Lily in the Valley of Tears

As it begins, there stood but one in the valley.

Prim and Proper she stood; but alone among all those foreign.

A lily of fair countenance  and excellent in standing. A lily with a stalk as slim as a whisper and petals as vibrant a hue as a gleaming gemstone.

So delicate yet unaware of all around - unable to see or smell or hear, but only to feel. Feel the wind rushing by, feel the soft plunking of tiny raindrops, feel the gentle caress of the glorious sun.

But this was all. Nothing more, nothing less. Not even a simple desire to breathe.

In a similar manner, the stars of the heavens rained their light down upon the Valley of Night without consequence or much thought.

They stood watch over the valley; sentinels of all that lived under the light of the moon.

The lilies prospering in the valley in the stead of the great stars were flowers born from precious starlight. They budded and grew under the thrall of these soft rays; even so to the point of which their petals became a soft silver sheen.

All, that is, except one scarlet lily.

One star, brighter and infinitely more aware than the others, soon attained a strong curiosity towards all the flowers growing in the valley. His name was Polaris, the Great Star of the North.

Now a great star is not one to be taken lightly and the Great Star of the North was great indeed; older than all the stars in the sky, mightily stronger, and far wiser.

Yet, in opposition to all light and goodness comes darkness and evil.

So was born the fiery heathen of the south: Ignis.

The rift in standards between both Polaris and Ignis caused considerable hostility to develop, making them into the most vehement of foes.

Their battles trembled the surface of the earth, fiery explosions and lightning always followed in the wake of their furious disputes.

It was pure madness until Polaris, finally, managed to subdue Ignis within his own rage. This sent the fire demon into an eternal slumber that could only be woken in the instance that the essence of the North Star met with the star's own lethal fury.

Fury born from the spite of Ignis - fury as in the single weakness of the North Star.

Fury would be his fall.

As Polaris had taken an interest in the lilies of the valley, there was one flower that had acquired his fancy; the lonely little Scarlet Lily.

She was fascinating with her blood red, luscious petals, flowing green leaves, and long slim stalk.

She was strange around all the other pure and silver flowers.

This is what caught the attention of Polaris.

And so he watched, every night, with a vast and attentive fascination as the Scarlet Lily swayed in the breeze of the valley.

And so did he sigh in utter enthrallment as the dewdrops glistened on her silken petals.

And so did he fall, in not so grand a spectacle as you might think, as only a star could, for the lonely Scarlet Lily in the Valley of Night.

But Polaris' feelings could not be received for the Scarlet Lily was just that; a flower. One with no self awareness. With no pride, dignity, or love; just a flower. A flower born from the fury of the North Star.

As time passed, his longing grew. Every day he wished she was his, and every moment he wished that wish again.

As everyone knows, wishing on stars is a powerful thing indeed. A star with a wish is infinitely more powerful: a wishing star.

And so he watched and wished and longed for the Scarlet Lily; this star of the most grand and wise, and from his longing came a drop of pure starlight. A drop of pure starlight that slipped from the heavens in the likeness of a small burst of shooting light (as akin to all shooting stars) and fell upon the Scarlet Lily.

Under the light of the full moon, the Scarlet Lily received this gift of beauty; and under the light of this pale, ethereal orb; she began to grow.

She held her leaves up and reached for the sky; stretching and climbing until she stood on her own two feet, her fingers still outstretched and grasping at Polaris'  shocking and brilliant light.

Mortal fingers and mortal feet with undying red hair and silver eyes; the wishing of the North Star had turned the Scarlet Lily from a flower into a living, breathing, feeling being.

Her first cry was a dusk wind, the second, a roaring river. Then, she opened her eyes, looked straight up at the sky, and smiled a glorious smile. As her gaze fell upon the origin of her being, she could not help but fall deeply and irrevocably  in love with the way the light of the North Star twinkled and shined in the eternal darkness of the night.

But, as stated before, in opposition to all goodness comes evil.

The North Star could not have known that this Scarlet Lily, born from his own bound fury, could be his undoing.

He could not have known that by falling in love - by freeing the lily from her isolating existence, that he also freed Ignis from his prison of slumber.

He could not have known this. . . .yet, Ignis was freed, and the Scarlet Lily was his only advantage over the north star. His only weakness: his fury.

And so Ignis marched on the Valley of Night, seeking the heart of the north star.

He roared and raged and raced across the landscape towards the valley, destroying everything in his wake.

The Lily could do nothing but watch as the orange burn of hopelessness clawed at the edges of the horizon. She knew the foreboding aura; she was born from it. Ignis was the sole cause of ferocious fury that the North star once retained - the reason that he could no longer escape the sky - it was her origin and all things are returned from whence they came.

Polaris, once a warrior of no comparison, could now only watch in savage horror from his prison in the sky as Ignis descended upon the Valley of Night.

The first to burn were the lilies of silver starlight who's only defense was the dew of the early dawn. They cried for relief; for a reprieve from the burning hell that was the vengeance of Ignis.

The Scarlet lily observed with deep torment as her kin were brutally burned under the light of the dismayed stars - Polaris the most distraught.

The flames grew ever more taller as Ignis sought out the Scarlet Lily.

The world became quiet as the Scarlet Lily directed one last loving glance and radiant smile towards her star; the guardian of the valley.

And, without another moment, the valley was engulfed in flames.

Oh how the stars cried that night; if only to quell the flames of the fiery demon.

And after, the night was silent.

Upon the scorched earth was barren soil.

Upon the charred ground were ashen stalks, devoid of life.

Upon the stretch of the burnt valley laid only the memory of a Scarlet Lily.

And so, Polaris, the Great Star of the North, the most grand and wise of them all; shed a tear.

It fell from the heavens slowly and remorsefully; trickling down from the sky and clearing the path for many more.

And so they fell, in not so grand a spectacle as you might think, as only tears could, down upon the memory of lilies in the Valley of Night.

They were a dreadful torrent; lasting many days and softly nurturing the ground in an array of sparkles.

They came every year from that year hence; a sorrowful mourning in remembrance of a great love and a great loss.

A shower to cleanse the earth from the fiery remnants of Ignis.

And so became the season of rains upon the great deserts of the land.

-The End-