The Story of the Maidens of Silky Wings

A very short, fantasy story.

The Story of the Maidens of Silky Wings

Long, long ago, when the earth was young and the little moon did not dwell in the sky neither her starry daughters, for she had not learn how to fly yet, she danced from end to end across the forests and maidens wandered through the woods playing with the moonbeams as though with torches, darkness reigned everywhere and the maidens dreamt of becoming guardians of the Great Mountain.

  From the highest peak of the Mountain of the world, ruled the Angel God and he ruled so high that his throne scrapped the dark heavens and he would blow the thick fog away and thus beheld from high above, shrouded in suggestive and tempting blackness, the beauty of his daughters.

  It was a ghostly world, appealing and mysterious, with fantastic creatures and caressed by winged feminine silkiness.

  Young girls were prepared and educated until they were marked and turned into angelic warriors of the Great God. They impatiently waited until those hours of pain and torture in the hut, in ecstasy and joyful they received their armor, their jewels, and the rituals that gave them their silky wings and the mark that would make them unique, and they felt the burning of their skin and on their back the birthing of their wings like a feverish and desired embrace.  Then they were given a cold sword, which they would brandish from then on, this would be their tempting mirror and defiling limb, an avenging and terrible extension of their arms, an awesome sword and its hilt their most valuable jewel and their most loyal lover.

  When the moon grew up, she no longer had fun fluttering among the trees in the forests and she learnt how to fly. She flew high and up above she felt magnificent, looking down upon the woods, the lands and the forests.  Swollen with vanity she moved further and further away from The Great Mountain, even sometimes disappearing from the horizon for a long time.

  One day, Sun took advantage of her absence and walked carefree about the sky, filling with light everyplace he went past, even burning the God’s forests. With the light the black and mysterious night disappeared and the man of awkward movement and intuition, who had then lived fearful of the enigmatic darkness, crouching among bushes and hiding in caves, was able to move boldly, until he arrived at the foot of the Great Mountain, the abode of angels. Soon his ambition grew and he daringly started dreaming about reaching the summit.

  The marked maidens of silky wings valiantly confronted the men with their swaying swords. They stained their blades and the green leaves of the woods turned scarlet with their spilled blood and heads rolled down the slopes. But the sun came out every morning defiant before the carelessness of the moon, who coquettish, went far away to see her bright face mirrored on the vast sea, forgetting her world of darkness, the delicate and subtle feminine world of the tattooed angels of the night.

  Every day, the sun brought the flat and tiresome vision of reason, melting away those uncertain shadows and staining the land with monotonous linear reality. The primitive men, learnt deceit and greed, and from the maidens took those weapons and prospered.

  The maidens of silken wings and black dreams gradually fell or disappeared, flooded with the overwhelming sunlight, and discouraged by the charge of illuminated men. They hid, taking refuge in the clouds, forsaken by the moon’s vanity, unable to make their dark world shine.

  The God of the mountain cursed the Sun’s boldness and the moons carelessness, cried his daughters and the moon’s fall, and the rains shrouded the planet. Enraged, the Angel God with all his might struck a blow with all his fury upon the Great Mountain, and the wound was so deep that it went all the way to the heart of the earth. Since then a Volcano opens its mouth and let us feel his immortal wrath.

  But the winged maidens of the dark,  still linger, hidden in the shadows and in the darkness of our thoughts who in hazy nights transforms unreality into something vibrant, caressing our minds with their silky wings.