The Elm Tree

(Elias' POV)

From a distance, Elias had spotted the crippled elm tree that marked where the path forked. He knew he would have to decide which direction to take there. He didn't want to mull it over for too long, but rather make a spontaneous choice when he got there. He would leave it up to fate or his mood to decide where he ended up.

He paused in mid-stride when he saw the two women next to the tree. Although “women” hardly seemed to be the right term.

One was blonde, white, with wings like a swan.

The other was fiery red and black, with bat wings on her back.

Was this a dream? If so, then a very interesting one.

And if an angel and a devil were really waiting for him there, then he definitely wanted to know what they wanted from him.

The closer he got, the more details he could make out. The two women were beautiful—by human standards, at least. Elias couldn't say which one was more beautiful. But one thing was certain: the dark one seemed more exciting.

If I had to choose between them, I would choose her.

He approached them a few steps closer, then took off his hat.

“Greetings, beauties. My name is Elias. I'm on the road, as you can see. I drift through the world like a leaf in the wind. Do you perhaps have any advice for me as to where I should go from here?”

The white woman's expression became serious. She lifted one foot as if to approach him, but she did not move from the spot. Instead, she spread her arms as if to embrace the whole world with a gesture and spoke solemnly:

“Man is distinguished by his free will. Choose for yourself, Elias. And choose wisely.”

The black-haired woman snorted in disdain. The fabric of reality suddenly flickered and her form dissolved into smoke. Elias blinked in surprise. Where had she gone?

He sensed her before he saw her.

She's standing right behind me, isn't she?

A premonition tingled up his spine like the touch of invisible fingers.

“Is that all you've got, Celene?” she sneered. “He doesn't want riddles. He wants answers. Something tangible.”

With her last words, she stepped close behind him, wrapped her arms around his torso, and grabbed his shirt. Firmly, possessively.

Everything about her posture said: He belongs to me.

The blonde woman was silent. But her eyes held him fast. A feeling flickered in them that he couldn't quite place. Concern? Anger? Envy?

He stood between the two of them and was overcome by the stupid feeling that he had become a pawn in a game played by higher powers.

A red hand slid under his shirt, caressed his skin, traced the contours of his powerful chest muscles.

Doesn't feel bad, he thought and leaned into the touch.