Woodland Nymph

Woodland Nymph

Her dark hair was wet, contrasting violently with the milk-white skin that it clung to in matted clumps. Fresh scuffs and scrapes covered her entire body. Her lips were cracked and red; I doubt she'd spoken or even uttered a single sound in years. Her eyes seemed a strangely pale green, almost ghastly. Those eyes bore into my very soul like hot coals. I could feel her eyes when they were on me. I could feel her presence woven into the dark, damp forest around her, almost as if she were nothing but a heavily glamoured fog hanging in the still night air, or a glowing mist over the the lake in the early morning. But there she stood, motionless as a deer caught in the frightful glow of the headlights on a fast approaching car. This was her world, and I was just visiting. Evidently, I'd overstayed my welcome. A stray beam of sunshine sifted through the leaves of the tall trees, and I could hear the soft warbling of birds off in the distance. I looked back to where she stood, only to find emptiness, her presence erased completely from the small, wooded area. Just as fast as she'd appeared, she was gone, as if she were never there in the first place… and for a moment, I had to wonder if she ever was.