Moonlight pours into my grove, the dream sanctuary of the forest. Trees surround a pool, its reflection filled with Selene the moon. The placid, metallic surface of the water hides dark depths below. All is silent except the hushed weeping of the willows. Stones encircle the water, and they shimmer with moss. White blossoms carpet the ground. The wind breathes coolness into my enclosure and carries mist, translucent as me, with it. The little grove seems to be sleeping, but is alive with my dreams.
I don’t know for how long this grove has been my home, for days pass like minutes and seconds like years, but my dwelling it is, and so it shall be forever. My past binds me to this place more tightly than Hephaestus’ strongest fetters.
The season is spring in my prison; my favorite time of year. All the flowers are closed, and spring is when they wake up. I glide around my grove, touching each bud I pass. As my weightless fingers meet them, they bloom into trumpets, raising their heads to the star-filled sky.
Emotion swirls inside of me as I complete my annual task. I love the little flowers, the Narcissi, and I kiss their petals. I am overcome with sorrow and water them with tears. My heart aches from unrequited love. Remembrance opens the scar, and I feel a pain I can’t express. My moving lips are silent.
A nightingale calls somewhere in the forest. I echo the little bird’s midnight song.
This is a creative writing piece from the perspective of the nymph Echo, whose ability to speak was taken away, except to repeat what others said. She fell in love with Narcissus, who fell in love with his reflection in a pool and drowned.