Later that night...
The garden lay aglow under the silver cascade of moonlight, its every blossom softly illuminated as if each petal housed a star. The ancient pond, serene and reflective, captured the light in gentle ripples that danced across its surface while koi drifted languidly beneath. On the far side, a waterfall whispered its steady murmur—a timeless lullaby woven from nature's own lull—and the warm night air was saturated with the delicate aroma of night-blooming lotus, rich and intoxicating.
Aelric strolled along the winding stone path, his hands clasped behind his back, his flowing cape sweeping gracefully through shimmering beads of dew. He wandered with no discernible purpose, drawn by some unseen force. The grand ball was a distant memory; his obligations lay unsatisfied, his mind a cluttered tapestry of half-forgotten thoughts and unsaid feelings he endeavored to ignore.
And yet...
There was something ineffably captivating about her.
Lady Snortwhistle.
The name struck him as absurd, almost comically out of place. But there was more.
He paused at the edge of the pond, furrowing his brow in thought. Something about her resonated—a familiar cadence in her voice, the refined way she carried herself, and a quiet, magnetic gravity that pulled at him. It stirred a deep, unbidden memory, tightening his chest as if his thoughts were chasing a fleeting dream just out of reach.
And then—
"You came."
The words fluttered down through the rustling leaves above him, as light and effortless as silk caressing skin.
He whirled around sharply. High above, Mei-Ling descended from the tree branch, landing in a fluid crouch as soft and weightless as a whispered secret. She straightened with an air of casual elegance, brushing her gown with a nonchalant grace, and grinned as though her entrance were a well-rehearsed act plucked from the pages of a daring misadventure.
"You missed me," she declared, planting her hands lightly on her hips with mischievous confidence.
Aelric cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "I was... taking a stroll."
"Uh huh. And it just so happened that your stroll led you through this very garden at precisely this hour?" she teased, her tone playfully accusing. "Sounds awfully like you were hoping to run into me again."
His eyes diverted, and he stumbled over his words. "No, I—"
She tilted her head, her gaze inquisitive and unyielding. "Curiosity doesn't hide well."
He couldn't deny it.
"You said you had something to tell me," he added softly, striving to steer the conversation back to familiar ground.
"I do," she replied, stepping closer so that the night's cool air mingled intimately between them. "But first... tell me who I am."
He blinked, his voice slow and deliberate. "You're Lady Snort—"
"No," she intervened with a gentle correction. "I'm Mei-Ling."
Her name slipped into the garden like a delicate melody riding on the night wind.
He repeated it in a soft murmur, "Mei-Ling..."
The sound was at once foreign and enchanting, evoking the imagery of a forgotten poem—mysterious and beautiful, yet tinged with a sense of almost familiarity.
He studied her, his eyes searching for that elusive spark of recognition that danced just beyond his reach.
"Do you remember?" she inquired quietly, her voice laced with a poignant hope.
He shook his head slowly. "No. I've never known anyone by that name."
Her smile wavered, the joy dimming to a soft sigh of disappointment. "It's a shame," she whispered, her words almost lost in the rustle of leaves. "I was hoping you would."
Aelric's tone hardened ever so slightly, tempered by frustration. "We've already established that I don't know who you are."
Mei-Ling lifted her chin, her expression a blend of playful defiance and hidden hurt, masking vulnerability with humor. "The party's been over for hours now. Are you suggesting I should take my leave, Your Highness?"
"It's late," he replied, his tone gentle yet resolute. "You should be heading home."
She arched an eyebrow in a gesture that mingled amusement with a touch of provocation. "Already weary of my company?"
"I didn't say that," he murmured defensively.
"You're offering to see me safely home," she teased with a knowing smile.
"I can have someone make sure you get home safely," he offered, his words trailing off as he contemplated his next move.
"Will you take me home?" she pressed softly.
Aelric hesitated. "No, I meant I'd call someone for you—"
She stepped even closer, her presence warm and insistent. "Never mind the formalities. Let's indulge in a moonlight walk and perhaps a little light scandal."
He sighed deeply, a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration coloring his voice. "You're impossible."
"And yet," she countered, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "you're still here with me."
He gazed down at her—this enchanting, infuriating woman who had effortlessly unraveled his defenses, making him forget the art of detachment.
"I feel like I should remember you," he admitted softly, his voice laced with both mystery and regret.
"You should," she said, her eyes softening as she regarded him. "But it's all right. I'll wait."
Aelric said nothing further, his heart suspended between memory and desire. Yet he took no steps to turn away, and neither did she—as if caught in an intimate moment that defied time and expectation.
Mei-Ling moved forward with a graceful determination, her silver mask catching the moon's gentle glow as if it were woven from starlight. Her voice, soft yet resolute, murmured, "Extend your hands."
Aelric's eyes widened in confusion. "Why?" he asked, his tone edged with uncertainty.
"Just do it," she coaxed, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "Please. And close your eyes."
He paused, caught in a maelstrom of disbelief—after all, kings were not accustomed to following commands from a mysterious stranger under the moon's caress, particularly not from someone with a name as whimsical as Snortwhistle. And yet, something in the timbre of her words carried the weight of ancient lullabies, evoking memories from a past he couldn't quite place.
Tentatively, Aelric stretched out his hands. Mei-Ling's cool, soft palms slipped into his, steady and assured. He obeyed her request, closing his eyes as if shutting out not just the world, but the burdens of his kingdom.
At that moment, a gentle breeze meandered through the garden, swirling around them with a delicate urgency. Then—POOF.
A sudden surge of air erupted around him, sharp as if a hidden force had shattered their reality. In that blink, the familiar garden, the tranquil pond, and the pale, reassuring glow of the moon all dissolved into oblivion. The sweet aroma of lotus that had lingered in the air evaporated, replaced by a wilder, earthier scent—a perfume reminiscent of raw nature and untamed life.
When he dared to open his eyes again, the world had transformed completely. The elegant ballroom, the grand palace, and even the carefully maintained world he held together with titles and silence were gone. Instead, they stood amid an expansive field awash in glowing blue blossoms; each petal pulsed with a soft, almost hypnotic luminescence beneath a sky teeming with unfamiliar stars. The delicate flowers rustled softly in the breeze, as though the wind itself sang a gentle, mystical lullaby just for them. Fireflies meandered lazily through the twilight, their tiny lights flickering like miniature floating embers, while at the distant horizon, a shadowy forest stood silently, awaiting its next secret.
Aelric staggered slightly, his regal composure shaken. "I—ugh—what just happened?" he muttered, one hand pressing against his forehead as if to steady his thoughts. "Everything... shifted."
Mei-Ling's tone remained coolly detached. "You'll get used to it," she replied, already striding forward with effortless confidence. "The dizziness wears off."
He regarded her, his gaze filled with incredulity as if she had unexpectedly sprouted another face. "You're a witch?" he ventured, disbelief mingling with awe.
Her eyes flashed dangerously as she turned back to him. "Don't call me a witch."
Perplexed, he pressed, "Then what are you?"
"A spirit," she replied simply.
Aelric blinked, trying to grasp the concept. "Like... a ghost?"
"No!" she groaned in exasperation, her voice mingling frustration with a peculiar tenderness. "Not that kind of spirit. In your world... you might call me a fairy."
He examined her with long-held skepticism. "Where are your wings, then?"
A mischievous smirk played on her lips. "I don't need wings to work wonders," she declared softly, spinning on her heel. With a flick of her hand, a cascade of shimmering light danced around her, sending ripples through the air much like pebbles skipping across a still pond.
Disbelief caused him to stumble once more. "What in the gods' names—" he began, only to be cut off by her calm rebuke.
"Stop being dramatic," she chided, already crouching among a cluster of luminous blossoms. "You're not cursed. You're merely in a place your soul remembers."
He scanned the surreal landscape, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "Where are we?"
For a long moment, she hesitated, then replied slowly, her delicate fingers grazing the edge of a petal. "This is near the Vjerniskógur outpost, just beyond the western ridge."
Aelric's eyes narrowed as he absorbed this information. "I've been here before?" he asked, his tone laced with both wonder and confusion.
She remained silent. He took another step closer, a need for clarity urging him on. "This is where we..." he trailed off.
She straightened, her back still turned as if reluctant to reveal too much. "...We what?" he prompted gently.
Mei-Ling paused, her shoulders rising with a soft exhalation. When she finally turned, her eyes—hidden behind the mask's reflective sheen—were inscrutable. "This is where we met," she stated simply. "That's all."
Aelric's heart resisted belief, knowing there was more hidden behind her measured words—more than she would soon confess, more than he was ready to accept. "Why did you bring me here?" he asked quietly, the question laden with both longing and uncertainty.
Her voice dropped to a tender murmur. "Because I want you to remember," she whispered, "not with your mind, but with your heart."
He gazed at her—the enigmatic, beautiful, and fiercely spirited woman who moved with the grace of a dream and spoke with the passion of a seasoned warrior—and felt an inexplicable pull, as if his soul reached out to something much older than memory itself. In that moment, for the first time in years, he felt not like a king burdened by responsibilities, but like a boy teetering on the threshold of a magical mystery.
Aelric knelt beside the undulating sea of luminous blossoms, his fingers hovering uncertainly above one particularly radiant bloom. It seemed as though its delicate petals, soft like velvet spun from pure starlight and shimmering with an iridescent deep blue hue, held a quiet, hidden flame within. With careful reverence, he plucked the flower and brought it close to his face.
The scent that emanated from it was subtle, a gentle sweetness intertwined with the faintest hint of calm—a memory of peace that seemed to seep not just into his mind but deep within his very being. It awakened something hidden, stirring long-forgotten echoes of joy and sorrow in equal measure. A profound stillness settled over him, thick and intangible, as if the air itself had paused its endless exhalation to honor the moment.
Unlike a bolt of lightning, the fragrance did not assault his senses; rather, it crept in softly, an intimate reminder of a half-remembered melody—a daydream that lingered long after waking, like the residual warmth of a touch or the echo of unspoken promises. He closed his eyes to feel it wholly.
Behind his eyelids, visions unfurled: a burst of laughter light and free, playful as if chasing the wind; bare feet traversing the tall, whispering summer grass; and a girl with wide, awe-filled eyes and dark, flowing hair, grinning as she gently placed a crown of wildflowers upon his head, declaring him "King of Bees."
Startled, his eyes snapped open. He regarded the flower in his hand as though it had betrayed him by unlocking forbidden memories. "I know this place," he murmured almost to himself, "not as a clear memory, but as a feeling—a dream I once had and then forgot."
Mei-Ling observed him quietly, her hands folded as if in silent prayer, her expression guarded yet tender. "You did dream it," she said softly, her tone lulling him as if offering reassurance. "Many times. And once, it was real."
Aelric turned to face her. "Who were you to me?" he asked softly, vulnerability seeping into his voice.
Her eyes shimmered with a trace of old secrets. "I was the girl who made you promise not to forget her," she replied, her words as quiet and melodic as a lullaby. "And you said you never would."
He glanced down at the delicate flower once more. "I lied," he confessed softly, the admission heavy with regret.
Mei-Ling stepped closer, her fingertips almost delicately brushing against his as if to remind him of a promise no mere words could hold. "No," she whispered, conviction lacing each syllable. "You didn't. They only made you forget."
The night wind stirred through the field of blossoms, the petals swaying in gentle, secretive rhythms—as if the flowers themselves shared in the silent recollections of the past. Aelric carefully tucked the luminous blue flower into the fold of his coat, pressing it close to his heart.
Around them, the field lay in a hushed silence. The stars glittered overhead, and the wind whispered among the blossoms like a chorus of soft, forgotten voices. Mei-Ling turned toward him, her features softening into an expression that was at once timeless and unreadable. Then, wordlessly, she reached upward and unfastened the crystal lace mask that had hidden her face.
It cascaded from her features like a piece of fine silk surrendering to the breeze, revealing the gentle curve of her cheek, the exquisite shape of her lips, and eyes of luminous emerald that shimmered with ancient, unspoken memories. In that moment, she was breathtaking—a beauty that transcended mere visual charm, a beauty that seized one's heart with the intensity of long-lost longing.
Aelric felt as though the very ground beneath him had shifted. He had witnessed many refined beauties in his life—queens with regal grace, warriors with fierce hearts, enchantresses with alluring mystique. Yet this beauty was different; it was not the beauty of painted portraits or whispered sonnets, but something so profound that to behold it was to feel a sweet pain, as if gazing upon an eternal promise his soul had yearned for across lifetimes.
He opened his mouth, desperate to utter words of awe or desire, but the moment stole his speech. And then, as if drawn by an irresistible force, she leaned in. Her lips touched his with a tenderness and suddenness that was laden with centuries of memory, a kiss that enveloped him in warmth like the echo of a melody long forgotten. Just as he began to surrender to that stirring feeling deep within, a sudden, surprising burst of magic—POOF—snapped him back into reality.
His eyes fluttered open to find himself standing once more in the familiar palace garden. The moonlit pond shimmered ahead, and the soft murmur of a waterfall filled the quiet air. The stars above remained constant, yet everything else had changed profoundly. He spun slowly, taking in the scene until he could only hear the rustle of leaves in the night.
"Lady Snortwhistle ...?" he whispered, but the reply was only the chorus of the wind passing through the trees.
He pressed his trembling fingers to his lips, still tingling from the vivid echo of her kiss. His hand drifted to his chest, and there, nestled within the fold of his tunic, lay the blue blossom—vibrant and unmistakably real.
It was not a dream.
As he gripped the flower tightly, a profound realization sparked within him. For the first time in a very, very long while, his voice broke the silence as he whispered her name with both longing and hope.
"Mei-Ling."