Come Alone

Sirona’s artwork had developed from illustrations for her mother’s herbalist books to portraitures in exchange for food or household items. Her mother tended to the animals and garden for the blacksmith in exchange for their living space and sold herbal concoctions at the market. Between the incomes, they lived well. They added two small sleeping rooms to their cottage and Sirona often woke in the night and sketched in the moonbeams coming through her window. 

It was a full moon tonight and Sirona slipped out of bed. She flipped through her sketchpad pages, studying the shading and highlights of the forest scenes. She noticed how her strokes had become more distinct and the depth of the forest sharper over time.

As she looked at the detail from the previous night, she noticed what looked like a figure.

“I don’t remember drawing that,” Sirona thought. Yet, there was clearly a dark cloak blended into the foliage with a pale face peering from under the hood.

She took her pad to the table. The forest was a stone’s throw from their cottage no wind rustled the branches or leaves. All was still, as if the world outside held its breath. Sirona found herself doing the same as she gazed at the spot where the figure appeared in her sketch.

There was nothing but the usual trees and bushes. She exhaled, telling herself that her fingers had taken over her imagination. That often happened when she was deep in drawing. She’d lose herself in her work and the result was a stunning likeness of not only features but emotions. This was why she had been summoned to the castletown of the Lord. Sirona was to paint his family portrait in three days.

Although the painting with the figure was unfinished, she opted for a fresh piece of parchment and dipped her quill in her favorite shade of deepest green. She outlined the treetops, switching to brown ink for the branches and trunks. Instead of opting for another green to add leaves, she reached for the black pot and she began to draw a cloak. She caught herself and looked up at the forest. 

The moonlight illuminated the face from the previous drawing. It was much clearer in person and she met the eyes with her own. 

“Come alone. Tomorrow.” 

The words drifted through the still air. The figure took a step towards her, pushing back the cloak and hood to reveal a tall, manly stature. Athough he didn’t smile, his eyes held a welcoming invitation. 

He turned and strode back into the forest, the darkness swallowing him.

Sirona finished the sketch, painting the man in black, grey and white in the foreground, a stark subject with the blurred greenery behind him. She wasn’t allowed in the forest alone, and definitely not at night. But she felt compelled to meet this stranger. 

Tired from her creative efforts, she returned to bed.

“We’ll see what the morrow brings,” she thought as sleep beckoned.