One Word Prompts

Ripe - The Fairy Queen

She strolled through the garden, her pink silk gown trailing behind over the dark stone pavers, her gossamer shawl wafting in the breeze. Flowers were braided into her auburn hair. On either side and a step back, retainers followed. To the right, a slender man in a black coat with long coattails carried a book and quill. To the left, a trio of gruffs--short, chubby beings with heads of goats--scurried along, gardening equipment in hand, endless excitement in their eyes.

"Four milliliters here," the slender man said. He had flipped open the logbook, his quill tapping an entry impatiently.

The gruffs fell over each other, pulling the watering can between them. One won out, succeeding in tipping the watering can over the roots of a budding bush. He wore an unmistakable grin while the two losers slumped down on either side, pulling weeds from the planter box.

The woman bent down, lifting one unflowered bud with the tip of her finger. She inspected the pale pink petals, still folded neatly together, their beauty unseen by the world.

"How long?" she asked.

Her bookkeeper tapped the plant's entry in his logs, calculating the answer she desired from the recorded upkeep. "Two months."

She frowned. "So long?"

The bookkeeper nodded.

The first of the gruffs finished watering, holding the watering can above his head triumphantly. One of his siblings snatched it from him, running down the path with it, the other two chasing after.

"Too long," she said. She placed her lips on the bud, kissing it gently. The three gruffs scurried back, crowding as close to their mistress as they dared, their eyes transfixed on the flower. Her bookkeeper sighed, immediately scribbling notes in his book.

The air around them warmed. The scent of apples and rain filled the air. The golden glow of the setting sun collected in the air around them, becoming thick like honey, coalescing upon the leaves of the plant before her.

She stepped back, her work done.

Before them, the bud perked up. Its narrow stalk rose to meet the sun. Its petals slowly opened, unfurling in a riot of glorious pink. Before any had a chance to appreciate the display, the first of the petals dropped to the stone below.

One of the gruffs leapt forward, snatching up the petal in its little hands. It offered the petal to its mistress, sadness in its eyes. She scratched it behind its horns, as they watched the remaining petals fall.

The other buds on the bush followed. First one at a time, then many, then the rest, each flowering before their time, then wilting away.

The stone was covered in a carpet of pink petals. The gruffs scooped them up, bleating in distress, their eyes looking to their mistress for help.

She simply waited, her eyes still on the deflowered stalks. The glow around them remained, their movement not yet stopped.

Before their eyes, at the end of each slender stalk, the nub expanded and grew. Before a minute had passed, the green nubs had taken on other colors, some deep reds, others brilliant blues, others still any of the vibrant colors in between. These berries grew and grew, soaking up the golden light that surrounded the bush until the light was no more.

In the course of ten minutes, the bush had grown from buds to ripe berries. Such was the power of the queen of the fairy.

But she was not done.

As the sun set beneath the horizon, and the first star peeked down onto the garden from the darkening sky, she began to hum. The tune was old, starting slow but rising in tempo and power as it progressed.

The bush stirred. At first, it was just a rustle of leaves, perhaps just the wind.

The gruffs danced to her song, clasping hands and spinning with the music, the bush seeming to dance with them.

The moon rose, breaking the tree line. With it, her humming broke into a full, wordless song.

No sooner had the first note left her lips, did the first of the berries burst from its stalk. Only, it was no simple berry.

A small sprite--human in form, if no bigger than a thimble--flew through the air. Clothed in a dress of pink petals, her hair a curling mess of deep red, gossamer wings glistening in the moonlight, she landed amid the gruffs. Innocent eyes looked up at the little goat men, a laughing smile on her lips as she watched them dance.

She was the first of many. Each berry--first one at a time, then many, then the rest--burst into another new fairy until there was a whole host of fairy children laughing with the gruffs.

The bookkeeper sighed, futilely scribbling down a new record for each of the new arrivals.

But his mistress smiled, her song ending in the same quiet hum as it had begun. A smile on her lips, she continued her tour of the garden, the little fae flitting around her merrily, pulling at her train and tugging at her shawl.