> > > Aella,
> > >
> > > 
> > >
> > > The moonlight fell upon the waves in silver beams as the water gently rose and fell. The beach was bathed in moonlight too, and the cliffs. In the twilight the landscape shone as if the soft brush of the moons rays had transformed the plain strip of sand and the towering rock above it into shining crystal. But they could not match the sea.
> > > What was by day a grey mass seething against the cliffside like an angry beast had changed. It spread out across the horizon like a silver - or maybe blue – cloth. It glimmered and danced in the twilight. Now it seemed more an ocean of magic rather than an ocean of water.
> > > The young girl didn’t look at the sea though. She gazed only at the stars. They hung like baubles on a Christmas tree in the nights sky, gleaming like candles set out to guide a weary traveller home in the vast emptiness. Beautiful as the sea might have been the stars rivalled it with their splendour. In the beauty of the moment they seemed almost close enough to reach. Almost. As the girl gazed up at them tears ran down her face, reflecting the moonlight like stars themselves.
> > > This was a beautiful night, she knew it was, she had seen many nights in this place, but this one was one of the most beautiful she’d seen. Yet in all its magnificence and shining beauty the night saddened her. In its size and majesty the beauty she saw brought her to remember how small she was. One young girl alone in thought in this entire massive universe.
> > > The cove was little more than a crack in the cliffs with a strip of sand at the bottom. It was shaded from the worst of the wind and at high tide the water didn’t quite cover the whole of the beach. No path ran down from the cliffs however. The only way in or out of the cove was by sea.
> > > As a cold breeze played across the sea the girl stirred herself. Her eyes were neither green nor blue, but as they swept across the empty ocean and empty beach they seemed the colour of the sea itself. Hair of a colour unguessable in the moonlight reached down ridiculously long; as she rose it fell to well below her waist. She was not tall but her legs seemed ever so slightly long for her body.
> > > It was no wonder she was cold. She wore a simple, sleeveless, tie around top of fiery colours, ranging from red to orange to gold, but it had next to no colour in the silver light. Her skirt was green, or maybe blue, or perhaps even slightly silver, it seemed to be covered in sequins the colour of a tropical ocean, when she moved it seemed almost like the scales of a shining fish.
> > > Now she had stood another star could be seen. Or rather something that reflected like a star in the moonlight. A silver ribbon was looped loosely around her right wrist and from it hung a delicate silver key of maybe four centimetres long. Somehow that key seemed to be more beautiful than everything around it, as beautiful as if the silver in the moonlight and in the stars and most of all in the sea had been combined and distilled. It swung gently on its ribbon, catching the light.
> > > The girl turned to walk towards the cliffs but for a moment paused, taking in for a final second the beauty around her. In the silver painted majesty with the gentle washing of the sea over the sand the only noise to be heard, it was as if the night was whispering her name:
> > > “Aella.â€Â
> > > She turned back to the cliffs and hurried towards a pile of boulders.
> > > Nestled in the cliffs, completely unnoticeable from without was a small, dry cave. It wasn’t much more than a hollow in the cliff, but it was there. Aella slipped inside with familiar ease and moving carefully through the shadows found a candle and a box of matches.
> > > Now lit by the candle flame the little cave seemed subtly different. A small crack in the wall nestled in the corner furthest from the entrance. It formed a raised off the floor area that was unsuitable for storage as the open side came a little way above the bottom of the space. This made it so that if you wanted to keep things in it you would have to lean over it to put things in or take them out. Filled with scraps of cloth, a blanket and a pillow it made a fairly comfortable bed though.
> > > Next to the ‘bed’ was a large, smooth stone about the size of a footstool rising from the sand covered floor. On it was scattered a comb and the packet of matches Aella had used to light the candle. A small wooden crate on its side was over by the other wall, its’ contents hidden by a white cloth that came down across the opening and was kept where it was by some small stones. Apart from the comb, candle, matches, and of course the key around her wrist, that battered crate held everything Aella owned.
> > > Aside from the makeshift bed, table and crate the small space was completely empty.
> > > Not to Aella though. To her this tiny, hidden cave, lit by candlelight and filled with the echoes of the sea was home. The only home she had.
> > > Unafraid of starting a fire – there was very little to burn here – she placed the candleholder and candle on the table and climbed into her so-called bed. Outside the sea lapped gently against the beach and the moonlight fell upon the cliffs. In her tiny haven, Aella closed her eyes.
> > >
> > >
> > > “I know I should hate the sea. Hate it as the impassable barrier that keeps me confined to my cliff enclosed prison. Maybe I should hate the Key too. The Key that this is all about. But I can’t.
> > > The sea surrounds me by day and lulls me to sleep at night. It is strange and it is beautiful and it can just as easily be deadly, but I cannot hate it. The Key too, I find impossible to hate. And anyway, though it may be for the Key that this has all happened, it is not the Key that keeps me here. Here in this prison.
> > > This prison, it is a strange, lonely place. Were I not trapped here I would love it. But I am trapped, completely isolated from the rest of the world. Is it too strange that I sometimes doubt there even is a rest of the world any more?
> > > But I know there is more of the world. To the South of my prison is a fishing village that I think is called Willingham, though it might be something else as I don’t really have any way to find out. Sometimes I see a lighthouse there, though it’s quite far and hard to make out. North is a city, Paradopolis, I think it has a lighthouse too since I can sometimes make one out. But both these places are unreachable to me.
> > > Sometimes I wonder how old I am. I was almost ten when I was first brought to my prison, but that was a long time ago, years though I do not know how many. Like the rest of the world time has abandoned me. I can tell its passing only by the slipping by of the seasons and the changing of the moon.
> > > I also wonder about was has happened to the rest of the world. There could have been a war for all I know - and I may never know it. I don’t like to think about it, but it is possible that I will live like this for the rest of my life.
> > > What can I do though? What can I do but endure? The sea is singing to me and the Key hangs around my wrist, a comforting weight. I can only wait. Some may say I have nothing of value but that I know untrue. I have the Key, and the name my mother gave me too. The Key and my name…â€Â
> > >
> > > Aella.
> > >
> > >
> > > More Stories by me can be found at http://www.chillwater.plus.com/rrw/rrwindex.htm ">Rhiannons Stories.
> > >
> > > By Rhiannon Watson
> > >
> > > Concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2006 reserved by Rhiannon Rose Watson. The right of Rhiannon Rose Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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