The Angel in the Woods Prose in Aroa | World Anvil
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The Angel in the Woods

Come around and gather all For I shall tell you a tale Be prepared for I was not And my heart was stolen from my chest Locked away in her holy visage   Travelling a road I did not know Lost between trees of Ebonwood for my despair and doom were near "Teluan ma nok me'hran" they say "Lost souls find no hope" tis true   Hopeless I was near my death I shambled upon a clearing light was piercing this dark veil As an arrow would pierce my heart's shell So I saw the Angel of the Wood   Before I continue I must give pause For words cannot capture the song of the wind Nor how the grass feels about the love of the moon For I saw the face of beauty divinely¬†inspired Terrible as a new mother's protection   I saw not fair skin and blonde hair but sunlight and threads of gold I saw not the clear blue eyes of a woman but a cerulean oasis in an endless desert These are the Angel in the Woods   I heard a voice clear and sharp but of silver fire comforting and uncontrollable I felt not the soft touch of a hand but was awashed in the gentle and persistent tide These are the Angel in the Woods   If you were to play chords to describe how the wind moves the grass or how the moon pulls at the sea you could begin to view what she is These are the Angel in the Woods   Her song on the leaves whispered secrets of how to live how to breathe how to withstand any storm or fire the eleven words to make anyone fall in love with you These are the Angel in the Woods   She wore a dress made of compassion pranced on shoes made of wonder in here hair strung flowers of delights she was wrapped in hope and spring eternal These are the Angel in the Woods   Oh how she danced and she swayed beautiful and chaotic yet unchanging which way will a leaf blow in the wind Unknowable yet predetermined course These are the Angel in the Woods   To my doom heaven did not persist For but a moment I had seen her and in but a moment she was gone I a man had glimpsed the work of god And now all my life shall be bitter

Claimed to be a true story as told by Mithiliel the Wanderer some years ago. He has spent more than a fortune on fruitless adventures hoping to see her one more time.


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