My contribution to Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto challenge:
She was forever looking away. Her back pressed against the trunk of the oak sought the grounding Earth below.
Will you not turn, just once, so I can see your face? The sun god’s plea was held in each drop of mist. His love hovered over her skin. One billion kisses ready to penetrate her pores, but Diana chose the sheath of the moon’s light. Her gaze always turned to the hunt of darkness.
The shadowland beckoned as the sun god gave up the futile quest for victory, and Diana rose from her rest beneath the oak and slung her quiver of arrows over her shoulder. She had dreams to chase through the hills and valleys.
Night was the time when memories ran wild and played with fear and hope. Those who would be fooled called them nightmares. They never knew who controlled the real demons so the mind could travel where it would not dare venture during daytime.
I care not for your false face, Diana sang as Day descended. You have left too many blind, and my work is endless because of your trickery. I will never be fooled by your golden touch. Fools, she whispered, only the fools who sleep and call themselves men. If they only knew I was trying to save them.
Some of them do, the oak reminded her. Don’t forget those who have passed through the mists.