Under the Influence of Magic
This is a narrative I wrote for AP English. (c) L.N. Freeman (Kasai)
Under the Influence of Magic
A woman as beautiful as the night herself, with the shimmer of stars in her eyes, was approached by another woman, with the waves of water in her eyes. The woman with waves propositioned the starry eyed faerie to join the faeries of the Harlem Renaissance, the sky of her land. Nikhaya adamantly refused the offer to relish in the wonders of singing and writing that the many ebony colored figures of her community seemed to enjoy. Her only reasoning was that of which of something, she could only change in herself—her inability to grow the faerie wings that would lift her above the insipid plains of her life because of the fear that dwelled within her heart.
The woman of waves smiled and nodded her head in return. Slowly extending her feather like hand to Nikhaya, the woman with the radiance of a night star in her eyes, she began to sing a song of seagulls and waves crashing against the shore. The melody whispered through the body of Nikhaya and lifted her off of the ground through the air. She felt as if the nothing could touch her, as is if only she could hear the wonderful music emitted from this creature. Closing her eyes, the wave maiden was there in her vision! The ocean faerie beckoned her forth with that haunting melody that spoke to the heart of Nikhaya. Floating forward she stopped only a few feet away from Barinthia, the faerie with waves in her eyes. Nikhaya gave a questioning look as to why she was seeing this faerie in her mind! However, Barinthia gave no other answer but the direction of the finger she now raised. Her finger was pointing to something at—or was in Nikhaya?
Instantly Nikhaya fell to the ground with a resounding thump. When she opened her eyes Barinthia was no where to be found. Standing, she lightly brushed the earth from her humble clothing and turned around. Still, the strange faerie that smelt of the ocean was gone from her vision.
With a sensual shrug she made her way towards her little cabin that sat upon one of the many hills of her land. Entering the small home she was greeted by another faerie—one with the rage of fire in his red eyes. He gave a small chuckle to himself, his midnight black chest rising. Nikahaya stood by the door, unsure if she should she run. She felt something towards this faerie, a sort of warm feeling in her gut. Then slowly, he raised his finger and beckoned her forth. She could do nothing but make her way towards him and stare in to the fiery pits of his eyes. Stopping only a short distance away from him, heat consumed her body. Flapping around as if she were on fire she closed her eyes abruptly and the intolerable heat vanished. Instead she only saw the face of the strange fire faerie and his raised hand, finger pointing towards her.
He spoke in a slight whisper, his voice sharp daggers of heat against her skin. “You are the one who knows the truth. You hear only what you wish. You feel only what you wish. You know only what you wish.” Nikhaya backed slowly at his words, but stopped after the second step. Looking down she took notice of her surroundings. She was still in her cabin! With that thought she opened her eyes again. Looking around, Rhys, the faerie of flames was no where to be seen. Nevertheless, a burning smoking present was left behind for her. Scorched into her small dinner table were eight words. Your soul will recognize only what you want.
Shaking she exited the cabin and slowly but steadily walked towards a nearby stream. Sitting down around the edge she let a small tear descend down her cheek. Her thoughts were muddled pieces of the night. First was the abrupt question from Barinthia. Would she finally grow her wings and fly among the many faeries of the Harlem Renaissance?
And there was Rhys, the ever scary faerie of fire. He came and left so swiftly that she was unsure of his purpose. Then the scorched words flared through her mind. What exactly did he mean?!
Leaning over the water her tear dropped into the shimmering stream as in slow motion. After the ripples vanished, she saw herself clearly for the first time in what seemed like years. Her eyes shown as bright as the moon, a resplendent color of white. With a smile, she lightly touched her heart and watched as her reflection repeated the delicate action. Feeling the slight pounding of her blood, she instantly realized what her fear was. She was afraid of becoming what she already was—a faerie of never ceasing luster. With that acceptance her wings burst forth from her pitch dark body and shown with a glow of her soul. She flew into the sky, and with the brightness of her wings wrote into the air, I will create magic! And whether that magic will be in song or words written down, only her soul will know.