I laid back in the grass, drawing in my sketchbook under the cherry blossom tree. It was a beautiful spring day, the sakura on the tree just barely in bloom, a few blossoms occasionally falling from the light breeze that blew through the garden, twirling through the air, down onto the grass, some even onto the pages of my book or even me. I smiled, picking a few up and placing them within the cover of my book for pressing.
My sketchbook was one filled with magical creatures, those beautiful, wondrous beings with wings like butterflies and giggles like those of young children. One may call them faeries, but I call them glitters, and even Butterfree. Butterfree is the best word for them, I suppose, because of their carefree, childlike behaviour.
All my life I've dreamt of the world of the glitters. The creatures wear dresses of spidersilk, and decourate themselves with tiny flowers and moss. The greater glitters will colour their garments of silk with various things, just to show their place of their nobility. The noble glitters have quite an ego, and they oft will snub the peasant faeries for their lack of magical ability and social standing.
The queen of the faeries, Fardinia, is a glourious one indeed, wearing dozens of spidersilk petticoats, glittering with dew, her gown adorned with only the most vibrant red and gold moss, and only the freshest of fresh marigold petals. She has five maiden-glitters that are her loyal servants, and they not only grant her their aid, but also are her closest camaraderie.
The glitters are quite shy creatures, darting away from view lest someone by whom they don't want to be seen. If they find someone is plotting to find them, or openly shows that they greatly dislike them, the glitters may play nasty pranks on them, or even curse them if the someone has gotten them angry enough.
I remember once one of my classmates, Keraren, had boasted that he could capture a faerie in the down by the river. I followed him down there to find a water sprite splash him in the face. I felt sorry for him, I really did, because I knew that Delailah had merely shown him what she'd thought of his attitude.
Delailah is the only water-type Butterfree I have ever seen. She's quite shy, which makes me wonder if I haven't seen one because the others aren't that much more shy.
Most find angelfood a delicacy, and will do most anything for a treat to a sliver of the sumptuous dessert. Once I captured a photograph of a glitter feasting upon a slice which I had put in my dollhouse. Many glitters like my dollhouse; it's just their size, it's outside in the open air, and I put a slice of angelfood in the dining area of it every day.
Quite marvellous beauties, if I do say so myself.
I always wished to be friends with a glitter, but they were still untrusting of me. I suppose little people are fearing of big people.
I sighed, sitting back against the smooth trunk of the cherry blossom tree. It was an old tree, at least twice my age. Wondering about the time of day, since it seemed it was getting late, I looked up in the sky to find the position of the sun in its daily arc across the sky. It was almost four.
Just then I saw a shimmer up in the branches of the cherry blossom tree. The firefly-like glitter of light began flitting about, all over the place, and I smiled a little, excited, standing and leaving my book under the sakura and chasing off after playful spirit.
"Glitter, what's your name?" I inquired, giggling as I continued to follow the cheerful creature.
"Rhomsirrah," she replied, stopping before me for a moment.
Her wings fluttered constantly in order to keep her alight, but I could tell that her wings were the most beautiful I'd ever seen. They shone a great many shades of amethyst and gold, as well as emerald and ruby.
Her silken garb was like none other, the colour of monarch butterflies' wings when they first come from their cocoons in the summertime.
Her face beamed with an impish delight, and she giggled, darting off again.
"Where do you take me?" I continued, infinitely curious as to where my first adventure with a glitter would be.
My only response from her was that childlike giggle of hers.
On the way I saw many beautiful bushes and trees, covered in vines and flowers that washed the entire place with a warmth that only could be found in such a place of nature. Potpo flitted about the canopy of branches overhead, a few Yanyanma buzzing by.
By the time I found where Rhomsirrah had taken me, I was in a shady clearing, where a spring trickled over rocks and down into the stream which becomes the river by the down. The perfume of spring flowers filled the air in this heavenly retreat, and I laughed, happy. So did Rhomsirrah.
I twirled around and around, dancing with the twinkles of light which steamed down through the branches overhead, with the Yanyanma, and my own voice. It was then that I soon heard singing.
"Illeria shilleria illeria drenshaei,
Illeria shilleria illeria hiie,
Illeria shilleria illeria ardei,
Lashleria folleria pasheni kaen laei"
I sighed in awe as hundreds, if not thousands of glitters surrounded me, singing in chorus this strange song in their own mystical tongue. I soon began to feel dizzy and lightheaded, my sight growing dim. I fell into a deep sleep.
When I awoke, I was back under the shade of my cherry blossom tree. I frowned in certain disappointment that my adventure had been nothing but a dream.
Then I found myself rather stiff all of a sudden. I tried to move, but could do nothing but move my arms. Bringing my hands in front of my face, I began to cry, finding my arms to be those of branches, my fingers hard and leaflike. My hair, too, was a dense mass of foliage, falling from branches which sprouted from my head. My feet were planted firmly in the ground, now twisting roots into the soft, moist soil. Vines swathed my body as if a wondrous gown.
Rhomsirrah had tricked me.
Usokki, don't cry, a voice whispered in consolation. I picked my head up to find it had come from my sakura. I stopped crying for solely this reason. Rhomsirrah is an evil creature. It's all right.
Y—you can speak to me? I uttered.
I fell victim to Rhomsirrah as well, the effiminate voice continued. All sakura in the grove have.
B—but I'm just a young girl! Why did she trick me so?
Age matters naught to Rhomsirrah, the sakura replied. She cares only to play tricks on mankind.
It's been roughly ten or so years since Rhomsirrah had sung to me.
I dedicated my life to warning other children of her trickery, clicking my fingers as best I could when one caught sight of her. Most ignored me.
The trees call those children Usokki, after me, and so do my villagers. It pains me to see so many fall to the same fate that I did, but there is nothing anyone can do once she entrances you.
And so I warn you not to follow wills of the whisp by the down by the river, lest you end up like so many before you.