Prompt #170
Every year the village maidens danced in the faerie circle, and every year one was chosen as a bride. Sometimes by a fae, sometimes by some other otherworldly creature. If a girl was lucky, she’d get the rare elf, disillusioned with immortality and yearning for something warm and present. An unlucky girl… Well. There were plenty of creatures living in this sacrificial wood.
Technically, Maiden should have tried to be a bride for the last two years now, but she had always fallen terribly ill and been unable to rise from bed. She was strong and hearty the rest of year, and the town felt the strangeness as much as she did; she had started getting hateful looks from girls and parents alike so this year, even when the usual sweat and fever clung to her brow, she’d forced herself into the circle.
Supposedly magic was supposed to do the rest, guiding the girls’ limbs in graceful dance. However, Maiden’s cumbersome limbs felt no such ease, and she stumbled and lost rhythm with every step. Her face burned but perhaps she could at least take comfort that her clumsy dancing wasn’t likely to attract a groom.
Something cackled from the shadows of the trees. “You’re so awkward!”
