6 The next morning, she went back to the clearing by the hut. She sat a decent distance away from the opening of the den. All she had brought was a simple lunch and a journal. The journal was an ancient, yellowed thing that felt like it was almost as old as time itself. She carefully cracked the book open before beginning in a steady, clear voice. She spent the whole day reading the journal, until her voice was raspy and hoarse. She only paused to eat lunch, leaving a bit of food next to the opening of the den for the fox. The journal told the story of a knight from the Fae court, a beautiful selkie, and a forbidden, cursed love. It told of how they met one night when the curious knight ventured to a stream (something from which court-level Fae were forbidden) and saw the beautiful selkie sunbathing on the beach. It told of their tentative friendship, of their whirlwind romance, of the stolen kisses and empty promises. Finally, it told of the curse that had befallen their love, and that a messenger of the Fae court had seen the two and reported to the Fae Queen. The Fae Queen, smile full of deceit, had called them before the court to give them a blessing. They would be allowed to be together in exchange for their immortality—they could be together in this lifetime and any others that may follow. But, as all Fae blessings have, there was a hidden curse to this choice, one they did not realize at first. Each time they were reincarnated, one of them lost all their memories of their past lives. Though it alternated between the two of them regularly, each time they started their new lives, one of the two was doomed to wander the world, in hopes of finding the other. Once they found each other, they could get the other to remember their past lives, but sometimes they weren’t as lucky and thus they spent their whole life in that lifetime looking for each other. Their only solace was a magical journal they both shared, tied to whoever had the memories that cycle. Through it, they chronicled their journeys, their love, and their hardships. As night began to fall, Ophelia got up off of the ground, dusted her dress off, secured her cloak tightly, and returned to the tavern. As she ordered some broth to soothe her sore throat, she heard the group of men from the night before jeering at her—mocking her for returning empty-handed. She steadfastly ignored them, choosing to make small talk with the innkeeper whenever he was near. From him, she discovered that most suitors gave up on day one or two of the trial, and that he didn’t expect her to make it past day one. As she retired for the night, she felt the determination burn in her soul. More and more she was becoming certain that this was her Willow, but regardless, she would complete this trial—if only to prove to the people of this village that she could. The next day she went back to the clearing, settling a little closer to the den, and began to read again. She read of the adventures of the Fae knight and the selkie, of their heartbreak and centuries upon centuries of falling in love. Each story was as unique as the two who were experiencing it. As she read, she saw the fox out of the corner of her eye. She sat as still as possible and did not react. All day long she read and read, and the fox sat outside the opening to its den. At lunch, she made careful, slow movements, ate her food, and left some as near to the fox as she dared. The fox was quick to dart over to get it, before settling back down to eat—nearer to Ophelia than it previously had been. After lunch she continued to read, until her voice went hoarse yet again and dusk began
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy NzkyNTY=