“Huldra Disappeared” Credit: Theodor Kittelsen
He saw her in the morning mist, slender as a willow wand, her skin pale. He would have thought her frail in any other situation, but as he saw her there, she seemed to be made of flexible marble, dancing on the tips of her toes through moss which hardly gave way under her.
She retreated slowly and silently. He followed.
The mist was disturbed by her; convincing it to do her bidding, she formed it to her own designs, long tendrils reaching out to him. The moss seemed softer underfoot as they went deeper into the forest. He wondered if he should call out to her, ask her name. She moved her white limbs to the silence of the mist, and he was struck dumb. She raised her hands above her head and looked at the green roof. She pirouetted and for the first time turned her back to him. It was rotted away like an ancient tree. She was hollow, and he knew he was lost. She no longer retreated as he came closer. When he reached her, she had already sunk in to the knees. She slung her arms around his middle and dragged him down with her.
A Bolg? 
busymindthinking
/ February 27, 2014I was captivated…beginning to end. Incredible piece of writing.
W. R. Woolf
/ February 27, 2014Thank you, I’m very glad you liked it 🙂
Widdershins
/ February 27, 2014Mists like this always remind of MZB’s ‘The Mists of Avalon’. They are not for the faint-if heart.
W. R. Woolf
/ February 27, 2014I’ve never read that book, perhaps I should put it on my list?
Mist is always uncanny; was that just a tree? What was that sound? Is there someone out there? It’s hard to tell in thick mist…