The Choice
There are doorways in the mist. She counts seven of them, doors closed. Each door has a different symbol written on it. But she does not know their meaning. Trees are building the organic structure that holds them in place. The Enchanter’s voice echoes through the mist:
“Choose one. Once you have stepped through it, there is no return. This is how it has always been in the history of the forest.”
That is all. No information or clues about what would be found behind each door.
She sits down on a mossy rock in the dim light that is fading, now, as dusk sets in. Upon dawn, the mist is closing in and swallows the daylight. Three nights and three days, she sits on that rock in the mist, listening for answers inside herself and around her. But all she hears is the crickets.
Wait! … This is not a figure of speech. She hears crickets!
As understanding dawns, she begins to sing. Improvised … no: Inspired scales of haunting notes float from her lips and lift her vibration. As her light begins to shine, again, day breaks through and the mist lifts. In the rising light of dawn, she sees a white hart standing between the seven doors, waiting for her.
She gets to her feet and walks up to the stag. He greets her with a slight bow of his head, his nose gently touching her shoulder. Instinctively, her hand stretches out to softly rest on his shoulder. Letting the hart lead the way, they approach two tall trees in the distance. They grow behind the seven doors, out of sight from her former resting place. Some of their branches touch as if they are holding hands. Together with their two slim boots, they build the shape of an arch. Rays of the sun fall through the opening, like through a portal.
Upon reaching the threshold, the stag stops. Time to say goodbye. The white animal allows her to hug him. Then she turns towards the portal. On the other side, she sees the world lying at her feet. One look back at the Enchanter’s forest, though beautiful, bids farewell. The step through the portal seals it. She knows she can return any time. But she won’t. She won’t follow his story, any more. She will write her own.
This microfiction was inspired by #FromOneLine 331 — “There are doorways in the mist”, as well as by The Enchanted Forest Tarot from Lunaea Weatherstone and Meraylah Allwood.
