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Story once again woke to the sound of the haunting melody from the previous evening. Just as before, the woods around her were lit up by faeries of all different sizes flying off toward the music. A smile crossed her lips, and without hesitation, she sprang to her feet on the spongy ground and joined the faeries in their wild dance.

As she twirled, the pixies swirling around her, she noticed her hair was once again hanging in soft curls, trailing to her waist. She was also clean and dressed in an airy gown. The delicate purple fabric was like nothing she’d worn before, and it shimmered and danced in the moonlight almost of its own accord.

These thoughts hardly had time to sink in before she and her winged escort danced their way into the clearing once again, the music growing louder with each step. She recognized the melody now: her dad used to hum it to her as a child, and she in turn had sung it wordlessly to the twins when they were little. But this version was far more untamed and magical; she could feel her heart beating along with the tempo of the music.

Caught up in her dance with the faeries, she only noticed the beautiful wild boy from the previous night when he stepped away from his gold violin. The instrument kept on playing without him, and he gracefully bowed his head to her. She paused, momentarily arrested both by his sudden appearance and his utter perfection.

He smiled at her, and it was so stunningly gorgeous that her breath caught in her throat. The tempo of the music increased, and her heart raced in time. His grin broadened, and before she realized what was happening, he swept her back into the faerie dance. He smelled fresh and clean, like melting snow, singing birds, and blooming flowers—like spring.

The revel seemed to last only minutes, but it surely must have been hours. Wildflowers sprouted and bloomed around them, and the faeries swirled in counter time to their dance. Finally, her head spinning, Story asked with breathless wonder, “Who are you?”

“I’m Morrigann.”

His voice was like the sound of the morning breeze blowing gently through the aspen leaves. It was soft and gentle, both peaceful and entrancing. She would do anything to hear him speak again.

“Are you a faerie?” she asked dreamily, enraptured by the moonlight shimmering across his faintly golden skin and brilliant hair.

Morrigann chuckled, and Story noted somewhere in a hazy corner of her mind that it sounded like softly falling rain.

“Yes, I am a faerie, of a sort.” His accent was cultured and refined—regal even.

Story inhaled his scent—he even smelled perfect; rich and earthy, with a hint of honey and citrus blossoms.

He twirled her around then caught her up in his arms. “The real question is,” he paused, dipping her low, “who and what are you?”

Before Story could answer, he pulled her back up and resumed their dance, twirling her around and around in ever tighter and faster circles. She was so dizzy she couldn’t think straight, and she didn’t care.

“You don’t look like a gnome, elf, or dryad, and I know you aren’t one of the Sidhe.”

Abruptly the music ended, and Story sagged into the boy’s arms as he stopped their dance. Facing him once again, staring into his vivid, violet eyes, she hardly knew who she was any longer. She only knew she wanted to hear him speak again in his perfect voice.

“I’m Story,” she breathed. “And I’m not any of those things. I’m just a girl.”

His eyes narrowed fractionally as he leaned in close to her face, until he was only a breath away. He held her gaze for a moment then closed his eyes completely as he inhaled deeply through his nose, breathing in her scent. Time seemed to halt as he stood there, motionless.

War of the Seasons, book one: The HumanWhere stories live. Discover now