Queen of the Wylies
The trees stood still and not a single wind blew. The night was hot and humid, and the lake stood still. The forest was as silent as a grave. The trees rustled slightly in the silence, and no animals stirred from their slumbers.
On the edge of the forest, just beyond the reach of the tree's shadow was a single grave. The grave was freshly dug, and a single bouquet of flowers lay on the dark dirt.
From the shadows I stared at the newly dug grave, a growing contempt and malice brewing within me. Slowly around me, we raised, white wispy figures dancing through the shadow of the trees. Our footsteps made no sound on the forest floor litter with leaves.
A cold wind began to blow, brushing away the hot humid air. A cool mist drifted across the lake and began to settle under our feet as we continued to dance. We were the Wylies.
I was Myrtha, Queen of these haunted women. Men had driven us to our graves and forever must pay for the pain they caused us. The dance our weapon, we drove men to their graves where they must forever rest. All men should be purged from mankind.
I wept by myself, just beyond the cold white building from which my pains had come. He sat inside, the fire burning cheerily, his new found lover by his side. He thought I would never find out. How very naïve of him.
So I sat out in the cold and the snow flurried around me. A romantic evening destroyed by his stupidity and horridness. I wept bitterly, my tears freezing on my cheeks.
I had loved him. I devoted my life to him. I had given up everything I had worked for, the possibility of being the first female doctor, my dreams and ambitions of being a writer. I gave up everything for him and this was how he had repaid me. The bastard.
So now I sat in the cold, contemplating my next move. He wasn't worth suicide. I knew that much. He hadn't been worth my dreams; he wasn't worth taking my own life.
That night it dropped below freezing and the world stood still, frozen and buried beneath snow. I wasn't found until the spring thaw.
I shuddered thinking of the memory. He had brought his new girlfriend to my funeral. He cried over my grave and brought flowers. He didn't survive the night.
I had discovered the world of the Wylies, these tortured women whose lives had been torn apart by the heartlessness of men. They had no leader, just constant bitterness towards mankind. I brought them together, and together we repaid our angry debts.
A young woman rose from the new grave, a bewildered and confused look on her face. I waltzed through the dancing spirits and approached her. At first she held an expression of fear, yet realized she was as dead as I was.
"Hello my dear." I said gently. I guided her towards the women who danced in the now silver moonlight. "I am Myrtha, Queen of the Wylies."
She winced visibly and I knew she was thinking of the bedtime stories about the Wylies and the horrid revenges they exacted on men. I would not deny it.
"I am Giselle." she replied. Her voice was soft and airy, so forgiving.
"Come my dear. You are safe now…" I opened my arms and almost unwilling she seemed to come, and I embraced her, the cold embrace of two memories.
The moon shone down upon us and around the lake the other's danced. I offered Giselle my hand and led her to the lake side, where she watched the ghostly figures twirl and leap in the light. Her eyes held mixed emotions of fear and longing and I smiled gently down upon her.
"Go, my dear. Join them." Giselle nodded without looking at me and took a leap, her body floating through the air, weightless. Smiling with pleasure I allowed the moonlight to fill my tortured soul and my feet to go where they pleased. Around the lake we danced, almost invisible through the mist, yet clearly there. Haunted figures of tortured women dancing their cares away, wishing for life once more.
A crunch of a twig caused me to pause, and turn to see a hulking young man laying flowers down upon Giselle's grave. I pursed my lips and with a small flick of my head, the others were besides me. The man looked up and I could see the terror in his eyes. Slowly we advanced. He backed away, and faltered, slipping in the thin film of water laid down by the mist. Slowly our ghost white figures surrounded him and with a single cry for help he fell into the water, never to be seen again.
Giselle watched from the side, her mouth open in astonishment, her cheeks rose colored and her hair blowing behind her like in a ghost story. She turned to me and looked ready to flee, but I guided her back to where we had begun dancing once more.
Not much time passed when a second noise was heard. Another man, this one younger and more attractive. Still, the man's face could not hide his inner beast. He too, lay flowers upon Giselle's grave, his doublet buttoned against the cold, and his boots muddy from walking through the forest.
Slowly we congregated once more, only this time in a circle, around the man. With a small cry Giselle ran and placed herself between us and the man.
"Giselle," I asked softly. "This is the man you died for! You want to save him?" my voice was dangerously low. Giselle bit her lip and did not reply, though she did not move from her position. "Let him die the way you did."
Around me the wylies began to dance, white skirts billowing in the beginning wind. The man looked down startled at his feet as they began to dance too, moving to the beat of a ghostly, unheard song. Giselle wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear.
"Prince Albrecht!" she cried. We moved faster, our skirts wrapping around the couple, a ghost woman and a prince. With a scream Giselle broke free from the circle, and desperately Prince Albrecht tried to follow. Our feet moved faster and Prince Albrecht has no choice but to follow, his eyes looking sorrowfully at Giselle.
With a ghostly hand Giselle reached in the circle and firmly gripped Prince Albrecht's hand. Together they danced around the circle, Giselle tightly holding Prince Albrecht's body close to her. His feet continued to move with a devilish fury and his face showed his struggle to continue.
Giselle looked up and cried out in relief. Startled I looked up and saw the ending of the moonlight and the beginning of the day. We stopped dancing and as quickly as we appeared we sank back into the ground, waiting for another night to dance away our tears and pain.
Giselle remained embracing Prince Albrecht.
"I'm sorry Giselle." he murmured. Giselle shook her head and put a finger to his lips. With a gentle sigh she kissed his forehead and the sun hit her body. In an instant she was gone, leaving Prince Albrecht embracing nothing but air.
Giselle never returned to dance with us. Her heart was at peace, finding a way to forgive, something we still struggle to learn, and never seem to reach. Forever we will dance in the forest, awaiting our next male victim, our heart's never fulfilled of our never ending bitterness.
I changed the story a little bit, but I hope you liked it anyway. I hope most of you know the story, but I'm not going to explain it here. Another ballet fic, but basically a fairy tale. Hope you liked it!