Grains of wheat dance in the gentle breeze, slipping through your light fingers. You wonder at the color, how soft tones can cast illusions when bathed in bright light. It was like standing in a field of gold.
Your chin tips back, and the rays play across your shut eyes while the winds cool all traces of heat. It leaves you quiet and peaceful and simply breathing.
And then you hear it—at twelve their first song.
A harmony that rolls in on the airs and tumbles through the wheat fields.
For a moment, your mind cannot comprehend what you hear.
It strikes you that the time is yet mid-day when only you ever heard them sing at night.
—The elves.
And though your heart weeps, it is only for a small while. In that breath, you collect yourself from all the hopes risen over the years, and remind yourself what broke them.
It is easy then, not to go.
And even as their voices continue to lift from distant places, your feet stay firmly planted in your wonderful fields of golden glow.
...
The makings of purple—bright and dark shades—cast their colors on even the most unlikely of things.
It is everywhere all at once.
As if intelligent, crafting plans in the night, to creep in the shadows and leave their brilliance on all they touch.
They must do it while you sleep. There can be no other explanation.
Surely, I would have noticed such color before...? For the memory it calls to mind is seeping in it.
They are in the flowers that bloom fresh off of trees, finding their way into all your mother's jars, and spreading throughout the house. There is one even in your bedroom.
They are in the scarves and sandals and beaded braids fashioned by the Matriarchs and younger women. They gift them to you and how could you not wear them?
They reveal themselves in a fascinating mirage across your own canvas, coating your paintbrush. It is all quite by accident and you smother it in blue.
They bleed their magnificence across a sky on the eves of its sun setting—ensuring that even as tired eyes close and the world fades away, the colors will be there chasing after dreams.
And though you do not wish it, you are reminded of the elves in every way of your life. The shame of a once stupidity for being so easily strung along eases and anger fills its place, sinking hot in your belly.
Because unlike you—they are blissfully unaware of the girl who snuck upon them in the cool midnight airs, taking part in their beauty and grace if only by stolen glance.
YOU ARE READING
Atem x Reader ☆ In the Twilight
Fanfiction[Fantasy AU] Elf!Atem x Reader Writing prompt inspired: She knew hearing music in the woods at night was usually a bad sign, but it was such a pretty tune.
