So it was that when Elysuviel's sixteenth birthday rolled around, she had
an especially large crowd of well-wishers celebrating the fact that she was
born. On the morning of her birthday, she awoke to a beautiful dawn. It
appeared that even the heavens were rejoicing in her existence.
Singing a song, Elysuviel dressed in a gown of shimmering silk. Although gowns went out of style centuries ago, she was attempting to single handedly bring about their come back, and was close to succeeding. This particular dress was a costly frock. It was white as a budding flower, and on the layers of the skirt, as delicate as the petals of the aforementioned bloom, was hand stitched, in gold thread, the glorious waves of an ocean at dusk.
She walked down the stairs of her castle-like home, as grandly as a duchess, no, a queen-but no! These words cannot do her justice. She was a goddess, young, innocent, benevolent, and lovely. Her lips were the deepest red, her eyes the most enticing blue, and she had never looked daintier or prettier as she did descending the stairs on her birthday.
A gasp escaped her lips, barely parted to let the smallest puff of sweet air be drawn in. In her living room stood a giant crowd, cheering at her arrival. Never in her wildest dreams had she suspected that so many people would arrive at her home, uninvited, but demanding to be part of the festivities. She had been preparing merely for a small celebration with her parents. She was, in fact, and only child, for at her birth her parents reasoned that with a daughter as perfect as Elysuviel, they had no reason for another.
After spending hours allowing herself to be photographed, smiling sweetly at the elaborate birthday wishes composed to her, and crying out in delight when offered a gift, Elysuviel was finally offered the cake. It was a grand creation, of marvelous size, covered in real flowers encased in gold leaf. Her face broke out into a grin of pure joy.
As the cake sat before her, sixteen candles glowing brightly, Elysuviel tried to think, through the resounding sound of the crowd singing to her, what her wish would be. She knew, most clearly, that it would involve Legolas, for she knew, most clearly, that he was the most perfect man, and she, being the most perfect girl, was therefore meant to be with him. She would wish, of course, to go to Middle Earth. Mirkwood, to be exact. But what year? The year was crucial, of the greatest importance. She hardly wanted to wind up in Mirkwood after Legolas had left Middle Earth for the Undying Lands, and she wished almost as little to be there any time after shadow had fallen on the forest. If Legolas was 2931 years old in the war of the ring, Elysuviel thought, citing the age given by actor Orlando Bloom, then he was born in the year eighty nine (A.N. So was I!). I'll want to get there when he's a thousand or so, of course, since that's when he'll be in his prime of hot-ness. 1089?
The silence at the end of the song cut through her thoughts. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to blow out the candles. She had better do it fast! I wish I could be in the Wood Elves' palace in Mirkwood in the year 1089. I think that covered it, she thought, nervously, hoping she hadn't left anything out. Then Elysuviel took a deep breath, scrunched her eyes shut and cutely wrinkled the bridge of her nose before blowing out the candles with a perfectly aimed breath.
Never for a second did it occur to Elysuviel that she was so popular that even heaven might deem it worthy to grant her wish.
Singing a song, Elysuviel dressed in a gown of shimmering silk. Although gowns went out of style centuries ago, she was attempting to single handedly bring about their come back, and was close to succeeding. This particular dress was a costly frock. It was white as a budding flower, and on the layers of the skirt, as delicate as the petals of the aforementioned bloom, was hand stitched, in gold thread, the glorious waves of an ocean at dusk.
She walked down the stairs of her castle-like home, as grandly as a duchess, no, a queen-but no! These words cannot do her justice. She was a goddess, young, innocent, benevolent, and lovely. Her lips were the deepest red, her eyes the most enticing blue, and she had never looked daintier or prettier as she did descending the stairs on her birthday.
A gasp escaped her lips, barely parted to let the smallest puff of sweet air be drawn in. In her living room stood a giant crowd, cheering at her arrival. Never in her wildest dreams had she suspected that so many people would arrive at her home, uninvited, but demanding to be part of the festivities. She had been preparing merely for a small celebration with her parents. She was, in fact, and only child, for at her birth her parents reasoned that with a daughter as perfect as Elysuviel, they had no reason for another.
After spending hours allowing herself to be photographed, smiling sweetly at the elaborate birthday wishes composed to her, and crying out in delight when offered a gift, Elysuviel was finally offered the cake. It was a grand creation, of marvelous size, covered in real flowers encased in gold leaf. Her face broke out into a grin of pure joy.
As the cake sat before her, sixteen candles glowing brightly, Elysuviel tried to think, through the resounding sound of the crowd singing to her, what her wish would be. She knew, most clearly, that it would involve Legolas, for she knew, most clearly, that he was the most perfect man, and she, being the most perfect girl, was therefore meant to be with him. She would wish, of course, to go to Middle Earth. Mirkwood, to be exact. But what year? The year was crucial, of the greatest importance. She hardly wanted to wind up in Mirkwood after Legolas had left Middle Earth for the Undying Lands, and she wished almost as little to be there any time after shadow had fallen on the forest. If Legolas was 2931 years old in the war of the ring, Elysuviel thought, citing the age given by actor Orlando Bloom, then he was born in the year eighty nine (A.N. So was I!). I'll want to get there when he's a thousand or so, of course, since that's when he'll be in his prime of hot-ness. 1089?
The silence at the end of the song cut through her thoughts. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to blow out the candles. She had better do it fast! I wish I could be in the Wood Elves' palace in Mirkwood in the year 1089. I think that covered it, she thought, nervously, hoping she hadn't left anything out. Then Elysuviel took a deep breath, scrunched her eyes shut and cutely wrinkled the bridge of her nose before blowing out the candles with a perfectly aimed breath.
Never for a second did it occur to Elysuviel that she was so popular that even heaven might deem it worthy to grant her wish.