Cicily first met him in the woods behind the school, just after sunset on a cool autumn night.

Later she would describe him in glowing detail to her friends, with the story growing more and more elaborately detailed with each telling-- his long, shimmering flow of hair, which was the color of mist; his fine, princely garments, like something straight from a Shakespeare play; his handsome face; his height-- but really, the thing that captured her most, that first time, was his eyes, which were the hue of amethysts, only brighter.

The moment she saw him, Cicily knew they were meant to be together.

Thus started their courtship, and in the following weeks Cicily glowed with joy, and perhaps a bit of pride. For how many other girls could claim to be chosen by one of /them/? She was special, and she knew it.

At school, the other girls oohed and aahed as she bewitched them with tales of her own romance. His name is Aspen, she would say, and he is a prince. And then she would add, And he came all the way from his land just to find me, so we could be married. And the girls would sigh, their eyes gone distant and starry with thoughts of true love, or hard and brittle with the stirrings of jealousy.

Everyone was so impressed, everyone except Meara, who was always solemn and dour and disapproving. Be careful, she would say, her mouth turned down at the edges. You don't know what you're getting into.

And Cicily would frown, her face equally disapproving, and say I love him, and that's all that matters. Meara would just sigh and shake her head, then turn away to stare out the window, her eyes gone strangely soft and sad.

Cicily continued to see her paramour, and to be entranced by his silver- spun tales of the land from which he hailed. So captivated was she, in fact, that it wasn't long before she asked him to take her there. Pleased that his bride-to-be was so adventurous a girl, Aspen agreed.

It was a beautiful place, just as he'd said, and at first Cicily was delighted. they traveled through forest and field until at last they came to a castle of smooth mist-grey stone.

Within the castle were others like Aspen-- his subjects, his fellows, his people. They bowed as Cicily went past, and she smiled with true wonder. So this was what it was like to be a princess!

That evening, a banquet was held. The feast was more sumptuous than any Cicily had ever imagined. Minstrels played golden harps and it was like every fairy tale she'd ever heard, only better, because there was no evil witch or ugly dragon to get in the way. And Cicily was the heroine, and it was perfect.

Until the pretty young man sitting next to Aspen leaned over and kissed him.

Cicily froze, mind registering nothing but an endless replay loop of that one frame in time: lips meeting lips, lingering, obviously familiar. And she dropped her wine goblet, and Aspen looked at her, startled, as she choked out, What was that?

Aspen just looked puzzled, and said, A kiss.

Cicily was wide-eyed. Why would you kiss HIM? You're supposed to be with ME.

And Aspen grew more puzzled. I am with you.

But you kissed someone else!

So? I have kissed him many times.

And someone near the other end of the table, a flaxen-haired woman, shouted, Aye, and done more than that with me! And the other guests all laughed.

Cicily couldn't seem to get enough air. I thought you loved me!

I do, Aspen said. He cocked his head to one side, like a confused dog might, and said, Is something the matter?

But Cicily could take no more. She rose from her seat and rushed through the door, ignoring Aspen calling to her, Cicily! Cicily! She ran through the forest and she ran through the fields until she was home, and then she ran up the stairs to her room and fell upon her bed, sobbing.

And later that night, she heard him calling from the edge of her backyard. Cicily, my Cicily, and his voice was so sad, so hurt and confused, but Cicily did not go down to him, nor even peer out her window.

She missed four days of school, and when she finally went back, her skin was ashen and her eyes were dark and lost. Everyone knew something had gone wrong, but she would say nothing of it to anyone.

At lunch hour she found Meara sitting outside, sad eyes trained as they usually were on the forest.

How did you know? Cicily demanded, voice raw.

Meara turned her head slowly, and her face was full of pity. Because I couldn't accept him, either, she said. Then she set her gaze back on the shadowy trees.