Winter's Nocturne

Forget-Me-Not

Every single day in the lush green village of Ashenbourne is the same, the air bright with fragrant pink petals and a sun that colours the horizon with every possible hue from dawn to dusk. A lot of people would find that dull, but for me, it is a comfort. There is a feeling of safety in routine and with familiarity comes love.

Today, I am up before the chirping of the birds. My eyes are bright and studying the stunning ensemble carefully chosen for the day.

If squee were a proper word in our language, I'd write that in my daily diary entry. It isn't, but it is the only thing that conveys the appropriate importance and lightheartedness of the day.

Today, I will turn one hundred years old.

In our culture, it is the day I turn from a child into a proper adult woman. I am old enough to be married, to choose a profession, decide to continue my studies, travel on my own, and even have children of my own. Of course, it is essential that the marriage part comes before the children or there is considerable trouble in this tiny village.

My name is Aurelia Lefevre, which means "the golden lady of fire". It was gifted to me by my parents, who noticed almost as soon as I was born that my skin is a creamy tone that is made darker by sparkling undertones.

When I concentrate very hard, my skin turns a charming shade of gold. If I am focusing all my energy, it's possible to see little shards of light glowing. It is a spectacle.

My mother has always said it is a sign. When I was born, all the Gods and Goddesses smiled upon me. They made me divine. I also came into the world with a tiny set of white wings that grew as I did. Instead of being large and shaped like wings of a hawk or an eagle, they are small.

All of me is smaller than even the rest of my kind, but people say I am the messenger of peace and hope. I think about this as I excitedly dress, donning the ornate but light layers of white and gold fabric.

I cover myself a little differently, because of my wings and because I am supposedly delicate. I hate that word.

Most girls my age wear heavy, ornate gowns that are modest and luxurious. I am a little less modest and allowed to dress in lighter, more provocative fabrics that show the curves of my body and reveal my shoulders and something called decolletage.

It's a fancy word that means cleavage, not that I have so much to show off quite yet. In human years, I am the equivalent of sixteen.

People say human girls have lovely parties for that age in the same way. I like that. It makes the whole process feel normal.

I braid the sides of my hair into a crown that encircles my head, leaving only the blazing red locks in back flowing free. That is the part of me that is fire.

Next to the elaborate gown with the sheer white scarf covering my neck, arms, and decolletage, I spy a small wooden box with an even tinier one stained purple on top. It is the same shade of purple as my eyes. Instinctively, I know it from the boy who has been courting me. His name is Niemand, and he's got dreamy blue eyes and the blondest hair you've ever seen.

He is a High Elf, and that means he is high in status and made to be a warrior. Only Elves like me have wings, so our children won't be able to fly. I don't mind that, though. I think it is better to be secure than free. Freedom can be lonely.

Opening the large box, I see a happy birthday note from my father. It tells me how proud he is of my nobility and virtue. Underneath are gold bracelets for each of my wrists, ankles, and light sparkly jewels to put in my ears.

My eyes tear up a little, and when I open Niemand's box, I gasp at the extravagance of what's inside. It is a light golden chain with a beautiful jewelled flower called a "forget-me-not".

Sliding on the necklace and the pristine white-gold shoes laid out for me, I run down the stairs. It is the day I begin my new life, as High Priestess of all of Ashenbourne.