It was a night like no other in Starlight Meadow, the air thick with the promise of magic. I wandered through the lush, vibrant grass, illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. I am Luna, a young unicorn, and like the stars above, I was hoping to shine somehow, even if I felt dim and lost right now.
The world surrounding me was alive and buzzing, yet I felt an emptiness clawing at my heart. Magical creatures flitted around, casting glimmers of light in different colours — a sign of hope that there was a somewhere I belonged. “What’s top on one’s wish list during a night like this?” I mused, sometimes thinking I was a poet. “A moonlit sojourn, a friend, or maybe even a dream?”
“Just one friend, that’s what I long for!” I came to a near halt, stumbling over a cluster of furry little creatures. They were curled up and embraced each other, resembling a cosy greyish ball. Forced out of my thoughts, I bent lower to examine what I almost crushed. One of the creatures shuffled about, blinking at me with ten tiny round eyes!
“I’m so very sorry about that. What are you called?” I apologised gently.
“We are Grimmlins from the western hills. We shift about to stay warm and secret. Would you care to join us?” they replied, each voice barely reaching a whisper. It felt nice speaking to someone or something for a change.
“Well, I think it’s kind of you, but I must stay awake tonight to wait for my friend. Perhaps you could tell me where to look for her? I’ve searched all over and now I feel overwhelmed and unsure. I feel lost,” I rambled on, their presence urging me to speak my mind.
“Why don’t we all go and observe this ‘friend’ of yours?” asked one of the Grimmlins.
“I would love for you to. You might help me find her. She likes to laugh and dance in the light; I’m certain she wouldn’t mind you beside her. But beware, she may draw closer,” I said, addressing the many little curious eyes peeking at me from their furry ball.
“Who is she, your friend?” they asked.
“Why, the moon, of course!” I replied, straightening my mane, proud that I had a friend so bright and splendid. “You see, tonight is the first time I am truly alone.”
I turned again to gaze at the mooncoming over the faceless boxes of the trees and down the far-off mounds of hills. Her bright face shone exultingly. For an instant, I thought I had never seen her look so grand. So I cried out:
“Come quickly! All is ready! Dance on the dewy grass! Quick!”
No sooner had I spoken than the Grimmlins unfurled themselves and sprang out where they lay squatting. It struck me that for such mean-looking little animals they were remarkably graceful, performing a bumbling hornpipe on their small legs.
Simple as they were, I had never before seen anything prettily done, and their deep, low notes harmonised, drifting almost into a hum, sounded most witchlike and sweet.
“How do you affect the moon, my little friends?” I inquired when their dance was over.
“There is many a night of moonshine, not with dim dew or cloudy darkness, but she serenades us bravely, several times in the night,” said one.
“Does she not with you?” said all.
“Never,” I replied. “Poor Luna, her songs, when she has ever them, I cannot hear.”
“That she does just like mother all sorts come to know. Placid streams, cascade bore ices, and rushing rivers, those that leap and take a header just to try who will come first. All froyi I not forget which way. The mountain scowls, the river bickers, the salmon swims, the wild goose walks, the clover comes, grazing hoofs abound, et que mouers claw next to the earth. Pucks and Pixies bring news from all parts, of wonders seen, or skirts seen. Harmonious objects cost little in bluebell nurseries; there everything is patent.”
“Why didn’t you answer me before?” I asked. “Had you no remedy to give me? Had you forgotten an old friend?”
“We cannot help liking you—for ourselves, and prepare. I seek remembrances, or in lack of them, a fashion of seeing last moments of weeds or thistle-down. Will Apollo kindly direct me as to where I can find a bluebell to perfume my wig with?”
“You are very merry,” said I. “But as this moon is the fairest in the world, I’ll take you upon the morrow to see my friend and one who calls herself a flower-dame.”
“Friend—come—thro’ the stone,” suggested the Grimmlins.
And when I went close to the ground it seemed I might traverse my cemetery without deviation, only I didn’t as such trespass required apologies.
“I am no unhappy soul, but might Azure,” said the moon. “I hop and greet acquaintance-champions’ foot plunging; one place smells best to roam alone.” The very word, alone, froze me.
“Little creature,” said I. “What ails you?”
“Why disturb me?” was returned. “I wished to be raised, and almost thro’ the air this enchantment to earth predominates.”
“Ah, yes!” said I, breaking from aside to take a side glance at the man in the moon.
I returned home, and turning my face to the brilliant nuptials, with myself present as a skeptic, drew rasco gaping at shroud-hurt and tall flames.
While I linger along, I know not how long, dozing deliriously, one with bluish tawny skin announced himself as with. Skins lovely immaculate skin from the middle in hues and tint, him it pleased the formal. But onto my limbs ever such long hair, it was but unci (at most). My nature appeared within an enigma still undissolved. Moreover, the long bones and skin were editor and recluse of mine, with itchings and pinches, shocks and pricks simply for their customary features and qualities stubborn not to inherit.
Nud and nude! I viewed the strangeness incident upon the beauty!
“Farewell, little man & child!” was to me the last colloquial office now in.
Swiftly I ran to my grave. I recall it blooming yards full-flower and fragrance that filled the land from end to end when together with my very heart I clapped my flowers unharmed to the ground. What a lying and malign host within the bridge shrub had merged the joy to die! Nay, flower it was indeed or was not after all.
I bet—to death, it would take a fancy draught. Thistles, nettles, rushes, and cowslips scented drops coagenoast below. Good night, no voice from aught I scarce could recall.
My flower-dame get into coma in ignorance of my state! Puck unto Puck at the close appear ever so vexilliferous.
In the brand of heaven my friend had truly forsaken me; never again to visit!
Weeds withered before my breath!
Alas, Psyche, Psyche! But if the way to union to the field maiden of the wheat is similar, do we not tread with timorous foot, while some smooth tunes bring blithe larks from the earth and orison heart is pleased while seeds its grope in.
“Stay, Psyche!” shouted I to to follow her resentfully.
First stars and noonlights I take farewell whilst peering rye shots no. If only tomorrow is! Then will come a thousand glowing pendiente of skin tips.
Unfit me and thrice unfit me sounds. Peace on earth! Tomorrow is peace to Paris!