Notes- This story was such a pain in the ass. I have no
idea if I went over broad with the imagery or not. There might be a
second part to this fic, it depends if my mind works with me.


When he first saw her, the light of the moon had bathed her in white and silver tears wet her face in sorrow.
He had been searching, through the mud and cold
screeching wind, for the animal he had stricken down by bow and arrow.
The sun had descended and night had come, darkening the path he had made
and turning the trees around him into images from a nightmare. The
Prince knew continuing on would be a fruitless endeavor and began to
turn, pushing broken branches to the side. He raised his sword, clean
and freshly sharpened, to cut a new way home. That’s when something
caught his eye.

It was a light that cut into the darkness which
surrounded him and shined against the silver of his blade. It enticed
him to stop in his actions and look, his eyes fighting against the dark
to find the source.

And there…among the trees and bushes, the leaves
and the branches, was a glow which shined on everything around it. And
with it came the sound of weeping, high and sorrowful. It streamed
through the air like the sweetest of melodies and tugged on his heart.

It compelled the Prince to move, his feet shifting
by their own accord and moved his body towards the light. He walked with
his mind only on the crying before him until he reached the arch way of
trees the light peeked through. His hands reached between them and
opened the entrance wide enough to let him through. And that’s when he
saw her.

A girl?

No.

A nymph?

Can’t be.

A goddess?

Impossible.

An angel. A wingless, weeping angel.

She sat by a spring as she cried, her body hunched
and shaking in the light of the full moon overhead. She was white—whiter
than paper or snow or ivory—with hair which draped over her shoulders
and fell in twin tails from the loose buns upon her head. Her being—in
her harrowing sobbing which could crack even the hardest of war
generals—seemed to be unreal and imaginary; something mythical to even
all the religions of the world and then some.

Endymion stared, awe-struck, at her and took a step forward.

She moved. He stopped.

She looked up. He swore he saw the stars being born in those eyes.

The girl did not stop crying when she saw him and
sniffed. Her cheeks and nose were bright red and dirty with her
overwhelming tears as they dripped down and off her chin. If one thought
her crying was terrible, then seeing her face twisted in sadness and
pain could only be described as devastating.

In some sick way, Endymion thought she was the most beautiful thing.

She opened her month, swallowing down hiccups before she spoke, “H…help…”

The plea broke Endymion out of his delusion and he
knitted his eyebrows in confusion. “Help?” He looked at her body and saw
it. The blood which cascaded down her white dress and painted her arms
red. He took another step towards her, his arm reaching out, “My Lady,
are you hurt?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No…” She sat up and turned fully towards him, allowing the Prince to see the duck she cradled in her arms.

His duck, that is.

The one he had shot down earlier, his arrow—black
with blood—portraying through the creature’s neck. Its soulless eyes
peered dimly up at the girls face as she drew her head down and cuddled
it. She shushed at it as if it were her much loved child.

“My Lady…it is dead.” He said with some discretion.

The girl’s head snapped up, tears flying from her
cheeks, and she glared at him. He backed away, as if burnt by the fire
in her eyes. “I am no fool, sir!” She yelled at him, though her voice
was still wet. She turned attention to the bird and her face fell once
more, “A dying soul still deserves to be mourned and to be helped.” She
kissed the top of the duck’s head and gently closed his eyes with her
fingers.

She stood, then, on uneasy legs and walked towards
him. A tiny, skinny thing compared to him, the girl held out the duck
towards him until he took it from her. Endymion looked at her in
question and she smiled back, “Please remove the arrow from him, sir. It
will soothe his pain in the afterlife…”

He could have bothered to say something. He could have challenged her request with a logical ‘but it’s dead. It cannot feel!’
He could have dropped the animal and walked off back into the forest,
leaving the strange, beautiful girl to his dreams and over active
imagination. Yet, he did not. Instead, he dropped to his knees and did
as he was told.

As the blood smeared against the brown of his
tunic, Endymion snapped the head of the arrow off and slid both ends out
of the animal. He threw the remains of the weapon unto the ground and
stood again just as the girl bent over and ripped the end of her white
dress off in a quick motion.

The Prince spattered at her uncovered thigh and turned his head the other way—because a lady did simply do such a thing in front of a man!—a
fresh red flushing his cheeks. The girl did seem to notice or care; her
attention focused instead on the duck, she took it back and gently
wrapped it in the torn linen.

She hugged the creature to her chest as she walked
off, her white hair flowing after her in waves. And Endymion watched
her, mesmerized, as she dipped her feet into spring and plunged her
entire lower half. Her hair and her dress floated about her waist and
swam in the silent current of the water.

He saw her lips move, her eyes looking out off
somewhere far, and speak in soft whispers that he could not understand.
She smiled, another few tears dripped down her cheeks.

Then, carefully, with a look of great compassion,
she placed the duck’s corpse into the water and slid her hands away. She
glided backwards, the entirety of her being hugged by the light of the
moon, and waved as the creature was slowly swallowed by the clear water.

Endymion stood at the foot of the spring while she
got out, peering down at the body that drifted lower and lower to the
bottom. “You are strange, my Lady.” He said with his vision still set on
the moonlit spring.

The girl looked up; her hands still ringing out the
ends of her wet hair, “Am I?” She asked curiously. Her was voice was
just like her. Sweet. Small. Innocent.

He chuckled, “Yes. Not many girls would touch a dead animal, much less mourn over it.”

“Then human girls are cruel.”

She sounded bitter and…wait…human girls?

He felt her move before he saw her, only catching a
flash of white in the corner of his eye. His brain caught up soon
after, putting her words and actions into something that made sense.
“Wa—“ He started, spinning so fast he may have lost his balance for a
moment there. The girl was already passing through the place he had
entered from and disappeared.

“Wait!” He called, following after her into the
dark forest. Or what was supposed to be the dark. However, light had
stream its way past the cluttered branches and leaves and formed a path
for the girl, who still glowed with a pure light.

He managed to cut past a few nasty branches which
tore at his cloak, wanting to pull him back and send him flying into the
unknown. He tripped over things as he tried to keep up with her,
cursing at all things that had to do with nature. The girl, on the other
hand, did not seem to have such problems as she walked along, hopping
over roots that blocked her way.

Endymion caught up with the traveling girl and, out of breath, he said “What you said did not make sense.”

“What didn’t?” she asked.

“The—ow—“ he stumbled over a root that stood off the ground, “The ‘human girl’ part.”

“What about it?”

“You—well—said it as if you were not one yourself.”

“Do I look like a human?” The girl stopped and
stared up at him, her blue eyes wide with confusion. Her head cocked to
the side and her pink lips pouted, waiting for an answer.

And what a silly question did she ask. Did she look human? Of course she did—not.

Endymion knew that the girl—who was followed by the
moonlight as if it were her lover—could not have been human. She could
not have been born upon Earth soil to a mortal mother and father. She
was too unreal. Too strange.

Too beautiful.

Yet here she stood—flesh and blood and eyes that
looked like the night sky above—asking him if she looked human. What a
thing to ask of him.

The Prince looked at the pretty girl and shook his head. “Who are you?”

A Goddess? A Nymph? An Angel?

“I am Serenity.”

And she smiled.

And he knew she was something better than anything he could have thought of.

That was beautiful!! I don't thibk you went overboard at all! That was such a perfect first meeting.

That was very pretty. ^.^