Preludio
She only noticed him when he slipped something across her bare shoulders. With a jolt, she looked up from the dusty ground and saw her servant and companion towering over her. With a tilt of his head, he smiled in his usual, enigmatic way. Extending his arms and regally bowing, he murmured, "It is cold, Your Highness. Nights in the Underworld Kingdom are beautiful, but can sting your skin." His bark-like, hard fingers gently moved his present closer around her neck. As he did so, he felt that her shoulders were clammy and near-frozen, as he had suspected.
Princess Moanna, once regarded as Ofelia during her stay on Earth, glanced down at his hand and noticed a strange shawl that was barely held together by thin, luminescent threads that hung in a familiar pattern.
"A spider's web?" she questioned as she fingered the oddly warm shawl.
"Four years," the Faun's smile widened, "You have dwelt here for almost four years ... and things that are commonplace still amaze you." Indeed, it had been almost four short years since Moanna's human body had perished, allowing her to take her rightful place as the princess of the Underworld Kingdom. She had become a young lady that was almost sixteen years old, and it showed. Even so, her voice had hardly changed from its quiet, innocent lilt.
"Is it normal for clothes to be made of a spiderweb?" Moanna wrinkled her nose, trying to picture a modest garment made out of the silk.
"Normal, yes," the Faun answered, "But like the cloth of the Earth, the ..." Stroking his beard, the Faun tried to find a word that would eloquently finish his sentence, "...Quality differs. A nobleman would wear a web far different from you, Princess. Would you be surprised if I told you that that lovely dress of yours was made out of a spider's string?" Moanna stood up and looked down at one of her regal gowns. It was not as intricate as the ones she wore in court, but it was still breathtaking. It was the inky color of night, and had a train almost as long as the tail of a drake.
"I'm guessing it's like any other kind of thread, then?" inquired Moanna. The Faun nodded before picking up one of her slim hands. He always marveled at the softness of her skin, especially compared to his. He creaked his neck closer to her digits before abruptly stopping and stating, "We'd better go inside. You do not want to be tired tomorrow." Moanna pouted, but she obeyed. Standing up, she wrapped the shawl closer to her skin and picked up her train in one of her arms. The Faun walked a little ways behind her, a servant in his place. Moanna looked back at him, a bit confused by his stance. But, that was the Faun. Choosing not to question him, she walked ahead into her castle. As she was enveloped by her ladies-in-waiting, the Faun stayed behind and watched his princess get shooed away. She was almost out of his hands entirely. Only three more days, and he would probably never see her again.