The Perils of Untying Love – Episode 3
With my pen poised over my notebook, I cocked an eye at the strange little man standing on the table alongside the book in which he’d been imprisoned. It isn’t every day you see a slightly grubby, scruffily dressed person with pointed ears materialising out of the text written on a page. With all those words in him, along with the rosy glow that had emanated from the book, I was confident he must be extremely wise when it came to matters of the heart. A walking, talking guide on how to write brilliant romantic poems.
What’s more, he’d said he was at my service.
I supposed that must be because I’d released him from the book… A bit like rubbing a lamp and getting your wishes granted by a genie.
Seeing my eye on him, Cosferas began idly kicking loose pieces of string onto the floor while stroking his chin between forefinger and thumb, like he was pondering the request I’d put to him a minute ago.
The more I gazed at him, the more my expectations grew. As far as I was concerned, he looked exactly how a poet should with his wild hair, deep-set eyes, and general air of seediness. Perhaps a little shorter than I imagined, but still.
“So that’s why you released me, eh?” he said, squinting at me with one eye. “You want me to write a poem about love on your behalf?”
“Yes, exactly. I want to prove to Trewla – the object of my desire – that I am as gifted at poetry as I am at… um… everything else.”
I threw that phrase object of my desire in there to show him I knew a thing or two about romance and thus warn him I’d know if he tried to pull the wool over my eyes with half-hearted efforts.
He narrowed his eyes. “Trewla? That’s an elvish name.”
“So? She’s an elf. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Well… elves are tricky.”
“Are you saying you’re unable to write a gloriously heart-pumping poem for Trewla?” I glared at him. “Who, I might add, is not tricky at all!”
While those last words were leaving my lips, my brain was mutinously telling me that Cosferas might have a point.
It’s not that I think tricky is a description I’d apply to Trewla, but I have to admit, my every attempt to impress her so far had failed.
But not this time. No, this time I was secretly getting help from someone more expert than even me. What could possibly go wrong?
“Not at all,” said Cosferas quickly. “I meant elves require a different approach. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“Write this down.”
He drew a deep breath and began.
When cats are yowling at the moon.
That’s the time I think of yoon.
I squinted at what I’d written.
“‘Yoon’? Surely, it should be ‘you’?” I said.
Cosferas gave me a pitying look. “Come on. You need to use your head. ‘You’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘moon’.”
“But ‘yoon’ isn’t a real word! You can’t just make things up.”
“I can. It’s called poetic licence.”
“It doesn’t sound right.”
“You blunt-eared humans don’t hear things properly. Trust me. To us folk with elegantly pointed ears, it sounds perfect.”
“Really?” I tapped my pen on my notebook. “All right. But you can’t tell me anybody likes the sound of yowling cats.”
“There you go again!” Cosferas threw up his arms. “Relying on your dull human senses!”
“I can’t believe they’re that dull. Yowling isn’t romantic at all.”
Cosferas slowly shook his head and sighed. “Cats think it is. And so do elves.”
…so do elves. It hit me like a bolt from the blue. Cosferas had just shown me why I’d always failed with Trewla: I hadn’t been thinking like an elf.
I rubbed my hands together. “This is good stuff! Keep going.”
I scribbled furiously as he continued to dictate.
Ten minutes later, my page filled with pulsating poetry, he stopped.
“So, there you have it,” he said. “A poem that will take Trewla’s breath away. Once she claps her eyes on it, you won’t be able to fend her off with a stick.”
“Good.” I tapped my pen on my teeth. “Our work here is done.”
“Done! He said we’re done!” Cosferas danced a little jig. There was a tiny puff of smoke. When it cleared, Cosferas had vanished.
It didn’t matter. I didn’t need him any longer. I stared in admiration at my open notebook. I probably hadn’t needed him in the first place. The page was covered in my handwriting, so the composition was practically all my own work anyway.
I wondered briefly if I should write it out again in red ink on a nice piece of parchment, but dismissed the idea because it would take too long. Instead I sketched some daffodils in the margins.
I ripped the page from my notebook, and with my face wreathed in a satisfied smile, I left the library.
Trewla’s going to love this.
I could barely contain my excitement as I hurried off to find her.
*** Continued in episode 4 ***
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