Eve & the Whispered World

Chapter 3: The Forest of Wonders

Deep into the sprawling forests of Foxly Woods, the crumbled ruins of an old church housed a lone visitor. The roof had long caved, a four foot pillar stood where a bell-tower once might have and all there were only crumbled impressions of where windows and doors must have been. The monks who used to roam this building's small halls had not done so in centuries. 

The collapsed ruin had almost entirely been reclaimed by the forest. Lost and forgotten in time.

In the centre of the ruin lay a giant, fallen oak tree, and sat upon it, a young girl. 

Fiona curled up and rested her chin on her knees. She quietly sniffled and rubbed her youthful eyes as they kept threatening to cry. 

With all of her heart, she tried fight off the uncertainty, the sadness that had swelled up inside of her. But she could no longer harness the powerful force of overwhelming change that had lead her to this moment. It was all just too much. 

And so, in what felt like a sweet release, a reassuring, mother's hug from the empathetic trees that surrounded her; she wept. The tranquility of the place seemed to even encourage her.

The enormous tree that she sat upon was hardly comfortable. But this particular tree that lay in the heart of the ruin she had called 'her castle', in the dense forest she had dubbed 'The Forest of Wonders'. 

This ruin was her castle and this tree her throne, or at least it used to be.

Thirteen or so years separated the times between losing both of her parents. Her mother had died before she could remember. Her father, only months ago. 

Understandably, it was her father her heart currently ached for. 

She began to recollect. Their nightly tradition stood out. He would sit by her bedside as she would excitedly show to him the fairytales she had imagined. Haven both written and illustrated them on the equally impressive notebooks she had crafted.

Vividly, she remembered how his eyes would wrinkle as he smiled proudly. His favourite of the stories she had created was one named 'Tamlin'. A tale about a nervous, young drake who discovered he had a shadow, so spent an entire day trying to evade it. 

Her father encouraged her to imagine wonderful things. And she had. Every day.

Before he died, she revealed to him her deepest desire. When I grow up, I'm going to write stories about magical lands,  for everyone to read - I hope both children and adults will love them. 

Without exception or question, her father simply encouraged her to follow her dream. It was so simple. Her dreams seemed wonderful and exciting but possible.

Now he was gone. Gone and legally replaced by her cold, matter-of-fact aunt Eleanor. Now, such dreams seemed like an embarrassing, childish fantasy.

So ashamed was Eleanor by her fourteen year old niece's far-flung and 'juvenile' ambitions that she had officially arranged for Fiona to attend a horrid private academy of learning until she was sixteen.

It was this very news that impulsed Fiona to run far, far into the forest on this night. Here she was, back to the sanctuary that was once her Forest of Wonder, her magical realm of all and any possibilities. 

What she knew of Shaw's Academy for Young Women was through that of what her cousins had told her. It was a 'proper' place of learning where she would be taught to 'behave like a lady'.

Aunt Eleanor fancied herself a clever puppet master of sorts. Fiona could see right through her. Her blatant and transparent plan would be for Fiona and her cousins to one day 'marry into a rich families', so that she could reap some petty riches.

It was all too nauseating, too fast and too real. Worst of all, it all felt completely out of her control.

And so here she found herself curled up at the place she would roam as a starry eyed child. Here, she would explore the winding woodlands in search of the sprites who stole her father's tools, trolls who clumsily left tracks to their lairs and the sounds of the mysterious yet benevolent forest elves who, if you were quiet enough, you could vaguely hear singing the beautiful song of the forest.

But tonight, all she could hear was silence. Clenching her fists, she considered that perhaps there were indeed no spirits nor fantastical creatures wandering the woodlands.

Perhaps there was no such thing as magic at all. Perhaps the very thing that had been anchoring her to her belief and fascination of all things magical was silly and childish. Maybe it was, after all, time to grow up and become 'proper'. She'd be just like her obedient cousins then, much to Eleanor's delight.

'But what would father say to that?' she thought. She was fourteen now, perhaps his response would be a different one now that it had been two years after he'd gone. Maybe, his warm reassurances were nothing more than that of an adult indulging a silly child's fantasies.

Her mulling had given her a headache. A pang of guilt now surged through her for considering her father in such an unfair light, when he had never given reason to be thought of in such a way. He was kind and encouraging. Always.

Night was beginning to fall. Eventually, she had to drag her feet away from her once magical realm. Looking back, it seemed now only to be a damp, dark and lifeless plot of trees.

Emerging from the woods she reluctantly meandered home, Fiona Lockwood made her way toward the home on the hill, Lockwood Manor.