Kiss Me Alpha

Enchanted Garden

Seeing that there was no reason to head back to my room, I wanted to explore.I always have been the adventurous type since young.

The garden I stumbled upon was an enchanted garden.

It was wide and open, sloping gently down to a cosmic-blue river. A copse of cypress pines flanks me on one side, with a thicket of peaceful beeches standing guard on the other. Apple trees run through the centre of the garden, casting a lake of claw shadows onto the grass. In autumn, the fiery brilliance of their leaves is a sight: scorching-oranges, burning-browns and molten-reds. Then they drift to the ground as silently and carelessly as an ash cloud, settling in to their eternal rest.

Past the river was a plush-green meadow which stretches away into vastness and a dragon-backed mountain. In winter, the stricken loneliness of its peak sends shivers down my spine, wondering how anything could survive up there. The fog that coils around it seems as old and fey and grey as the mountain itself, an alien presence that can dampen any mood. I decided to call it Cimmerian Mountain, the ancient name for the land of perpetual mist. When spring finally comes, arcipluvian rainbows drench the mountain with coloured fire and the light leaks into the garden.

And that is why I fell in love with the garden so much. After January, there is stained glass clarity to the sunbeams. It starts with panes of light poking the shadows and making the earth steam. Midges rise with the grass mist, hanging like moon dust in the glassy haze. Daffodils detonate from the ground overnight as if some necromancer had put a spell of banishment on the winter. Hey presto and it's gone. Lipstick-pink peonies adorn the fringes of the garden and honeysuckle festoons the hedges with its ladylike perfume. The aroma of geosmine percolates through the air. If I inhale deep enough, the potpourri of scents registers as a sweet mix of jasmine, grass vapour and blossoms.

As if on cue, the herald of spring arrives after taking a sabbatical for the winter. The blackbird is the main player in the dawn chorus, his song as clear and fresh as the garden he will later raid. Warbling wrens and carolling chaffinches join him, creating an orchestra of sound. It cascades into the open spaces, ghosts through windows and onto the smiling lips of the sleepers within. This earth song of nature rouses the rest of the animals from their slumber. Dozy hedgehogs totter like zombies as they get drunk on the last of the rotten apples. Butterflies flutter through the air with their velvet wings. Above them, a murmuration of starling's loop and reel like wind-tossed gunpowder. As the grass in the garden grows to Jurassic heights, pheasants cluck like cockerels and sprint like roadrunners, celebrating the arrival of spring.

There was a river in the middle of this enchanted garden that had a magical quality to it that I haven't seen elsewhere. After the mountain snowmelt has purged it of its brandy-brown hue, usually in February. The full glory of the garden is revealed as I idle past the suede soft flowers. They are tingling my fingers with nature's electricity as I touch them. Jewel-green grasshoppers bounce off the flowers like leggy trampolines. Above me, the vault of sky seems to grow wider and higher as the morning wears on. It increases the acoustics and magnifies the richness of colour. I can hear the lullaby of the breeze swishing through the trees much clearer now and little animals scurry and shuffle in the undergrowth. Versace-purple crocuses peep shyly at me and I am lost in the marvel of springtime.

I can see cobwebs in the grass, glistering in the littoral light that the river reflects. They look like fishermen's nets of finely meshed steel. There's the most welcoming of scents in the air, a spearmint aroma that hangs and loiters above the wild garlic. I sit on a bench and gazed at the river. The water is lens clear and it is easy to spot the speckled trout at the bottom. Every so often, they explode up through the crystal water and soar into the air. Their hang time would do credit to Michael Jordan and like Nike, the Greek god of victory, they must have wings to stay up so long. Iridescent kingfishers flash by in a flurry of blue and gold, using the river as a super highway. Apart from the plunking of trout and the thrumming of wings, it is convent quiet at the bottom of the garden, a haven of peace and solitude.

I sit on the bench, watching the sun slowly rise over the Cimmerian mountain. At first, the lonely peak seems to hinder its ascent and it looks like a torc of gloriole-gold. Then its full splendour reveals itself and it soaks the garden with the effulgence of its smile. I can see the sunlight chasing the crab-shadows of the apple trees across the steaming grass. A blackbird alights onto a nearby branch and launches into an avian aria. Within moments, a fusillade of bird song follows it. rupturing the silence of the morn. It is a welcome invasion of the peace, but I sigh as I get up from the bench. As I wend my way back through the enchanted garden and towards the castle. I have only one wish; that those in slumber land within wear the same, easy smile that plays across my lips.

All of a sudden, a beautiful girl approached me. She had a sculpted figure which was twine-thin. Her waist was tapered and she had a burnished complexion. A pair of arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes. Her delicate ears framed a button nose. A set of dazzling, angel-white teeth gleamed as she blew gently on her carmine-red fingernails. Her flowing, moon shadow-black hair and blue eyes were an abnormality to me.

"Who are you?" She said, completely changing my image of her. Is she another of Jaxton's sluts? That thought stirred jealousy in me. "Jaxton brought me here." I claimed, looking her right in the eyes. Then she did the most unthinkable thing next.

She slapped me.

"You whore! Stay away from him! I won't let all you sluts have him. He still needs to find his mate! Get lost you bitch!" She screamed at me while I stood there in shock. Her eyes flashed with indignance and anger, much like lightning on a pitch black night. The way her eyes squinted when she glared at me, reminded me of a pit viper's slit-like pupils. A burning animosity was developing in her amber orbs, and I could tell he was the root cause of the problem.

But, she was still no match for Jaxton when he made his entrance. I watched as the whites in his eyes turned a pure black, and as his iris glowered teal. Symbols, lines and dots formed in the iris, placed in a sort of manner. Circular Gallifreyan,someone had told me once.

"What are you doing! How can you slap her?" Jaxton gritted out. "You have to stop bringing girls back Jaxton! What are you going to tell you mate?!" Jaxton looked extremely pissed off but also as irritated. "Claire." Taking a deep breath, he continued, saying "She is my mate! You don't go around slapping people's mates do you?"

I tried to hold in a laugh. I might not get what they're talking about, but it sounded very much like Jaxton was mocking her. She turned her head to the side to avert Jaxton's gaze, but the sudden rosiness of her cheeks gave her away.

"Sorry. I might have jumped to conclusions." The girl 'Claire', stuck out her hand for me to shake. I took it hesitantly and shook it. "This is my sister, Claire. She's, well, a pain in the arse." He said shaking his head. That made me grin at once. We were going to be the best of friends.