#toas

this au has me In a FUCKING CHOKEHOLD.

*TRANSFORMATION OF A SPIRIT* - A HORROR SHORT STORY BY ELIZA ORMANDY

tw: death, general disturbance

word count: 661

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There is a forest where the mists are silent. The wind stands still in the withering branches, and the shadows dare not change their angle for fear they might collide and wake someone in this unearthly grave.

There is a forest where you fear to set foot lest you stir up the foliage; the grey, dead foliage, always the same since time immemorial.

Even the sun shies away from this forest and drives its flock of clouds over the rigid canopy as quickly as possible, so as not to have to look down on it any longer than necessary.

Thus the forest is left to the only beings that have dwelt in it for as long as there have been forests on earth.

With empty eyes they search the paths, with withered fingers they grasp at every bit of life that has strayed into this place of agony, and when they have destroyed it, their bitter faces glow with malicious pleasure. They are elves, those destructive spirits of nature that wander restlessly, ravenous and merciless.

A sound. The patter of hooves. By the lichen beard of the mountain troll, a rider! He hurries along, barely the horse's hooves touching the ground together once. What a welcome change in this ghastly silent twilight.

Slowly, from the shadow of a large alder tree, a bright wisp emerges, a creature with large, black eye sockets and melting features. With grizzled claws it gropes its way forward, floating through the undergrowth without making a sound, until it sees what it has been waiting for.

A man rides through the forest. He looks around with a hurried gaze.

A human being!

In his arms he holds a little bundle.

A boy!

He smells of life. How soft his skin, how warm his breath.

Come!

Come to me, dear child!

Do you not know the games I will teach you, the flowers I will show you? Will you not see my Mother, who resides on her throne, her golden robe? You shall meet my daughters, they will sing you to sleep with the voices of angels. Of fallen angels.

Pleading hands reach out to the delicate creature, but it ducks, frightened, into the sheltering arms of its father and calls to him in a high, childlike voice. Still,  family ties have never been a cause of restraint for the desirous jaws of the elves.

You will not come? I will take you by force!

The boy cries as he feels his soul being separated from his body;  the father startles as the boy groans and slumps like a lifeless moth. His heart is surely bleeding now, his spirit lies sore and defenceless in the grip of his captor.

Are you worthy of me? You know who I am, say it! Find the right words, you know them! Just say it!

The soul twitches restlessly back and forth, its light already extinguished.

Say it!

"Elf king!" The piercing shriek makes the air tremble.

How true, how true!

In the midst of the king's bark-encrusted face, a sticky maw opens up and it swallows the helpless, downy thing of a spirit whole, as if it had never been there.

Life, what a powerless little toy in the hands of the everlasting.

And yet they need it, they strive for it, and they remain friendly in their own way to the bodies that carry them.

His skin, like rose petals on a bog pond!

Such a robe befits a ruler and a ruler alone.

The king retires, now that the deed is done.

He catches sight of his reflection in a tree stump filled with rainwater.

Do not the first blond curls already gleam on my bald head? Doesn't a light blue flash there in the chasms that serve as my eyes?

And the pain that comes with human souls - he feels it - the cursed conscience.

A few grains of salt trickle into the small puddle.

The transformation has begun.

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