Victoria Button and the Hermit

And the hermit came from the sea path as the waves faintly brushed along the shoreline. She was beautiful. Tall as a young oak tree with dark limbs that were thin, yet full of strength. Her eyes shown like pools of night sky upon her dark face. Her features were strong yet graceful. She carried a lantern near her face making the jewels scattered about her wild hair dance in the night. Inside the lantern, was the whitest of lights suspended in the center of the glass case as if by magic. And of course, it was magic, because the light shone from the smallest piece of star, hot, white, burning with the fuel of billions of years.

She ascended the path toward the top of the rocky mound. Her feet covered in simple black leather sandals. Her body wrapped in a gown of white as though it were wind itself, clinging to every curve as she moved. Her cloak the blue of the sea during a storm was simple and warm and fastened at the neck with a small silver infinity symbol.

She had made this climb every night for six nights lead by the feeling that she would find something, what she did not know, but that she would find something of great importance at the peak of the rocky mound near her dwelling.

As she reached the peak, a flock of loons called out in the distant night. She could see their shadowy wings cutting through the breeze. Her lantern illuminated the plateau at the top of the mound. She looked to the sky asking the gods for some sort of answer, though the question, she knew not.

The hermit took her eyes from the sky, glanced toward the horizon where the moon was pulling itself from the ocean upon the horizon and turned to begin the journey back toward home. As soon as she turned her shoulder, a small sniffling sound came from the plateau's edge. The hermit walked toward the sound and recognized it as the quiet weeping of a child. When her lantern's light struck the body of the child, it was huddled underneath what appeared to be a man's coat that was quite overly large.

The child's hair was blacker than the night sky and just barely stuck out beneath the little cloche hat that adorned her head.

The hermit, having stood in silence observing this small, crying thing, knelt down and placed a gentle hand upon the child's shoulder. The child, turned and without hesitation grabbed the hermit round the neck in the most furtive embrace the hermit had ever experienced. The child began to sob with more ferocity and the hermit held her in her arms for what seemed like an age until, at last, the sobs subsided and the child began to breathe more easily.

The child relinquished her grip on the hermit and sat with her head bowed towards the ground. The last of her tears falling upon the smooth rock underneath her. She looked so small and lost to the hermit.

“What ever is the matter?” asked the hermit in a soft, southern influenced voice.

“ I can't live in a world without magic,” replied the child. “It hurts too much.”

(The characters, stories, and details included in any and all tales of Victoria Button are copyrighted 2014-2019 by myself, L.A. Vandewart, and all rights are reserved.)