The forest was entirely the wrong frequency. It was too loud with aggressive bird calls, it smelled unpleasantly of damp earth and rot, and everything was distressingly… pointy.
Molly had fled the city hours ago, running from another whispered comment at the grocery store, another knowing look that made her feel dirty. She had driven until the road turned to gravel, then walked until her expensive Italian flats gave out. Now, she was hopelessly lost, a smudge of misplaced pastel pink against the overwhelming greens and browns of the wilderness.
She had collapsed at the base of a massive oak tree, her rose-colored silk wrap dress snagged irreparably on a bramble bush. She wasn't just crying; she was performing a tragedy for an audience of squirrels.
"Hooo-hoo-hooo..."
The wail was melodic, rhythmic, and utterly despairing. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her hands, rocking back and forth among the roots. Mud stained the hem of her dress, and a twig was tangled in her meticulously styled "honesty hair."
"It’s not fair," she sobbed into her palms, her voice a trembling flute sound. "I’m supposed to be in the Castle. I’m supposed to be soft. This moss is not soft. It’s scratchy and damp and very, very low-vibration."
She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with large, cartoon-perfect tears, her nose a delicate shade of pink. She looked around at the indifferent trees, looking for all the world like a Disney princess who had been dropped into a survival documentary by mistake.
"Is there anyone here?" she called out feebly, her voice hitching. "I think I’ve ruined my shoes. And my spirit."
Molly had fled the city hours ago, running from another whispered comment at the grocery store, another knowing look that made her feel dirty. She had driven until the road turned to gravel, then walked until her expensive Italian flats gave out. Now, she was hopelessly lost, a smudge of misplaced pastel pink against the overwhelming greens and browns of the wilderness.
She had collapsed at the base of a massive oak tree, her rose-colored silk wrap dress snagged irreparably on a bramble bush. She wasn't just crying; she was performing a tragedy for an audience of squirrels.
"Hooo-hoo-hooo..."
The wail was melodic, rhythmic, and utterly despairing. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her hands, rocking back and forth among the roots. Mud stained the hem of her dress, and a twig was tangled in her meticulously styled "honesty hair."
"It’s not fair," she sobbed into her palms, her voice a trembling flute sound. "I’m supposed to be in the Castle. I’m supposed to be soft. This moss is not soft. It’s scratchy and damp and very, very low-vibration."
She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with large, cartoon-perfect tears, her nose a delicate shade of pink. She looked around at the indifferent trees, looking for all the world like a Disney princess who had been dropped into a survival documentary by mistake.
"Is there anyone here?" she called out feebly, her voice hitching. "I think I’ve ruined my shoes. And my spirit."
A fresh air is chasing through the forests, the canopies start their annual dance of the winds. Autumn announces itself. First leaves twirl down from the trees like a blessing, like turning elves, premonition of the colder season. The forest is moist, sprinkled wet from the rain and abundant morning due. It’s the right moment for some mushrooms.
Lizbeth loves such moments and is to be found on all paths of the surrounding woods. This time she has chosen to go East, there where the sun rises in the morning, there where earth has still it’s warmth to incite the mycelium to make fruits, fruits in form of Chanterelles, Morel, Borel, Cremini or other button mushrooms. She very softly hums an unknown melody as she playfully walks down the path to the big old oak tree, a good place to find one or the other delicious Oyster mushroom.
It’s then when she hears a woman cry, begging for help, calling out for someone. She slowly walks closer until she sees her. Astonished the doe looks at a pale rose wide and shimmering dress with sequins frills and delicate embroidery. Not really an often seen dress on the forest. The dress is spattered with mud, this woman must have been walking a long distance and is obviously lost.
Lizbeth approaches, clearly this is not a hunter or a person of harm. She stands a few yards away her basket with mushrooms held in front of her, her linen sober clothing in full contrast to the magnificent robe of that woman in need.
“May I help you? she asks softly, still ready to dart away instantly.
Lizbeth loves such moments and is to be found on all paths of the surrounding woods. This time she has chosen to go East, there where the sun rises in the morning, there where earth has still it’s warmth to incite the mycelium to make fruits, fruits in form of Chanterelles, Morel, Borel, Cremini or other button mushrooms. She very softly hums an unknown melody as she playfully walks down the path to the big old oak tree, a good place to find one or the other delicious Oyster mushroom.
It’s then when she hears a woman cry, begging for help, calling out for someone. She slowly walks closer until she sees her. Astonished the doe looks at a pale rose wide and shimmering dress with sequins frills and delicate embroidery. Not really an often seen dress on the forest. The dress is spattered with mud, this woman must have been walking a long distance and is obviously lost.
Lizbeth approaches, clearly this is not a hunter or a person of harm. She stands a few yards away her basket with mushrooms held in front of her, her linen sober clothing in full contrast to the magnificent robe of that woman in need.
“May I help you? she asks softly, still ready to dart away instantly.
Molly’s head snapped up, her "honesty hair" bouncing with the sudden movement. She had been so consumed by the acoustic qualities of her own weeping that she hadn't heard the approach.
She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing enough to focus on the figure standing a safe distance away. To Molly, whose frame of reference was currently oscillating between Vogue and a horror movie, the woman looked aggressively practical. Linen. Earth tones. A basket of… were those fungi?
"Oh!" Molly gasped, one hand flying to her chest in a gesture of startled fragility. She scrambled to sit up a little straighter against the rough bark, wiping her cheeks with the back of a wrist, heedless of the mud smearing across her cheekbone.
"You’re real," she breathed out, her voice trembling. She looked at Lizbeth with wide, pleading eyes, seemingly oblivious to the wariness in the other woman’s stance. To Molly, this stranger was a beacon of civilization—or at least, a beacon of Someone Who Knew Where The Road Was.
"Yes," Molly choked out, answering the question a moment late. "Yes, please. I… I didn't mean to intrude on the nature." She gestured vaguely at her ruined outfit, the silk wrap dress now looking like a sad, wilted flower petal. "I just kept walking until the city noise stopped, and now I can't find the gravel again, and the energy here is overwhelming."
She tried to stand, wincing as her bare foot—she had kicked off the ruined flats minutes ago—touched the damp forest floor. She froze, hovering halfway up. "I think I’ve ruined my aura," she whispered conspiratorially to the stranger. "Are you a ranger? Or… you look very grounded. Do you have water? Or perhaps a calming herbal tea?"
She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing enough to focus on the figure standing a safe distance away. To Molly, whose frame of reference was currently oscillating between Vogue and a horror movie, the woman looked aggressively practical. Linen. Earth tones. A basket of… were those fungi?
"Oh!" Molly gasped, one hand flying to her chest in a gesture of startled fragility. She scrambled to sit up a little straighter against the rough bark, wiping her cheeks with the back of a wrist, heedless of the mud smearing across her cheekbone.
"You’re real," she breathed out, her voice trembling. She looked at Lizbeth with wide, pleading eyes, seemingly oblivious to the wariness in the other woman’s stance. To Molly, this stranger was a beacon of civilization—or at least, a beacon of Someone Who Knew Where The Road Was.
"Yes," Molly choked out, answering the question a moment late. "Yes, please. I… I didn't mean to intrude on the nature." She gestured vaguely at her ruined outfit, the silk wrap dress now looking like a sad, wilted flower petal. "I just kept walking until the city noise stopped, and now I can't find the gravel again, and the energy here is overwhelming."
She tried to stand, wincing as her bare foot—she had kicked off the ruined flats minutes ago—touched the damp forest floor. She froze, hovering halfway up. "I think I’ve ruined my aura," she whispered conspiratorially to the stranger. "Are you a ranger? Or… you look very grounded. Do you have water? Or perhaps a calming herbal tea?"
The doe stares for a moment longer at that figure against the tree as if it were some alien. For sure she didn’t fit into the place, Flat ballerinas and a princess robe are not really the right outfit. But this woman had something else, not only despair of being lost, something more, something that makes this wary doe stay. It’s as if she feels the cry for help of that so beautiful woman.
Such confusion showing under this so well kept hairstyle, no matter if there were mud smeared all over, this woman took care of her looks. Same as Lizbeth does, always trying to have her fur untangled and smooth. But this woman had that little extra, something that makes her special. Lizbeth asks herself if it were not some real princess, she were never lucky to meet a living princess.
That princes spoke with soft voice, still the despair can be heard, yet a soft, almost soothing voice.
Lizbeth nods, she has not to fear, and her well known tender smile returns on her lips, especially as this woman talks about ‘TEA’.
“Yes, I’m real, I know not a usual view, but yes, I’m real. Don’t worry, even in this state, your dress is something unseen and beautiful. Nature is for everyone, nobody owns it, you are free to come here whenever you want.”
Lizbeth steps closer, slight hesitantly showing a lending hand, her basket with mushrooms gently posed on the floor.
“I don’t have water with me, but my home is not far from here, I can make some tea if you want. I’m no ranger or so, just a doe trying to lead a peaceful life. Do you think you can walk? It’s not too far, less far than the road.”
Whilst helping that princes to get on her feet again, she introduces herself, “I’m Lizbeth, let me help you.”
Such confusion showing under this so well kept hairstyle, no matter if there were mud smeared all over, this woman took care of her looks. Same as Lizbeth does, always trying to have her fur untangled and smooth. But this woman had that little extra, something that makes her special. Lizbeth asks herself if it were not some real princess, she were never lucky to meet a living princess.
That princes spoke with soft voice, still the despair can be heard, yet a soft, almost soothing voice.
Lizbeth nods, she has not to fear, and her well known tender smile returns on her lips, especially as this woman talks about ‘TEA’.
“Yes, I’m real, I know not a usual view, but yes, I’m real. Don’t worry, even in this state, your dress is something unseen and beautiful. Nature is for everyone, nobody owns it, you are free to come here whenever you want.”
Lizbeth steps closer, slight hesitantly showing a lending hand, her basket with mushrooms gently posed on the floor.
“I don’t have water with me, but my home is not far from here, I can make some tea if you want. I’m no ranger or so, just a doe trying to lead a peaceful life. Do you think you can walk? It’s not too far, less far than the road.”
Whilst helping that princes to get on her feet again, she introduces herself, “I’m Lizbeth, let me help you.”
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