Cinderella and Alangazar - страница 28

He came for a hunt,

but didn’t wish to harm a thing.

He was searching… for wonder.

The second was Medan —

a mighty bear from the northern mountains.

His fur was like frost-kissed twilight.

His eyes – like fire-lit caves.

He never spoke words,

but each of his paws was a promise to protect.

Both met Masha.

– “Who are you?” asked Arthur, seeing her in girl form by the stream.

– “I am one who lives by the voice of her heart,” she answered.

– “Who are you?” asked Medan, meeting her near the hives,

when she wore her bear form.

She said nothing —

just touched his nose with her paw.

And he understood everything.

Each night she danced in the meadow.

At first – for Arthur:

gentle steps, soft laughter, words like music.

Then – with Medan:

deep turns, breath like wind, two silent souls moving as one.

One gave her earrings of lunar silver.

The other – a stone from the mountain where he was born.

And one day, beneath the great tree,

Masha brought them both together.

– “I can be a bear. I can be a girl.

But I cannot become someone just for you,” she said.

“I will choose the one who loves all of me.”

A pause.

The forest listened.

Arthur bowed his head.

– “I fell in love with the girl.

I would wish you to be human – always.”

Medan was silent.

Then he lay down in the grass beside her.

– “I love you.

Whichever you are.

That’s what matters.”

And then…

Masha transformed again.

But not into a bear,

not into a girl—

but into herself.

Whole.

With a body that echoed the forest,

and a voice that rang like sunlight.

And sometimes,

in the royal gardens,

you might spot a young lady with sparkling eyes,

stroking the grass with a paw like a velvet cushion,

laughing as if she knows a little more than she lets on.

That’s Masha.

She can still become whatever she wishes.

But most of all —

she is fully, truly herself.

The Tale of the White Giant:

Where the Wind Comes to Rest

A warm scent drifted from the fire – sharp like juniper,

and slightly sweet, like dried raspberries.

Masha quietly poured herbal tea into mugs.

The rising steam curled gently upward – straight to the stars.

The White Giant sat a little apart, on a pile of pine logs.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t drink.

He just gazed into the dark sky,

where distant, unhurried worlds shimmered.

His palms rested on his knees.

His breath was steady.

As if everything inside him… had already settled.