Emerald Faerie (Longer)

I saw her beneath the oak tree.

My village is a small one, not rich in anything other than our stories passed from generation to generation. Ever since I was a child my favorite has always been about the spirit of a faerie beneath the oldest, biggest, oak tree in our forest. She was said to have hair the color of emeralds and eyes as big and bottomless as the deepest ocean. Her heart was said to be so compassionate, so lovely, that the worst human ever to have lived couldn’t stand the sight of her. Which, if you’ve heard the story as many times I have, ends in three ways. The human forced her to marry him then had her killed under the tree once he found a more suitable bride. Two, he captured her but she escaped only to be killed by his hunting dogs under the oak. And three, refusing to succumb to his whim or the whims of those who had betrayed her she took her own life but saved her soul with a spell that would connect her to the forest forever more.

The first story was the most popular, but I always preferred the third. My grandmother, who told me of this, also mentioned that if you come to her resting place on the eve of the full winter’s moon, you’ll find her. Sitting beside the trunk with the soil between her toes, as she hums along to the waves of the pond and the wind along the leaves.

I’ve been trying to find her for a very, very, long time. And now, with my heart ready to leap from my chest, I mutter a poor excuse for a greeting, “U-um, Ms.Faerie?”

She looks at me with a stare that is both wary and curious, her body steady as if ready to fly away with her iridescent wings at a moment's notice. “Yes?” Her voice is like silk and honey to the ears and I’m almost ready to fall asleep to its soothing sweetness.

I shake my head to awake from my trance, earning myself another curious glance, “ Are you the one my people talk about? The Faerie of the Winter Moon?”

She shrugs one shoulder, “Perhaps. It’s been many years since I’ve tread upon this land as a mortal. I don’t know what humans may call me now.”

Nodding my head, I took a moment to think. There were few variations of the story, all of which I'd memorized. I thoroughly searched my brain for the pieces of lore that each one shared. Green hair, blue eyes, spirit of the forest... “In the stories, she was said to be so kind and lovely that all evil could not stand her life and needed to end it more than any other.”

Her body gave the smallest, almost imperceptible, shudder, “Once that was me, yes. But not anymore. If you’ve come here expecting kindness you’re better off begging for it from a demon.”

The excitement in my eyes must’ve been obvious because she gave me a third, curious and wary stare. It was as if those eyes were asking, shouting maybe, ‘Are you mad? Are you insane, little human?’

'No,' I wanted to say. 'I've been waiting to meet you for so long.'

My lips couldn’t help but smile as I decided to go for the less startling option, “Ms. Faerie, I have a gift for you.”

I could see her curiosity now winning over her wariness, an interesting quirk I didn't expect to see, “And what might that be?”

“How would you like to live again?”