums. They beckon me closer, calling forth my hesitant confidence. I do not trust myself, but I trust her. I trust my Elise.
Her hands are as uncalloused as the day Elise left.
It laughs with its mouth closed. It’s a beautiful, melodic laugh, and I can’t help but question whether this is the right thing to be doing. It is a living creature, as real as I am, or the trees around me and the stream that threatens to pull me under. My Elise’s hand touches my arm, and I react, bringing the awaited end to her fight. The iron dagger from behind my back is buried up to its hilt in its heart, and it stops, staring at me.
I have never seen fear in my Elise’s eyes. This fear is not hers. She was brave and she was wild. She would dance with the stars, and make me forget my own name.
It gargles, reaching out for me.
I step backwards. The forest closes in on me, and I feel the shadows grow darker, the trees growing taller. The bushes grow thorns, and the animals bristle. One of theirs is dead.
I carry Elise’s eyes and hands back with me. It is all the forest will let me take, and I will not be allowed back.
The moon is high in the sky, when the last of the soil covers my Elise’s grave. This is not the death she would have wanted, but at last, it is her death. The air around me is cold, as freezing as the icy depths of the river. Would they bury me next to her, if only I jumped in?
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