Magnum Opus Of The Night

• Saredo Miguil , Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

It is said that miracles are born between the time the sun sets and the moon rises, that in those moments of great change, legends are made, magic rains from the sky and seeps into the darkened land and trees. And on the nights when the moon is full, when the air is still, when the trees rustle and whisper excitedly to each other, the forest swells with mystic sounds. Voices like that of a siren, calming, volatile. A beacon of hope for the lost. Wanderers of the night follow the sound like a compass.

It is also said that the moon is the guardian of the night, a paladin adorned in a pearlescent armour. Faithfully watching over the creatures of the dark. The moon is a constant presence, casting light on all that seek vision, illuminating paths, brightening up the dark forest. Cloaking the trees in an ethereal glow. To those that lay eyes on it, the trees appear to have souls, small and weak. That seep out when the sun sets and entices late travellers. The foliage is thick and the wandered push through it. Young wanderers of the night stumble upon this Arcadia, gasp in shock and rub their eyes in disbelief. Enchanted by the beauty they admire the forest, eyes curious and hungry, burning gazes that orbit the delicate coppice and keep their distance out of fear of tainting the mystical land.

Inside the forest is a girl, translucent and other worldly, she could be a sprite, a nymph or simply a trick of the light but she moves soundlessly, her silver dress fluttering behind her. She glides onto the lake resting in the middle of the forest. Crouching down and brushing her delicate fingers across the surface, her touch doesn't seem to cause ripples; instead her fingertips rest on the water, flickering in and out of view. The girl delves her fingers deeper into the water, her caress purifying the raven pool. Ice runs from the ripples she creates and they chase each other until the whole lake is frozen pure white. Turning the small paradise into a frosted wonderland. Ice travels along the surface of the lake, the grass on the ground, climbs the hollow tree trunks, branches and leaves.

The once green leaves are now a pale lime, raining down from the trees like snowflakes. The frozen lake reflects the pearl white moon, reflects the stars that pepper the navy sky, reflects the world and claims the beauty for itself. The girl stands up and admires her work, glittery face shifting into a smile. She turns gracefully and makes her way off the lake. Once her transparent toes touch the sharp tufts of grass, she vanishes.

They watch until the darkness evaporates and the light monopolises the sky, until the trees still and cease their excited conversations, until the world restarts and time begins to take its toll. And when they return home, the forest is forever etched into their memories