Where do all the stories come from asked the children often while she was in the middle of her storytelling. Every time she was asked she gave the same answer with a gentle smile. As if telling a secret she whispered to them 'From the silence...'. The children amazed would stay silent for a while. Amazed, intrigued, suspicious they would listen to the nothingness, shushing each other seriously, with only breaths of excitement accompanying them and every each time a chuckle or an angry opposition broke the silence.'Lady' they objected 'you are making them up!' . She just continued smiling and claimed maybe the silence liked her a lot more, and she was the only one that could hear it. The children never believed her, she didn't mind...she continued to tell her unfinished the story and the children as being children soon forgot the whole conversation about where the stories came.
As she rested her weary head each night he would come, in silence, whispering her name...'White' he would call her, 'Angel'...and he was 'Red'....'Drake'. He was a handful really, her friend, her dearest secret. He was the reason she told stories, for it seemed they calmed him down and heighten his mood. As for here his presence alone could enlighten her lonely existence. If she was late he wondered where she had been, if he wasn't around she started to worry herself sick. He was her soulmate, her companion, her one true love.
They would meet in secret, and talk about everything they encountered. He had great knowledge of spells and books and such, she on the other hand knew of many foreign lands. As they completed each other more and more everyday their stories got entwined to each other as it was pretold.
To be continued...
