The tail of her velvet gown draped across the water like a magic net drawing fish from below and dragon fly from above. Her suitor held her hand, to balance her, and to steal the scent of her skin. Lavender and sunshine she smelt of. Good, wholesome,bewitchingly gorgeous.

She had just returned from abroad and yearned the freedom of home and the coven of the forest. He had no idea. Never would he be allowed to the circle. Never would he get to hold more than her balancing hand.

Her frock clung to her body and displayed her supple womanliness. He bent as though to kiss her, she bent to scoop a baby green frog. He pretended to care about the wildlife and stay stooped as though in concern for an endangered species.

Her spark caught his thoughts in the dream catcher of her long black hair. She smiled at his juvenile attempt to capture her lust. She was not interested in him. Her only desire was for the circle, for the dancing, for the naked dancing with her sisters under the liquid golden moon drops of summer.

Young though she was, her earthly travels had instructed her in the gratuitous and secular art of attention seeking; a novel way to suck the life from romance.

"It's so deliciously warm," she purred while running her creamy white hand from shoulder front to hip front, slowly over the mound of her ample breast. Her pale skin against the red of the velvet was almost enough for his manhood to be over.

He breathed, deeply, and was about to suggest a civilized game of croquet. His mere presence and his will to breath was her nemesis. He would pay now for his waste of her time.

In front of him, in the open, in public and beside the bubbling brook, she dropped her red velvet dress around her ankles. Beneath she was already undressed. Her even white skin was breath taking and his hand flew to his heart. Ever the gentleman, he diverted his eyes and turned slightly away.

Unconcerned about his second feeble attempt to protect his lustful growth, she stepped into the freezing mountain stream. The carp sang her praises and drank in the blessed water she now provided. The dragon fly rested on her head and arms. Tiny forest birds graced the space around her and allowed the ladybug and butterfly to honour her visit.

Her breasts firm and nipples peaked, her buttocks perfectly rounded and even, she was a goddess of the brook.

Her eyes met his. She held his gaze while she chanted her song of end. She was so beautiful...so, naked. Why would his eyes, his heart, ever leave her? He turned back to completely face her, his hugeness swollen and bulging.

His death was not quick and neither was he alone. Her sister witches, called by the song of end, rose from the water and embraced their returned naked water nymph. In front of his dying eyes their hands explored their sister and worshipped her body as thought they had never felt it before. Her song she continued, unbroken till the end.

His heart, not as manly as his groin, gave in. The sung magic, the song of end, stole his beats and his blood. As the blood drained from his chamber, she called for her gown. The forest birds obeyed her command and dropped her robe over the dying man.

His every drop of blood soaked into her frock. The red velvet glowed before subsiding to it's matte hue. As it toned down, her sister witches receded, their lust sated. The fish swam to cover and the creatures of the air disappeared to the trees.

She stepped out of the brook, redressed slowly and returned to her cottage, alone and no longer hungry for male company. Behind her back, a tiny green frog sniggered at the expired man and jumped back into the brook coven.



If you wish to join the Writers Prompt Daily simply use the above photo as a prompt and post a short story, poem or paragraph to your blog. Leave a comment and the link here so that all participants can come to you and read/comment/encourage. Story above is copyright and is Megan Bayliss' writing around the above picture prompt.