The Fallen

I do not own any of the images I use. This is the prologue/ first chapter for a book I may write during the summer holidays, if people like it :) This is also published on Wattpad.


1. Chapter One

There is no way to hold something that is truly beautiful, not without consequences- there is a reason why roses have thorns…

Anxiously leaving the house, I saw it. I’d been waiting for so long, and there it was-a single dropped coin- over on the wall by the rosebush. The light reflected off its surface only slightly; in my heart, and my mind, it appeared to be so much brighter, like our love. Walking over to the wall I picked up the battered oval, its surface marked with age. Looking around and seeing nobody, I poked around in the rosebush, only seeing beautiful peach flowers and vibrant green leaves. As my hand was scraped by thorns, I finally found it- the note.

‘An hour together at our wishing well’                          

 It was always so short, not just the note but the time we got to have together. Today, only a single hour; however, what did it matter? When we were together time lost all meaning.

I ran back inside to set up a picnic basket with some cheese and biscuits (though I doubted we’d eat them) and to tell mother I was going to the woods to read. My dear mother; she never suspected a thing. Yet, just to be sure, I packed Heroides*. I hadn’t read any of Ovid’s poems in months and certainly wouldn’t be reading any today, I thought absentmindedly.

I couldn’t help but skip joyfully down the beaten dirt path that led to our spot; leaping from one spattering of sunlight to the other, never staying in the shadows cast by the old oak trees. I wouldn’t let my mood be dampened, so I went only thinking about my destination. Our clearing.

On entering, I looked around, though I knew he’d be much longer since I’d rushed here quickly in anticipation. I couldn’t wait to finally see him; it had only been days since I last saw him but it might as well have been years. Taking in the various colours of the clearing, the green vibrant and bright with daisies popping up here and there in our grassy ditch which was always light and calming, our red brick well faded to a soothing dusty pink.

My slight frame cast a shadow, as I sat down in the sunlight. I knew I’d regret it once I was covered in the red burn. But I couldn’t bear to sit down in the shadows, the darkness, in case our wonderful clearing, so filled with life and love, looked different from there. Like how in the summer during the day the forest could look inviting and vast but as night falls it appears stuffy and cramped, not enough space to step without tripping over a tangled tree root. Right then in that moment I wanted only the good, so nothing dark could end our shining hour.

Hearing footsteps, I looked up just as he stepped into the clearing; the light was illuminating his chiselled features. I hastily rose and ran over to embrace him. It was passionate, but fleeting as always; we had so little time. I stayed in his muscular arms for one more second, savouring the moment, before we slowly strolled over to our mystical well.

We crushed the foliage beneath us, as we walked hand in hand, but it quickly bounced back strong, unscathed and vibrant as if we’d never walked our footsteps. It was as if even nature did not condone our love, and so left no memory of it. We had only our memories of our past, our present and our wishes for the future. Gazing down on the shimmering waters of our well, I dropped the coin in and together, we wished. One wish, for us, on a thousand dimly glowing ovals in our well’s iridescent waters. We knew our wish would always come true, we wanted only one simple thing- more time. Our love was as magical as our well.  

Love can be magic, but magic is an illusion…


   * Heroides (The Heroines) is a collection of fifteen poems composed by Ovid, presented as though written by a selection of aggrieved heroines of Greek and Roman mythology in address to their heroic lovers who have in some way mistreated, neglected or abandoned them.


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