I, Harmony Dryad, was anything but harmonious as I gazed into the pool below me a month later. I combed my long green hair with fingers that begged to feel the silken waves of my disturbingly absent lover, and pouted prettily at my reflection.
There was no arguing the fact. Boredom had set in. My tree was finished flowering even if I longed to blossom once more. The bees had not prompted any fruit to quicken upon its branches. And, to make matter worse, I was truly sick of being rooted to this spot with only a manically cheerful nest of peeping birds for company.
In other words, there was nothing for a lovely, single--and obviously ghosted--dryad to do.
When my gorgeous afternoon paramour did not return for a second tryst. I spent...
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