Fairy-Land (Nine years after seperation)
Dim vales-and shadowy floods-
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over
Huge moons there wax and wane-
Again-again-again-
Every moment of the night-
Forever changing places-
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial,
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trail,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down-still down-and down,
With its center on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever thay may be-
O'er strange woods-o'er the sea-
Over spirits on the wing-
Over every drowsy thing-
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light-
And then- how deep!- O,deep!
Is the passion of thier sleep,
In the morning the arise,
And in their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like-almost anything-
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before-
Videlicet a tent-
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Oh which those butterflies,
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so comw down again
(Never-contented things!)
Have bought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.
After nine years he was cheating on her! She had suspected him of it for awhile now, and she never really cared, she didn't love him, but she caught him in the act in her own bed, the nerve behind it was what pissed her off. She edged her car a few miles faster, there was only one place she wanted to be , in her old bedroom, if she couldn't have Him, she could have the memories. Her tires squealed up the road, she picked up the three most important thing to her, A beaten worn copy of Poe's poem book, a spider brooch given to her on an important occasion, and an old journal turned to a scribbled poem she had written back in Miss Shannon's school. She had read the poem book when she had pulled over, because tears and emotion threatened to make her crash, and while she would welcome it, she wanted to die happily, not like a crying idiot.
"Hi Pumpkin, Delia's out shopping right now she won't be back for a few hours, what's wrong?" Charles asked of his pale trembling daughter.
She didn't know what made the dam break, but suddenly the story she'd she knew she was never supposed to tell came pouring out, of her adventures in the nietherworld, her ghostly friend, the handy dandy handy man, how she had fallen in love with him, why she had returned to peaceful pines, and how much she hated her husband right now.
Charles held his daughter in his arms as she told her story through tears and gasps, he'd always known there was something special about his daughter, and something off about Mr. Beetleman, but if he'd made his daughter this happy he could care less if he was dead. "It will be alright Pumpkin, we'll figure out a way to reunite you two... somehow," he added uncertainly.
"You don't mind about all of the lies, and that he's dead?" Startled out of her tears by his understanding.
"He could be zombie, as long as he makes you happy, and, of course, doesn't try to eat you." Her Father chuckled nervously, " For now though, you should get some sleep, your room is still empty, you can stay in there if you'd like."
"Thanks Dad." Lydia climbed the stairs to her room, opened the door and peered at all the dust covering her furniture, she kind of liked the doom quality it gave the room, except for one thing she grabbed a spare sheet and dusted of the old dresser mirror, and stared at it hopefully. After a while she went and lay on her bed, to tired to even cry, she just closed her eyes with one last thought, "I need you..."