If Trees Could Talk

The forest glade has always been the perfect place to paint in autumn. That’s why on a pleasant November morning, I decided to go out to the glade. Little did I know that this would be the last time that I ever laid eyes on this beautiful little hideaway. It was my safe place, where I could escape for a short time from my seemingly endless list of responsibilities.

The walk from the castle to the glade was nearly as alluring as the glade itself. Rows of old Willow trees outlined the path up to the glade and even surrounded the glade itself. My father has always said that ancient trees like these can’t be found anywhere else in the kingdom. He used to come here with me often. He and my mother met in this glade. My father had climbed up into one of the willow trees and was bird-watching as my mother approached. She reclined at the base of the tree and began to sketch. My father and mother both said it was love at first sight once their eyes met.

I was born three years later and they passed eleven years after that. They have been dead for four years now. They were found dead in the glade, although no one knows their cause of death or why they were there in the first place.

The trees saw all of this occur. They have all lived for over five hundred years and have seen more than I could imagine. They were there in the early years of Arboria and witnessed the ruling of the first king and queen, my great-great-grandparents. How I wish I knew what happened to my parents! They were said to have been the most generous royals the kingdom had ever seen.

I set up my easel in the center and propped up my canvas. I had painted so many pictures of this glade all with one goal. All I wanted was to understand the mysteries of the glade in hopes of figuring out what happened to my parents. I began with capturing the light. The hardest part of art for me has always been the beginning. Starting on a painting requires patience and determination.

Today, my patience has been steadily declining. Every day for four years I had painted that same picture but had not gotten anywhere. “I’ll never know what happened to my parents!”

I thought, “I’ll never see them again!” I felt the anger and resentment rising inside of me. I needed to let it out. I picked up a paintbrush and thrust it at one of the trees.

“Ouch!” I sat for a moment in silence. Did someone just speak to me? “Who are you?” I heard the voice again, coming from the edge of the glade. “Who are you?” The voice questioned once more.

“I am Princess Claudia, daughter of King Dawson and Queen Leona.” I said. “Pray, who are you?”

“Greetings, your highness,” the voice mockingly replied. I could now tell the voice was that of an older woman. “You may call me Lady Willoughby.”

“Are you of royal descent?”

“No, dear, but when one is as old as I am one deserves the honor of such a title.”

“Please don’t be offended by me asking, but, how old are you exactly?

Lady Willoughby answered. “I am five hundred sixty-six years old.”

“Oh dear! That is old!”

“Excuse you! You have no right to proclaim such!”

I hesitated for a moment. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that I have never met a five hundred sixty-six year old woman.”

“I am not a woman per se.” Her voice quickly turned dark.

“What are you then? Oh, and where are you exactly? I can’t seem to see you. Are you behind this tree over here?” I pointed to the tree parallel to my easel.

“Yes, come a bit closer, dear.” I had always been warned not to approach strangers but this woman wasn’t a stranger. She was Lady Willoughby! She couldn’t possibly harm me, she spoke too sweetly. I approached the tree with great curiosity.

“Ouch!” I screamed. A branch from the tree caught the sleeve of my dress.

“I gain the gift of speech through the blood of royals.” Lady Willoughby spoke again.

“What! What do you mean! Who are you really?” Fear began to grow at a great rate inside of me.

“I am Lady Willoughby. I am the oldest tree in all of Arboria and you are my next victim. I require royal blood in order to speak.”

“Well, you are no Lady and you shall never have any of my blood! You killed my parents didn’t you? You left them lying here in the glade with no clue of how or why! You monster!”

“Your parents died for a good cause. You wanted me to be able to talk didn’t you? They asked me the exact same thing. I granted their wish and now they’re dead. Boo-hoo.” I screamed. The branches of Lady Willoughby began to wrap around me.

“No!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I kicked and yanked away. I ran. I ran all the way back to my castle. I entered the gates and ordered the guards to close them immediately. The following day I commanded the royal guards to destroy the glade. My parents may not have lived to tell the tale but I have. There are no longer any Willow trees in Arboria but I’m okay with that. I’m safe and the next generations of royals will be safe as well.