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Nameless: A Fairy Tale
by A Very Tall Oak Tree in City Park
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The dagger twitched in Morgan’s hand as if it were a
live creature.
“Nameless? Can you hear me? CAN YOU? Give me a reply…if you are strong
enough.”
Wind suddenly bellowed through the cave, plastering Mildred to the
wall. Morgan was untouched. Mildred turned to him, creeping up to him
slowly. When she was close enough to whisper, she stared into his eyes
and said,
“Go. Take to my daughter her name. I have called her Gwynna, after my
grandmother. I only pray that she will spare my life…I am responsible
for hers…remind her of that, will you? Please…”
The transformation was incredible. She had turned from a fearless,
maniacal villain to a trembling mouse-like woman, huddled at the feet
of a man whom she had once mastered so well.
Morgan nodded, then pulled back from her to leave. Without warning,
however, the dagger flew from his hand with such force that he could
do nothing to stop it, and plunged itself deep into Mildred’s
unfeeling heart, burying itself deep within her. She did not cry out;
she merely let out one long last breath and collapsed on the cave
floor. Morgan stood over her for a moment, not knowing what to do.
Presently, the dagger eased itself carefully from its victim, lay
still for a moment, then transformed gracefully back into an acorn and
rolled harmlessly to rest faithfully at Morgan’s feet. He stooped to
pick it up, put it back in his pocket, and slowly descended the
mountain for the final time. When he reached the bottom, a white horse
was standing by the rock on which Nameless had always waited. Morgan
gave a cry of joy. It was Windswept.
He mounted and urged his old friend towards the forest; the pony knew
the way home. It was time to leave the land of the East. He never once
turned to look back.
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