I shouldn’t really be writing about this, of course, much less sharing it. But I’m at such a loss as to understanding this particular case, I feel I have no choice but to make my problem – and, I suppose, the problem of my patient – known to at least one confidante, and my trust in your discretion is exceedingly high. However, in the interest of professional integrity, I must assure you that at least the name of my client has been altered, as have some minor details, and with any luck, his identity will thus remain anonymous. My client! …
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Crisp and clean flecked the fresh-falling flakes in the pale wavering light of the feeble rising sun, its own mist-hazed rays rendered vain by the cold and bright-gleaming snow that heaped all about. The whiteclad streets were quiet, as if they too slumbered in content reverence following the now-passed feastday, and they were untroubled by the presence of man or woman at this early hour. Nay. Not wholly untroubled, perhaps. For, passing swift over the fresh-fallen snow that lay undisturbed by her light tread was a simply clad woman, walking silent and unobserved down the quiet street. Her name was…
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‘Twas on the borders of Elfland that they met, and this was but the first and the least of the many wonders in their tale. For she was dreaming under a rowan tree when he came swift and soft upon her; and she was wrapped in slumber and crowned with flowers upon her dusky hair. Then startled he cried at this fleeting vision of loveliness and she woke! and saw him elfin-bright, clad in green and of noble bearing, and there was a song in his smile and his feet were light. And she would have fled, but his eyes…
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Out of the East he came, far-traveller and great-hearted, and they welcomed him with song and merriment and awe. For mighty he seemed in their company, and strange were the tales of those deeds by which he had won renown, the aged hero come now to rest. In starlit truesilver was he clad, and girt gleaming at his side was ancientry forged by their own forefathers in the height of their fearsome splendour, and many were the sad years that had passed since their glory failed. Threadbare worn was his cloak, for far and wide had he roamed, the great…
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Once mighty were the weary bones that now groaned under gem-crusted hide. Aching creaking muscles rippled ‘neath wrinkled skin, and barely did the gaunt sinews still hold aloft ragged folded wing and venerable head. Drowsy eye drooped and haggard breath wheezed from snarling, half-open mouth, wherein lay deadly yellowing row of sickle-sharp jagged teeth. In sleep’s tender embrace slumbered that wicked and glorious tyrant, steam rising from his nostrils as the sun gazed in through the cavern’s mouth and danced heedless upon ruby-reddened body. In ruined hole he dwelt, once-grand echo of bygone glory. Cunning wrought were its mighty chambers…
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