#magical steve

"Stay away from the woods."

The forest stretched beyond the horizon, compact, rich with trees, bushes and thickets alike. Its canopy was marked by greens and yellows, and rays of light burst through their crowns, allowing for a flood of shrubs to spread in the with leaves covered grounds below.

"Never stray from the path."  

Coiling branches waved from every tree, and a hodgepodge of flowers, in all colors Bucky could ever imagine, were a welcome change in the otherwise unchanging backdrop.

"Don't listen to the sounds."

A disharmony of noises, birds tweeting their love songs, insects buzzing around his ears, and butterflies fluttering from flower to flower, echoed in the air, and were out of sync with the occasional sounds of breaking twigs beneath the feet of larger animals, and himself. 

"Don’t look at the lights."

Bucky thought it was nonsense, those warnings. Beautiful lights hung above him in the canopy of trees, like dozens of fairies just fluttering from here to there, humming so sweetly. 

"And for God’s sake, beware the nymphs."

With eyes blue than the skies and the oceans, tiny stars sparkling in a reflection in the light blue, the young man looked at him. A ring of silver, sharp like a knife, surrounded the black of his pupil, flowing into oceans waves that seemed to change colors with every twist and turn of his head. His liquid eyes resembled, in their breathtaking depths, the lucid waters of the sea. Hair like golden strands lay tussled on his head, though with certain order that could not be arranged by simply falling out of bed.

"No matter how beautiful they look, do not listen to them. And for all that’s good and holy in this world, do not go with them!"  

The young man circled around him in a flowing motion that looked like a dance. When he moved, it was like water transformed by slow music, flowing in graceful arcs, limbs in constant motion like a hypnotist trying to bring all of his viewers under his spell, painting a picture sound alone could never hope to archive. He was the rhythm to the instruments, the body to the voice, the beauty to the melody. 

Bucky moved along, his eyes wide and lips parted, turning and twisting as to keep the gorgeous stranger in sight. The man was wearing a flowing, pale green robe, which, far from deteriorating from his beauty, greatly added to its effect. 

The young man reached out a hand towards Bucky, eyes inviting and so kind. 

"Come," the man said, plump, pink lips curling up to a smile, and Bucky could not help but reach out his own hand and take that of the stranger. Their fingers entwined, like puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, and the young man tugged.