The Lantern Bride

Long ago, in the mist-cloaked lands of the League of Iamel-Zed, there lived a mortal woman of uncommon beauty and grace. She was kind to all, beloved by many, and her laughter could make even the sternest heart soften. Yet none of the mortal men who courted her ever won her heart. For her soul had long ago been ensnared by another — a Fey Prince, radiant and wild, whose smile haunted her waking dreams. He loved her too, with a heart as fierce as a summer storm. But though his affection was true, he was bound by the nature of his kind. As a true fey, he could only walk the mortal world when the full moon flooded the land with its silver light. Time meant little to him; a meeting once a month was enough to sustain him for centuries. Yet to the mortal woman, bound by the brief span of human life, their fleeting encounters were a cruel agony.

Desperate to be with him, she prayed. She called to Bedlam, begging the god of chaos to unmake the law that kept them apart. She whispered to Witnear, seeking the secret that might bridge their worlds. She sang her sorrows to Sune, pleading that love might conquer even the cruel edicts of fate. For many nights there was no answer. But then, as she slept beneath the open stars, a dream came to her. A voice, whether divine or something stranger, gave her the answer she sought.

She awoke with a fire in her heart.

She gathered the rarest of plants: the Moonthread, a silver-white vine said to bloom only when no light graced the sky. Night after night, under new moons and clouded heavens, she braved the wilds of the Fey woods, plucking the fragile threads until her hands were bloodied and torn. Then she wove them with care and devotion into hundreds of delicate lanterns, each sealed with a kiss, each heavy with her yearning.

On the first night, she hung the lanterns high in the trees. Their soft light, woven from Moonthread and mortal longing, bathed the forest in an ethereal glow. A false moonrise strethced across the forest.

That night, her Fey Prince came to her.

And he came again the next night. And the next. No longer limited by the waxing and waning of the true moon, the Prince was drawn by her crafted light, and the lovers were reunited night after night, dancing among the glowing trees, heedless of the passing seasons.

Thus it was until the mortal woman grew old, and her body could no longer weave, nor climb, nor hang the lanterns. On her final night, she placed her last lantern in the tallest tree she could reach, and there she waited beneath its light. When the Prince came to her once more, she smiled, kissed his hand, and with a final breath, gave her spirit into the night.

Some say that even now, if you wander deep into the League's forgotten forests, you might catch a glimpse of silver lanterns swinging between the branches, untouched by wind. And if you listen closely, you may hear a voice, neither fully mortal nor fey, calling out with aching love. still seeking the one who once lit the night just to be with him.