Beneath the Mangrove Tree: Prologue

This is another little thing I've been working on for quite a while now, and so far I only have a few chapters... But here it is anyway. The parts in a different language are Elvish.

Prologue:
I’ ona en’ i’ hisie fea
The Gift of the Mist Spirit

Mist crept across the beach towards the little village. Small thatched cottages nestled against one another in the night, the windows dark and the cobbled streets deserted. Unseen to all, a figure walked in the Mist, seeming to carry it with her. She swept through the streets, spreading Mist like a muffling blanket as she went. She stopped in front of a particularly small cottage with a blacksmith sign hanging from the door. Her eyes turned upward to the one small window, and her thin, bloodless lips curled into a smile. The window was open, and Mist was already swirling around it. She stepped up to the door and placed her hand against the roughly hewn wood. The door clicked open, and she stepped in. The Mist curled around her bare and slender feet, covering the floor of the little cottage in seconds. A door led to the rooms in the back of the cottage where the Blacksmith and his wife slept soundly with their infant child asleep in his cradle. The Mist Spirit, for that was what she was, softly slipped up the stairs, her feet making no sound on the creaking wood boards. She looked around the room at the top of the cottage. There was a cot in the corner, occupied by a sleeping woman; the Blacksmith’s faithful servant Claudia. The Spirit shook her head. Humans were such cruel little creatures. She moved to the cradle that held the tiny sleeping infant daughter of the servant. She reached down and gently lifted the girl from her nest of blankets. Claudia rolled over, her light skin and black hair prominent in the pale light from the moon muffled by the Mist. The Spirit gently brushed a lock of the wispy black hair from the baby’s forehead. The baby opened her eyes, and The Spirit was shocked at the brilliance of them. They were the same shade of green as the leaves of the Willow that grew deep in the forest. ‘Could this be the child of prophecy?’ Her skin was a creamy tan, and her eyes were bright as glittering green emeralds. The Spirit took out a pouch of powder from her belt and drew a tiny pinch of it. She blew softly, and it swirled around the baby’s neck. There was a small flash of light, and the Spirit set the little girl back in her cradle. Before her eyes, a small mark appeared, curling gently around and around on itself. It would appear to others only as a birthmark. But to herself and other spirits, it was a sign of the child’s true identity. The small mark finished spreading and revealed it final shape to be a tiny pink rose nestled against the baby’s neck. The Spirit said a soft prayer for the child.
Ra er ken he varna
Great One keep her safe
The Spirit disappeared the way she came, leaving only the lingering Mist and the mark.

Excpert from Fallen

Fallen
Even Angels can Fall…
And when they do, terrible things happen.

This is a little portion of my story Fallen. (This is like, in the middle. But it's just enough to get you wondering, eh?)


Aranel cracked an eye open as pale moonlight streamed into her room. Calime was sleeping on her giant beanbag chair in the corner, his lanky form gracefully draped across its indented surface. The clothes were a bit too large for him as they belonged to Her brother, but they were better than his battered tunic. His hair caught the pale light and seemed to reflect it back at her, shimmering like liquid silver. His closed eyes were a shocking and unnatural silver, a shade darker than his hair. His pale skin was marred by scabs from the cuts he had obtained in the forest, and his face was tight in pain. Then his features smoothed over, and he looked peaceful and perfect for a moment before his brow furrowed again and he turned over, breaking the spell he had cast over her and shivering. She slowly slipped out of her bed and grabbed a blanket out of the closet and draped it over him. His face relaxed a bit, and he pulled it tighter around himself in sleep. She turned and suddenly found herself breathless; the painting of an angel on her wall was a golden reflection of the silver boy asleep on her chair. She glanced back at him, wondering... no, of course not. That was ridiculous. She scolded herself for her foolishness;

Angels didn't fall from the sky.

~

Hello World!!!!!

This is my blog, and I hope you will all love it!!!!!!!!! My name is Firegirl, and this is my Blog, Into the Inferno.