Pavane for a Dead Princess
Pavane for a Dead Princess sad stories
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onedreamer
onedreamer One who enjoys the craft of Story and So
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
A short piece inspired by Ravel's 'Pavane pour une infante defunte'.

Also inspired and very akin to ancient stories and poems of Forest sprites and Goddesses.

Probably Tolkien-esque.

An exercise in Aesthetic which I set for myself.

Pavane for a Dead Princess

When the records of time were not as vast, and maps of the world still had much to learn, in a deep green valley between the mountains there dwelt many wondrous things.

There, in colder times of the year would come a Grey mist, which loomed through the trees, animating the yearning for mystery in men’s hearts.

What lay beyond sight, lost to the murk, not many passers-by could say.

But- those who wandered the land knew of a name… one warmer, even, than a Queen’s most loving smile, more dazzling than the great web of stars of the sky.

It called out to those, weary and heavy, with promises of comfort to come.

It went up through the clouds to laugh with the rain, and down into men’s hearts, so in their most violent struggles, they found life and courage renewed again.

It moved through the waters from atop the mountain peaks, and bestowed the bloom of life on all that was yet unhatched, all that was yet unseen.

It was that which could not ever be lost, they said, even amidst the Grey and Green.

Then, gradually as time and its dreams, the grey would pass solemnly on. And in this passing distant daybreak was herald of brighter things to come.

So awoke a reverence, that could not be described, but surer and mightier than mountains, and closer to all hearts, did it reside.

Those who cast their sights high above would find, amongst the rooftop branches heavenly signs.

For they first welcomed home the falling Gold, and by their glowing green hands it was shown, all those hidden things below.

Such life there was which came from the earth, reaching up to take its place in splendour ordained.

And those that fell from from the canopy, bearers of the warmth, giving up their colour to come down and nourish the earth ever more.

But amidst all these noble processions in passing was something more wondrous than all; that good name, once distant and promising, had finally taken its form.

In soft footfalls on rich brown earth and subject of the breeze caressing, here was one knelt before by all common and kingly without question.

Such were the griefs she vanquished, this matchless grace, and the few words spoken that consoled even the gravest from waste, that of the green was made a haven and home, one good, quiet, true.

And so, all those while they could, held her in fond memory, for such a treasure was she. That in stillness and in storm, no other such wonder, they said, had ever been born.

But fond memories were to fade. And after a time, a numbered chorus chimed; “How solemn are we who walk this land, our hoping eyes can lay upon it no more.

Should they turn to the canopy above, their journey would end as it begun. With terror they tried… and in sadness they sigh”.

Once one had hoped to call upon that name and find their strengths remade, but now there was something else in the air, more doleful that ever remembered.

Brightest joys had taken flight early, and she was laid down to rest. Laid down between three dark trees, whose branches were broad and held the sky.

Whose roots dominated the subterranean depths, but had not yet in between met, so there they welcomed her into the earth, there was she laid to rest.

Yet not many knew, though those trees had outlived men; they were still young, and their roots would lengthen, and deepen, and tangle together over time.

Thus once laid down she was truly lost, and the earth was then heaped on heavy and high. All those left, prey to highest horrors found, passing seasons took their only consolation to defile.

Even the fondest of memories were to fade, even those of a mother, who by an age could no longer call to mind the countenance of her only child.

So came the day when she was entirely lost to the memories of time. And yet, through those highest horrors, and later days bitter and cold, there was again caught sight of the warm falling gold.

For that was her message, truer than time’s grand designs; that the spring would always come again.

Should the whole world freeze over and not a leaf of green remain, still, the spring would always come again.

Now, the deep green valleys are gone, long washed away in the changing waters of the world. But one can still bring to mind the good riches of the Golden Green.

They will forever be alluded to, though their beauty never again seen.

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