magic

​The singing of birds became an orchestra - a symphony of gossip and mirth. I'd never heard so many layers of music, never heard the variations and themes that wove between their arpeggios. And beyond the birdsong, there was an ethereal melody - a woman, melancholy and weary... the willow. Gasping, I opened my eyes.

The world had become richer, clearer. The brook was a near-invisible rainbow of water that flowed over stones as invitingly smooth as silk. The trees were clothed in a faint shimmer that radiated from their centres and danced along the edges of their leaves. There was no tangy metallic stench - no, the smell of magic had become like jasmine, like lilac, like roses. I would never be able to paint it, the richness, the feel… Maybe fractions of it, but not the whole thing.

Magic - everything was magic, and it broke my heart.

His skin gleamed with a golden sheen, and around his head glowed a circlet of sunshine.
And his eyes - not merely green and gold, but every hue and variation that could be imagined, as though every leaf in the forest had bled into one shade.