Hear! Hear! Hear!
Yes, it is I, Farukh Suria’Apa-Dan, storyteller extraordinaire! Settle upon the cobbles of the marketplace, here, around my rug, and listen.
Once, my children, deep in my own southern land of Sule, where there are mountains that spit fire, a fire mountain fell in love with the moon. He loved her most when she was full and round, for what man does not love a plump, soft woman? Or a thin, sinewy woman, if it comes to that?
You laugh? It was no laughing matter to the fire mountain, for his heart both sang and broke for the love of his beautiful moon.
At last, he could bear it no longer, but determined he would display his love, to her and to all the world.
He concentrated all his power, all his passion, every element of his being, and shouted his love in a glorious, fiery hallelujah, as he turned himself inside out beneath her gaze.
Alas, the fire mountain was no more. But the moon wept for the beauty of his love. Her tears fell into his ashes, and each tear became an opal, a true marriage of the mountain’s fire and the moon’s pale beauty.
Please toss your coins into my hat. If I find enough in there to buy something to soothe my voice, I’ll tell you another story.
And now, A-to-Z Bloggers, I recommend The Fluff is Raging, posting about the magical experience of moving pictures.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Write a love scene with a sad but beautiful ending.