It didn’t matter if it was a stag on a mossy rock, or a blue jay on the highest oak branch, the wild stared longingly into the falls. She hypnotised any being that dared stare at her majesty. Cascades of her silver nourished the sun blushed rocks below and then smacked a kindly smile back at the wilderness that admired her. Some said the falls were a gift from the fairies that protected the forest long before human entanglement. They were the guardians of this green, fruitful and giving land, even sacrificing their lives to protect their home. Eventually, the myth was perpetuated further through the inordinate amount of travellers that ventured through the forest and found themselves encased in permanent silver. Stories tell of the glittering sheen that radiated from each droplet. Lamenting a ferocious and constant wail, a wail that each traveller was drawn into like some obsessed marionette.

One white haired hermit slumped on the final ebony boulder, his altar to pray to his goddess. Men and women say he was praying for forgiveness, some say he was tormented. The guardians of the forest knew the truth, that he was powerless to her radiance. He merely saw a siren calling out for help, which would only be quelled by his assistance. He plunged into the depths, arms pinned to his sides, frozen in this moment of acceptance. His white face grew whiter than his hair but a content smile carved itself into his face. Drifting off into a deep and sacrificial sleep.

She had taken another one. The majesty of her siren call and infinite beauty had encapsulated nature and stolen another life.

Inspired by a trip to a waterfall near Snowdonia. For Her.