Three Moments of Twilight

It was a day like any other for Lily, which was unlike any day for anyone else. She sat at the edge of the meadow, surrounded by tall grasses and wildflowers.  To her right was the empty meadow, to her left were several oak trees. Today, as was every day, she brought a basket of cut marigolds from her garden.  She had spread them around in a circle and sat comfortably in the centre. Lily placed a few marigold flowers in her curly blond hair and on the lace trim of her pale dress.

Dusk was over, yet night had not begun.  Brief, it was just the right time; the three moments of twilight. Lily sat in calm meditation.

She hummed a folk tune, subtly at first, then considerably loud and enticing.  The wind smelled like night and day, carrying the pollen of the meadow and the damp cold of the evening, mixed with the warm touch of the remaining sunlight. Everything was pink and gold, touched by violet.

The wind stirred.  The trees at the far end of the meadow stirred.  A dark, low hum filled the air. 

The nearest tree by Lily was a young oak. Its leaves were lush and full in the mid-summer.  The leaves shook. A knocking echoed from inside the tree, matching the rhythm of Lily’s tune.  As she moved to the beat of the combined song, little hands stuck out from the tree bark, followed by a small bark-brown dryad. Her bright green eyes sparkled like emeralds. The dryad’s pointy ears twitched with delight. They both turned to look at the distant meadow treeline.

The light wind became a strong breeze, indicating the brewing of an intense storm. Dark clouds brewed overhead, and the air cooled.  The treeline trembled, then split in two as a massive beast pushed its way forward. In the darkening twilight under the storm, it was difficult to see the thing, yet Lily and the dryad knew this beast well. It was a black gryphon.  Beak sharp, talons poison, back paws brutally strong, a deadly whip of a tail, and a wingspan four times its length. It was as big as her house. And it was lumbering purposefully toward them.

Cloud-to-cloud lightning bounced above, with the thunder rolling.  At each flash, the thunder arrived quicker. The storm was moving nearer. The fae-eating, human-slaughtering beast snarled, gnashed, and lunged. Its beak open wide revealed in the flashes of lightning a spiked tongue.

The dryad giggled at first, following with laughter like bells, pointing at the drooling menace she found humorous. She snapped both her fingers and tilted her head.  A flash of intense light filled the area, blinding them all.  Sound vanished; the howling, snarling, laughing, and even the wind couldn’t be heard.  The air became devoid of audible life.

There was a streak, and a tremendous crack brought all the sound back into the world. The dryad was rolling in the wet grass, laughing.  The powerful beast was burnt, its red eyes glowing with rage. It snarled and spit, melting into the ground, defeated.

The rain fell lightly, becoming a drizzle.  The small, happy dryad bowed and waived, casually slipping back into her oak tree.  Lily laid a hand on the tree.  “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll always be here for as long as you are,” she promised.

***

The painting was beautiful, hanging in her oak wood embellished den. The warm hearth firelight illuminated the subtle details. As she moved from one side of the room to the other, the painting changed from dusk to night.  The subject changed a little too, from a maiden sitting in a meadow to fae facing a fierce beast on a stormy night. Staring at the intriguing work, she wondered what magick that artist could possibly have used to get this beautiful effect.