Kiss Of Spring
This short piece was the patron reward for my Patreon for March 2018. Twelve months of exclusivity is enough so I am now unleashing it upon the unsuspecting world. This story was generously supported by my patrons and you can become one by subscribing at the link.
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Kiss of Spring
“So what if we lose the Spring,” said Edimon of the fey. “It is a useless season. By stretching Winter on the one hand, and Summer with the other,” and here he stretched his long arms so that the watching fairy conclave could greatly admire his elegant fingers, “we shall make up any shortfall. Winter has a harsh beauty, Summer its plenty, even Autumn is a pleasant time with golden leaves and invigorating storms. But Spring? Showers and,” here he paused and allowed a sneer to spread across his fine features, “greenery.”
“Nevertheless,” said Persilius, moderator pro tem of the conclave of the high fey and the low, of the eldritch wights of forest, field and hills, “the Queen has directed that the season should be ransomed from those who are currently acting as its, ah, hosts. And that this should be completed no later than February 31st.”
“Pah,” said Edimon, shaking his head so glorious ebony locks flicked through the air to sighs from the watchers. “The Queen directs; it must be so, yet we must pay, with blood and treasure and hard work...”
“The ransom,” said the silver-veiled goblin emissary sitting on a plain wooden stool across the floor from him, voice ringing like a bell, singing like a bird, “is a kiss.”
“...blood and treasure and hard work, and so therefore,” said Edimon, changing tack and smiling, his pale tongue flickered across his lips, “I shall volunteer to pay in full myself.”
The conclave erupted in cheers.
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“So what if we lose the Spring,” said Edimon of the fey. “It is a useless season. By stretching Winter on the one hand, and Summer with the other,” and here he stretched his long arms so that the watching fairy conclave could greatly admire his elegant fingers, “we shall make up any shortfall. Winter has a harsh beauty, Summer its plenty, even Autumn is a pleasant time with golden leaves and invigorating storms. But Spring? Showers and,” here he paused and allowed a sneer to spread across his fine features, “greenery.”
“Nevertheless,” said Persilius, moderator pro tem of the conclave of the high fey and the low, of the eldritch wights of forest, field and hills, “the Queen has directed that the season should be ransomed from those who are currently acting as its, ah, hosts. And that this should be completed no later than February 31st.”
“Pah,” said Edimon, shaking his head so glorious ebony locks flicked through the air to sighs from the watchers. “The Queen directs; it must be so, yet we must pay, with blood and treasure and hard work...”
“The ransom,” said the silver-veiled goblin emissary sitting on a plain wooden stool across the floor from him, voice ringing like a bell, singing like a bird, “is a kiss.”
“...blood and treasure and hard work, and so therefore,” said Edimon, changing tack and smiling, his pale tongue flickered across his lips, “I shall volunteer to pay in full myself.”
The conclave erupted in cheers.
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