I stopped at the place, its name in chipped paint on the door, maybe knowing, maybe not, the type of place it was, seeking shelter and assistance. Maybe knowing, maybe not, how the owner was. He fed me, and then led me to what he said was my room, but was instead a dark damp room with a large pool in the center. The door was swiftly closed and locked behind me, as I stood trying to comprehend the situation, only then finally realizing that this man would not assist me, that he was with the opposition, the enemy.

I sat down on the ground and she swam over to me, her curly hair cascading down over her just past her shoulders. Not too long, I would guess, or else it would get tangled in the water. She fluidly moved from the pool to the ground, and only then did I see her scales, her legs merged to from a tail. But despite that she was beautiful, more than beautiful. And I knew that I had been sent here to die. She was restrained by some bond, not visible to the eye, but that was keeping her demure and calm. I knew the truth of her type, and that without the restraint I would already have been devoured. She looked at me blankly, giving nothing away, so I did the only thing I could, I sang. My voice, its strong tenor at first a lullaby, then gained strength as I closed my eyes and lost myself to the song. I sang, I think, for half an hour: A song of her beauty, a song of my search, and a funeral song for myself. I finished and remained with my eyes closed, and a moment later the door opened behind me and the owner returned, finished from his closing for the night, closing for the season.

He retuned, as they always do, to let me know that my enemy knew where I was, that I had fallen into a trap. Then he left, and would, I knew, release the bonds that held her, held her back. I closed me eyes, resigned to my death, and unable to fight her, even to save myself, her beauty and her nature what they were, my funeral lament already sung.

I waited, unsure what to expect, whether my death would be quick and merciful, or whether, in response to her captivity, slow and savage, a release for her own personal torment. I felt her coming towards me, then felt a drop of moisture on my hands, followed by something small and boxy. I opened my eyes to stare into an empty box, a wizard's box.

I looked away from the box and straight into her eyes, her face still beautiful, but somehow different. Only then did I notice that she had changed substantially. Her tail was gone, changed into legs, the two-edged gift of the wizard's box.

21 September 2002