Chapter Text
Orpheus, gifted by the gods
with poetry and melodies,
could coax the birds out of the trees,
fish from oceans, placate enemies.
He meets Eurydice, love casts its spell,
doomed from the start to not end well.
—Joanna Garrido
Long before mortals, there were Gods, prior there was nothing but Chaos. A primordial void, an endless and immeasurable abyss where sky nor sea had yet been conceived, where light had never touched darkness because neither had possessed a name.
There was no sun to announce the dawn, no moon to keep its veil over sleeping fields, no stars scattered like diamonds across the endless firmament.
From that void emerged the first beings, Gaia was first to awake, her breath becoming valleys and mountains, the lush greens of forests and fruits within her beating heart. From her, Uranus unfurled above in an endless blue that would cradle the sky. Nyx clothed the heavens in her darkness, while Erebus gave shadow a place to dwell.
Pontus stirred the endless waters whose waves had yet to kiss the shore. Thus the universe drew its first breath as though creation itself had remembered what it had always been destined to become.
Titans rose and fell beneath the weight of prophecy, Gods overthrew their fathers, the heavens echoed with wars, oceans were divided, mountains were raised, constellations were scattered across the night as reminders of triumphs, punishments, and griefs alike.
Yet when the dust of divine conflict settled and the cosmos found another creation that had emerged.
Mortals.
And where there were mortals, there were stories.
Prometheus had fashioned mankind from earth and clay while Athena blew life into them from her divine breath. Yet, it was neither clay nor divine favor that made them memorable. It was the peculiar way they loved, the terrible ways they hoped, and the extraordinary lengths to which they would go for both.
No sooner had humanity learned to raise walls than they learned to tear them down, no sooner had they learned to pray than they learned to beg, their histories became woven from equal parts devotion and disaster.
There was the face that launched a thousand ships. A queen whose beauty became less a blessing and more a curse, for many had always mistaken desire for destiny.
Men abandoned their homes, their wives, and their sons to chase a woman across the sea, while cities burned brightly enough to rival the dawn before collapsing into ash beneath the weight of pride.
Long after the last spear had rusted and the last soldier had been mourned, mortals remembered neither the countless nameless dead nor the cries that echoed beyond the walls; they remembered only that beauty had started a war, as though beauty itself had ever held the torch.
There was a daughter gathering flowers beneath an innocent sky, unaware that the earth beneath her feet had already begun to part. One moment she picked the blossoms that were in her nature, and the next she was abducted into the underworld in the arms of a king whose heart had mistaken possession for love by the blessing from the King of God’s.
Above, her mother wandered the earth with devastation clutched tightly in her chest, searching every valley, every mountain, every riverbank, until even the fields succumbed beneath her sorrow. Crops withered, rivers slowed, winter was born not from what the mortals call the cold today, but from a mother’s refusal to let her daughter be taken from her without her knowledge.
And when mother and daughter were finally reunited, the joy was imperfect, for even the sweetest reunions must yield something to Fate. In the time of the Underworld, Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds, binding her to the Underworld for six months, requiring her to spend those six months in the Underworld of the year.
There was also a child who should have remained mortal, yet whose cradle drew the attention of a goddess who saw in him something worth preserving. Night after night she carried him toward immortality, placing his fragile body within sacred fire to burn away the limits of flesh, believing love alone could transform what nature had denied.
Yet mortals have always feared what they cannot understand. His mother’s frightened cry shattered the ritual before it was complete, and the Goddess declared the child would return to an ordinary life, forever standing at the threshold between what he was and what he might have become.
There was a curious woman who lifted the lid from a vessel she had been forbidden to open, and with that single act the world changed forever. Illness slipped into the air, grief found a home within the human heart. Envy, famine, despair, violence, and loneliness all escaped with desperate eagerness, scattering across the earth faster than any god could recall them.
When at last she slammed the lid shut with trembling hands, only Hope remained behind, quiet and patient. Some have long argued whether Hope was spared for humanity’s comfort or imprisoned alongside suffering to make endurance all the more difficult.
Again and again, the Fates drew their threads with unwavering hands, unconcerned by prayers or promises. Clotho who spun the thread of human fate from the time of a mortal’s birth, Lachesis measured the thread seeing how long a person’s life would be and what they would experience, and Atropos chose the timely manner to cut the thread with her shears to end their life.
For memory is a stubborn thing.
And there were none who remembered more faithfully than the nine daughters of Memory herself.
The Muses.
The Muses remembered every one of these tales not because they had witnessed them, but because each was sung and sung again until memory itself became immortal.
Yet among all the stories that mortals carried from one generation to the next, one melody returned more faithfully than the rest. It was quieter than the clash of armies, gentler than the weeping of grieving mothers, and infinitely more dangerous, for it spoke of something neither gods nor death had ever fully conquered.
Love.
And so, as the stars settled into silence and even Olympus seemed to listen, the eldest Muse raised her voice once more.
“There was once a musician…”
“Oh!” Melpomene exclaimed. “This one is my favorite.”
Calliope laughed softly. “Of course it is.”
“It is beautiful.”
“It is devastating.”
“They are the same thing,” another sister chimed in.
Calliope reached for the golden lyre resting beside her, letting her fingertips drift over its strings until a single note sparked.
“There was once a musician,” she repeated.
“A young man whose songs could persuade rivers to linger upon their journey, whose melodies coaxed ancient oaks into bowing their branches, whose music quieted wolves, soothed storms, and drew tears from hearts that had forgotten how to weep.”
“And there was once a maiden who had captured his eyes as much as his heart,” another Muse continued, smiling wistfully, “Eurydice.”
“I still don’t understand.” Melpomene wishfully hummed.
“After all these centuries…” she said, folding her hands into her lap, “after hearing this story told a thousand thousand times.”
She frowned. “Why did he turn around?”
Calliope smiled as she traced the golden markings on the lyre. “Perhaps,” she said, “because he was human.”
The lure began its tune once again, filling the atmosphere with melancholy and hope, as the Muses began to recount the story.
The heavens dissolved into sunlight spilling through emerald leaves. A gentle breeze carried the scent of thyme, laurel, and wildflowers across rolling hills untouched by sorrow.
And there, beneath the shade of ancient olive trees, a young musician reached for the strings of his lyre, utterly unaware that the greatest love story ever sung had already begun.
The first time they had met, Annabel believed it was the most whimsical way to happen.
It was strangely extraordinary in her words.
It had been a glorious summer day, the kind where running and hunting in the evening would be more enjoyable than in the hotter morning. Annabel truthfully enjoyed her playful banter with her fellow nymphs, chasing each other and weaving flower crowns in their hair. They had gotten quite flushed from the heat, after lounging and a few others napping about on logs, while others engrossed themselves chasing each other through meadows, they all decided to gather at a waterfall to swim and join the naiads.
It turned out to be a cherishable moment.
Nymphs teasingly splashed one another beneath the waterfall, their voices mingling with the rush of the water until the entire forest seemed alive with merriment. Woven crowns of ivy and wildflowers floated lazily upon the surface of the pool while dragonflies skimmed across the water like sparkling sapphires.
Annabel drifted among them with an easy smile, diving beneath the waters only to emerge moments later with droplets dripping from her golden curls. One of the nymphs playfully tossed a white lily toward her, another attempted to crown her with reeds, and soon they were laughing so hard that nothing else seemed to matter.
A gentle breeze swept through the fields carrying along petals and the sweet smell of nature around them.
But there was something else, like a magnetic pull. A soft note pierced through the air as if to calm the waters. Annabel wasn’t the only one to notice the change in the air, the others did as well. They stopped their playful banter to listen once more.
It was unlike anything else Annabel had heard before even though she had heard countless songs and music in her lifetime, it was as if the notes told a story unheard by anyone else. The forest seemed to lean toward it. Even the birds abandoned their own songs to listen to, deer halted their steps from the undergrowth, the butterflies hovering above the reeds altered their wandering paths, drifting toward the source as though drawn by an invisible thread.
One of the nymphs noticed Annabel’s distant expression.
“Annabel?”
She didn’t answer, instead finding herself swimming in the direction of the music.
“And where in Gaia’s name could you possibly be going?” another called, giggling.
“I…” Annabel smiled dreamily without looking back. “I think someone is calling the forest.”
“The forest?”
“No…”
She tilted her head as another beautiful phrase drifted through the air.
“It’s like someone is calling me.”
The nymphs exchanged amused glances. “Oh, leave her be.”
“She always follows beautiful things.” one teased.
“We’ll save you a flower crown!”
Their laughter followed her only briefly before the music swallowed every other sound in her pretty head.
Annabel shook off her nerves and swam beneath the curtain of falling water, the roar filled her ears for only a heartbeat before she emerged into a secluded grotto hidden further behind the falls.
Truthfully, she was expecting a deceiving voice to lure her away to run off with her forever. Or maybe, nothing but darkness and just a loose sheep or deer chewing on some ancient instrument, then she’d return with the others saying she went mad.
It was something more than that.
It was breathtaking.
Sunlight poured through the shimmering veil of water in liquid gold, painting rippling patterns across smooth dark stone. Moss clinging to the walls in thick blankets, tiny blue flowers bloomed from the tiny cracks that she hadn’t noticed, and ivy curled around ancient pillars of rock as though nature herself had built a secret sanctuary.
Seated upon a broad stone overlooking the hidden pool was a young musician.
She seemed more breathtaking than the grotto itself, the stranger had long dark hair, no nymph Annabel had ever met possessed hair that dark. She quietly swims over behind a larger rock to get a better look, she seemed quite slim and pale as if she hadn’t seen the sun rise. Yet, something had pulled her to this woman, her eyes catching the beautiful carved lyre rested against her shoulder as her slender fingers plucked sweet note after note.
She hadn’t noticed Annabel.
At least, not yet.
Annabel rested her head against the rock completely enthralled by this strange woman and her capability to make such music seemingly to stop the entire world as if she really wanted to, such talent had to be gifted by the gods.
The thought of her friends waiting for her to return was completely out of the window, her ears filled by the melody that slips into her ears and replaces it with no other thought but being wrapped in its sweet embrace.
Is this how Icarus fell? If she thought hard enough she could imagine herself with wax strapped to her back and flying towards this musician that her music may as well be the sun.
A stolen gasp crawls from her throat ripping her mind away from her euphoria as something brushes against her foot, a fish perhaps or, the smooth scales sends a violent shudder ripping through her body, her legs kick out on instinct to swim away from the viper underneath her foot.
A sharp sudden note stabs the air causing Annabel to wince, a note plucked wrong and interrupted. Annabel finds herself in full view of the woman, no longer hiding behind her rock to listen to the lyre.
When their two meet eyes, Annabel couldn’t help but to notice the unwavering blue eyes that mimics the ocean.
The words came out of her mouth with a stumble. “There was a snake, I believe, underneath the water.”
The young woman leaned over to peer into the waters. “Are you alright?” she stares up at Annabel. “It didn’t bite you, did it? I heard snake bites are rather fatal.”
She twirls her foot around, feeling no pain or the piercing fangs of a viper, she may have scared it off. “No, not at all.”
Annabel sheepish tucks a curl behind her ear and despises it bouncing back forward, she doesn’t touch it again.
“Please don’t stop on my account…”
She hadn’t noticed how closed she had moved, she was just an edge away from reaching the woman. The silence tears at the moment of time, Annabel almost has half the mind to sink under the water and swim away as fast as she can.
“And if I forgot what I was playing?” The woman mused, leaning forward to get a better look at the nymph. “It’s not everyday someone stumbles here.”
Annabel opened her mouth, then closed it, words lost on her tongue when the next sentence pressed into the air.
“I thought the naiads were protecting this area”
A smile tugged on the corner of her lips. “They are.”
“Then why are you here?” The stranger questioned.
She figured that the woman thought she was a naiad, “Oh, no. I’m a dryad.”
Annabel hauls herself up, not enough to expose her chest from the water but just to let her arms rest on the edge, her curls sticking to her back like a second skin.
“It was a hot day out and we decided to bring our fun here to the waterfall to relieve ourselves,” Annabel continued, pointing to the lyre. “Alas we got distracted”
The young woman blinked several times, a quick blush spreading across her cheeks. “I forgot I was playing, I didn’t realize I was so distracting.”
“I didn’t say you were distracting,” Annabel’s heart skipped a beat, she didn’t mean to cause any harm. “I found it very beautiful.”
Upon closer inspection she could see two uneven twin beauty marks resting under the woman’s eyes. She studied the stranger openly, taking in the careful way she held her lyre, the callouses on her fingertips, and the kindness lined in her eyes.
“You thought it was beautiful enough to swim through a waterfall to see whoever was playing?” quipped the woman.
Annabel’s ears burned red at the mention. “Well, It seemed like it was calling to me.”
“And what if I was some trickster waiting for you to come and fall into my trap?”
“But you aren’t?”
“Precisely,” the woman laughed at Annabel’s rattled face. “Luring curious nymphs into hidden grottoes with enchanting music.”
Annabel pretended to consider it very seriously. “I suppose that would have been clever.”
“It would.”
For a little while, neither of them spoke, watching one another while pretending not to as well. The musician lowered her gaze to the lyre resting in her lap, absentmindedly tracing one of the carved patterns along its polished frame with her thumb.
“I don't believe we’ve introduced ourselves.” Annabel opined, remembering she was still talking to a stranger.
“I was beginning to wonder if we’d simply keep calling each other ‘the musician’ and 'the nymph’”
A small laugh escaped the woman. “Yes, that would be rather confusing, wouldn’t it?”
Annabel smiled, her words slipping out before she could contain them. “Especially if we intended on meeting more than once.”
The young woman looked up, surprise stamped on her face for a heartbeat before melting into something softer. “Would you like to?”
Her heart leapt in her chest, Annabel could faintly hear the rush of the waterfall behind her. “Yes,” Annabel tried to look anywhere other than the woman. “I would like that very much.”
“My name is Lenore,” she replied, placing her lyre beside her. “your distracting musician”
Annabel almost rolled her eyes at the comment, extending her hand out for a formal greeting between the two. “The nymph you have charmed is named no other than Annabel Lee.”
Lenore repeated it as if trying to find a note with such heaven to its name.
And perhaps Annabel had found herself in love with the way Lenore had said it, almost not noticing her hand slipping into those pale cool ones, Lenore’s hands were pleasantly chill from the mist that drifted through the hidden cracks.The callouses upon her fingertips brushed lightly against Annabel’s skin.
With surprising grace, Lenore rose from the stone, bowing her head ever so slightly.
Then, without the slightest hint of mockery or performance, she lifted Annabel’s hand toward her plum colored lips.
Her kiss was featherlight.
Barely more than the warmth of a breath against the back of Annabel’s hand.
“Charmed to meet you Annabel Lee.”
The nymphs had seemed to abandon their game of tossing lilies across the pool and had instead gathered along the shallows, weaving garlands from vines and leaves. Their laughter drifted lazily through the glade, mingling with the constant rush of the falls.
One of them was lying on a warm boulder with her feet idly kicking through the water.
Another floated upon her back, eyes closed, humming a tune that was the one Annabel had disappeared to follow.
“She should have been back ages ago,” one sighed dramatically, peering toward the waterfall.
“Perhaps she drowned.”
“Annabel?” A second nymph snorted. “Yeah, drowned in admiration, perhaps.”
When Annabel Lee returned, there was something almost different about her. As if she was glowing, a pleasing smile cut across her lips, her face tinged with such heavy redness it could be mistaken for a fever. She pushed wet hair away from her face as she swam toward them, blissfully unaware that she was already being watched.
Annabel met their curious gaze. “What?”
The entire group erupted into laughter. “Oh don’t pretend!”
Annabel gawked at them, embarrassment flooding her face.
“I am not pretending!” she spluttered, crossing her arms.
“You disappeared after mysterious music into a waterfall and came back smiling like that.”
A cheerful laugh flowed through the glade. “Perhaps our dear Annabel finally found love.”
Annabel gasped at the association. “I have not!”
“The tips of your ears are redder than your eyes.”
She covered her ears with a whine, trying to sink back below the waters to drown her pure mortified face, not successfully as one of them pulled her up and dragged her to the swallow ends of the water as they began to weave flowers in her curls.
“Tell us about the musician!”
“Oh please, it was probably some woodland creature.”
Annabel laughed despite herself. “You all are impossible.”
“Still, you are avoiding the question.” one coaxed, swimming over to join them resting her chin on Annabel’s shoulder with curiosity pooling in her eyes.
“She was,” Annabel thought carefully, closing her eyes to bathe in the sunlight. “Strangely extraordinary.”
The sheer screams of delight flood Annabel’s ears, but somewhere beyond her own happiness she can’t help but feel as if she knew her before, perhaps in another life.
Lenore hadn’t intended to stop.
Honestly, just not this soon into her journey.
The sun had barely climbed over the hills, leaving the forest in a golden haze that softened the leaves and blades of grass into something kissed by dew. Shepherds guided their flocks through the distant meadows, bees buzzed between wildflowers, and somewhere beyond the olive groves, a river carried the laughter of naiads greeting the dawn.
Arcadia, they had told her, was beautiful. It did belong to the god Pan, after all.
They had neglected to mention it was enchanted.
She had spent the better part of her morning stopping every few paces simply to admire something else, a family of foxes chasing each other’s tails through a field of poppies, a brook so clear she could count every pebble resting beneath its surface, a pair of doves circling lazily overhead without a single care in the world.
The other half of her mind had been…occupied. It had been three days since she had met Annabel Lee, a nymph with such allure and appeal wasn’t uncommon for them, they were nature spirits, as well as youthful maidens. Lenore had come across enough on her travels to be accustomed with their playful nature, but Annabel was different, those long golden curls paired along light pink eyes framed by thick blonde lashes.
The sound of laughter lulls her out of her thoughts, it was soft laughter that was carried by the breeze, without thinking Lenore followed it.
The trees gradually gave way to a wide meadow embraced by ancient apple and pomegranate trees whose branches bent beneath ripe fruit. Wild thyme perfumed the air, and patches of daisies stretched so far into the hills that they looked like scattered stars upon the earth.
Dozens of sheep wandered peacefully across the grass.
Their wool shimmered almost silver beneath the morning light.
Watching over them were the Epimelides, gentle nymphs of the pasturelands. They moved gracefully among the flock, brushing burrs from thick wool, guiding wandering lambs back toward their mothers, and laughing amongst themselves as though every day had been made solely for joy.
A small part of her hoped that Annabel would be here, upon further inspection her hoping had been correct. She was sitting beneath the largest apple tree in the meadow, surrounded by three lambs who had apparently decided her lap belonged to them. One tiny lamb stubbornly chewed the ribbon tied around her golden curls while another rested its head against her shoulder, blissfully asleep.
Walking closer Lenore could hear Annabel’s sweet laughter, like magic she was pulled in. It seemed fitting to give her a gift so Lenore plucked a sunflower, twirling it between her fingers as she walked towards her.
“Gently,” Annabel told the mischievous lamb, carefully untangling the ribbon from its mouth.
“If you eat my hair, your mother will never forgive me.”
The lamb blinked innocently. “I know exactly what you’re pretending.”
“You have a lovely laugh.” Lenore interjected, relishing in the way Annabel lit up to see Lenore standing before her, memorizing the blush creeping up towards her ears.
“Oh,” Annabel gasped, seemingly forgetting the lamb she was just speaking to moments before. “You’re back.”
Lenore only laughed at Annabel’s face redden more when she took her hand and guided it to her lips. “Yes, I believe you said we would meet again?”
“Well, maybe not this soon.” Annabel admitted, her eyes watched as Lenore sat beside her.
“It’s only been three days.” Lenore reassured, taking the sunflower she collected and placing it behind Annabel’s ear.
“Three very long days.” Annabel said breathlessly.
She remained silent for a moment, brushing grass off her chiton as she stood up with a gentle coo for the lambs that skipped away. Lenore almost thought she had done something wrong, her thoughts spinning like a spider in her head.
Annabel held out her hand for Lenore to take.
“Walk with me?”
Lenore slipped her hand into Annabel’s without hesitation, her fingers were warm from the morning sun. Rather than letting go, Annabel gently looped her arm through Lenore’s.
“There we are.” Annabel purred, keeping her distance light.
Lenore looked down at their linked arms. “...Is this customary among dryads?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Annabel simply shrugged, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Because I wanted to.”
They began strolling beneath the orchard trees, their steps slow enough that the sheep wandered lazily around them without concern. The light breeze rustled the grass beneath them carrying the sweetness of the beauties around them. Annabel looked absolutely heavenly underneath the morning sun, her curls framed like tiny halos against her tan skin.
For several moments they simply enjoyed one another’s company.
It was Annabel who finally broke the silence. “May I ask you something?”
“You may ask me anything.”
“How did you learn to play like that?”
Lenore glanced toward the lyre resting against her hip, the answer could be she was blessed by the gods or perhaps. “My brother.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” Lenore replied softly. “He played the aulos, Theo.”
Annabel nodded. “I’ve heard of it before.”
Lenore looked ahead, watching sunlight spill between the trees. “I was always trying to imitate him.” She recalled the memory softly, “I would take my lyre and insist I could play just as well, even though I barely knew what I was doing.” A soft laugh escaped her.
Annabel smiled, a giggle slipping past her lips. “I find it hard to imagine you being bad at music.”
“Oh how terrible I was at first.” Lenore looked almost embarrassed by the confession.
“Where is he now?” Annabel asks gently, tilting her head to get a better look at her companion.
Lenore exhaled softly. “He travels”
“With you?”
“Sometimes,” She looks down at the grass. “Other times he goes his own way.”
"Playing his music I suppose?"
Lenore nodded. “He and his wife travel together often.”
Annabel smiled fondly. “That sounds lovely.”
“It is,” Lenore reminisced. “They visit villages, cities, places forgotten by most travelers. Wherever they stop, Theo plays.”
“Like you?”
“Like me?” Lenore chuckled. “He believes music belongs to everyone.”
Annabel listened carefully. “And you believe that too?”
Lenore looked at her. “I do.”
A breeze swept through the orchard, causing the leaves above them to swirl around them.
“My brother always said a song should never belong to the person who created it.”
"He said it belonged to whoever needed to hear it."
And as they continued their walk beneath the apple trees, Lenore found herself thinking that perhaps Arcadia had not led her here by accident. Perhaps some songs were not meant to be searched for, perhaps some simply found their way to you.
When Annabel challenged Lenore to a race, she was already certain of the outcome.
The afternoon sun poured over the meadow, turning the golden fields into an ocean of light. Wildflowers stretched in every direction, petals swaying beneath the gentle breeze. The air smelled of fresh grass and lavender.
It was there that Lenore learned something important about Annabel Lee.
The dryad was competitive.
Perhaps too competitive.
Their teasing and chasing had almost lasted hours, but neither of them noticed. Annabel found herself looking up at Lenore, seeing the musician not as a traveler passing through her forest, but as someone who had become a part of it. Soon, their independent days merged into one. Whether it be fate or not, the two always seemed to find each other regardless of their activities.
Beneath the ancient tree that had sheltered dozens of woodland creatures, Lenore rested with her head in Annabel’s lap, her fingers plucking soft and simple notes that filled the air around them. Her dark hair spilled across Annabel’s hands, and the dryad carefully ran her fingers through each strand with tenderness.
Slowly, Annabel braided her hair.
She wove small flowers between the thick strands, choosing blossoms that reminded her of Lenore. Annabel chose peonies for their language of bashfulness and happy life, orchids for Lenore’s elegance and rare beauty, and finally in the end of the braid she tucked a yellow marigold for the joy she brought into Annabel’s life.
By the time Annabel finished, Lenore had fallen asleep. The great musician who could make rivers pause and forests listen had surrendered completely to the peace Annabel gave her.
They rested beneath an ancient tree, surrounded by the remains of their day. Half-eaten fruits sat forgotten beside them, flowers scattered across the grass, and the basket they had carried earlier had been abandoned because neither of them cared enough to move.
Above them, the stars stretched endlessly across the heavens.
Annabel lay against Lenore’s chest, slowly drifting into sleep as the steady rhythm beneath her reminded her that she was not lonely. The musician watched her quietly, memorizing every detail she could. The golden curls resting against her, the peaceful expression upon her face, the way she looked as though she belonged among the stars themselves.
Annabel stared upward, her pink eyes reflecting the light, “Do you ever wonder what they look like up close?” she whispered.
Lenore looked down at her. “The stars?”
Annabel nodded. “Mhm. They seem so close, but no one ever reaches them.”
Lenore smiled softly, the words sliding off her tongue. “Perhaps they like being admired from afar.”
Annabel frowned slightly at her response. “That sounds lonely.”
“Lonely?”
“Yes,” Annabel traced a small pattern against Lenore’s clothing absentmindedly. “Imagine being something so beautiful that everyone looks at you, but no one ever touches you.”
“I suppose there are things that are admired without ever being known.”
Annabel’s expression softened. “And you think you are one of those things?”
Lenore hesitated for a moment. “I think I was,” she continued quietly. “Before you, people listened to my songs. They praised them. They remembered them. But they were always listening to the music.”
Her fingers gently brushed through one of Annabel’s shortest curls. “You are the first person who ever listened to me.”
“You know,” Annabel whispered, “you say the most beautiful things.”
Lenore smiled faintly. “I only say what is true.”
“That is why it is beautiful.”
They stayed silent for a couple more moments as Lenore watched as Annabel’s eyes slowly began to grow heavier. “You’re falling asleep.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Annabel shook her head weakly. “I can stay awake.”
Lenore looked down at her, at the golden curls spread across her chest. At the peaceful expression that appeared whenever Annabel felt safe, at the woman who had somehow become the center of every thought she had. And suddenly, Lenore understood something, she had written songs about kingdoms, she had written songs about legends and she had written songs about heroes and gods. But the most beautiful thing she had ever known was not something found in a story.
“Annabel?” Lenore called softly.
A sleepy hum answered her.
“Do you know something?”
“What?”
“You are the most beautiful nymph I have ever seen.” she confessed.
Annabel opened one eye. “You have told me that before.”
“Because it remains true.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “You always say things like that when I’m about to fall asleep.”
“Perhaps I want you to hear them before you dream.”
Annabel studied her face, the musician who had wandered into her forest, the woman who had given her songs, and the woman that made her laugh.
“I want to marry you.”
The effect was immediate, Annabel’s eyes opened fully. “What?”
Lenore blinked. “I…”
“You want to marry me?”
“Of course, why not?”
The silence afterward was broken only by the sound of the wind moving through the leaves.
Then Annabel’s cheeks quickly turned red. “Lenore!”
“Yes?”
“That is not how you ask someone.”
The musician looked genuinely concerned. “It isn’t?”
“No.” Annabel shook her head, a smile creeping upon her face. “You cannot simply tell someone you want to marry them while they are half asleep.”
Lenore looked thoughtful. “I thought honesty was important.”
“It is.”
Annabel stared at her, at the sincerity of Lenore’s words. And at the complete lack of hesitation. Despite herself, she laughed. “Then I suppose you are lucky.”
“Lucky?” Lenore seemed puzzled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.” Annabel expressed, her hand finding Lenore’s.
As though even after everything, even after every song and every moment they shared, those words still surprised her.
“Is that a yes?”
Annabel rolled her eyes affectionately. “Yes, Lenore.”
A soft smile appeared on her lips. “Now let me go back to sleep.”
She settled against her again, Lenore held her closer, and kissed her forehead.