Short Little Stories

Within the vale of Sylvan Rue, there lay a dame most fair. Enchanted by the forest’s blooms, she had lain upon the clearing’s floor, and there she to slumber fell. She came from a simple farmer’s folk, and knew not to beware the flowers there.

The seasons passed, the sun and moon, and time passed by and touched her not. She slept on, still fair and fresh, beneath both wintry bough and summer’s height. Her land of birth did fade away, her family gone, her friends forgotten. Within the vale, by flower touched, the dame still lazed away, dreaming of her past, and her youthfull days of play.

As time did pass and magic faded, the forest shrunk in size. A village grew into a town, and from therein did hunters arise. They delved within the forest’s haven, and passed beneath the weathered trees. They found the central clearing there, and laid their eyes upon the Dame of Sylvan Rue.

The walked away with legend in hand, and told the tale of that sight. And many men and many princes went in search of her, but she was not found again.

Time passed on and still she slumbered, and in her dreams she saw the changing of the world. Amazing lore and learning grew, and cities were born upon the plain. Great buildings rose, and cars and guns and many things, and the world was a far different place then when she went to rest.

But she saw all this in only dreams, and still she slumbered on. The locals knew her well, and told her tale, though the words changed with every passing year. But one thing still stayed the same – she was a dame most fair, they said, and slumbered still within the vale.

In time the cities crumbled, and in time the people died. The earth continued on its course, and she still kept close her eyes. Her dreams fell into darkness, and the troubles of the world, and her sleep was restless – and yet, it continued still.

In time the land was bereft of man and of mankind. Cities were left to animals, and the forest reclaimed its own.

And in the Vale of Sylvan Rue, the dame still slept away. And ages passed, and eons swept by, and all that was, was changed again a time or two.

And in the passing of the years, mankind rose again. The cities long forgotten, the many marvels forever lost, they began once more anew amidst the turning of the seasons. And in time there came to be a simple farmer folk, and they lived a life most pleasant.

And on that day the dame arose, and passed from the forest’s touch. Her mind was fuzzy for a time, filled with dreams and wonders beyond compare. But she was a simple farmer’s daughter, a fine young lass of common sense. And so she put the dreaming from her mind, and found another home.

And there she lives to this day, a blessed life from all accounts. No princes, no cities, no wondrous dreams. But it is more than many are given, and it is far more than she would ask for, for far better to live as a simple farmer’s daughter, then dream her life away as the Dame of Sylvan Rue.