You find yourself beside a small brook that trickles merrily through a dense forest. The thicket around you is eerily silent, but the stream babbles on. The moss on the stones that line the creek are vibrantly green and full of life, a subtle contrast against the dense wood around you, a faded, dark-verdant color, tinged with the black of decay. As you follow the winding brook through the foliage, silently stepping from stone to stone, something in your mind lazily stirs. You cannot stop moving forward, and as you peer ahead, it seems to be daylight, but looking to the side shows the deathly quiet forest in midnight. You cannot look behind you, but every now and again, as your legs carry you tirelessly across the cool stones, you catch a glimpse of what you imagine could be a pair of violet eyes pacing behind you. You hear no sound other than what is now the deafening roar of the brook.
After what seems like an eternity, you have arrived at the edge of pond. The stream long gone, still screaming in your ears, drowning your already hazy mind. The body of water is completely still, the daylight has faded without your acknowledgement or consent, leaving your reflection mirrored perfectly on the placid surface. You stare at yourself as you had been before, tall and proud. Broad shoulders and strong limbs, whole and unimpeded, thick muscles coil around every inch of your naked frame, stark and shining in the moonlight. An athlete. A warrior. A husband. A father. A lone tear rolls down your cheek and becomes lost in your long, dark hair. Your reflection doesn't move, chiseled jaw line remaining impassive as you move to brush away the locks. Another drop falls silently into the water. The rushing noise in your ears and head blocking the minuscule splashing. The ripples emanate and slowly your image fades. You once again notice the eyes behind you, barely reflected, or perhaps conjured by your imagination, as the ripples continue.
Gradually, the pond returns to its previous state. Though the reflection you see is not your own. It is replaced by the slender figure of a girl, clothed only in the night. The silvery light of the moon playing upon every curve, drawing in and holding your attention. She was perfectly symmetrical, more perfect than anyone you've ever seen. Startlingly, she didn't appear to be human. The reflection revealed silvery white hair that flowed well past the curvature of her shapely bosom. And out of the hair, pricked thin, pointed ears. She quickly raises her chin and transfixes you with her two-toned stare. One bright green, the vivid green of the moss from earlier. Unearthly, vibrant, and rich. The other, a pale and sobering violet. Equal in beauty, though dissonant in nature, you kneel like a deer caught in a light, unable to move, unable to hear the words she urgently mouths to you, as the crashing din of the brook still pounds in your head. As she speaks the same words over and over, her lips and tongue, luscious and wet, work their way into your mind. Desire worms its way to the forefront of your thoughts, and guilt, slowly following behind. As your thoughts turn inwards, the mesmerizing imagery in front of you continues to repeat. Without knowing when it stopped, the sound of the stream subsides, you hear a singular, song-like voice cry out with urgency: Find me!
The shock of finally hearing a noise other than rushing water shakes you from your reverie, and you stare in horror as your motionless limbs are encased in moss...