Welcome into the realm of words.

The Grove Dwellers




Welcome, readers, welcome to the world of old tales, of unexpected meetings, of myriad dreams that, perhaps, might fly you far away, yonder the realms of mortal men.
Now, if you think yourself ready to begin this journey through magic and fairy, get closer, touch these time-worn pages, blow away the dust with your softest breath, and read.


My late grandfather Alfred Merryfriend, in his last years, would often spend his whole night seated before the warming fire, smoking his old faithful pipe and, if we were still awake, he would read aloud to us his travel diary, an item he cherished more than anything else, wherein were related, he said, all the fascinating adventures of his life. And, though it seemed perfectly nonsensical that all those tales were true he assured, and did so until he gave his last breath, that he had actually lived all those things , seen all those creatures and fought all those tremendously fateful battles. Whether they were genuine or not, my favorite tale remained the one he would call The Grove Dwellers. Let me, now that I'm no more audience but provider, tell you that story.

Here we go. Oh, well, before we get started, does everybody know what a grove is ?
I am pretty sure a few still do not. It requires methinks a little explanation . Listen, a grove is a small gathering of trees, somehow like an undersized forest, usually devoided of bushes. Now the tale can begin.
My grandfather told us that, somewhere in Ireland, the land of magic and elves, somewhere cautiously hidden from the eye of men, in a dark and most ancient forest, there stood a majestuous and ageless grove. What about a grove, may you ask ? That one was not any grove, it was called by the fays (for fays indeed would dwell, and perhaps still do, there) the Last Grove. During all his years of travels and errancies, the old Alfred went there only once, but here is what he described in his notes, which he read to us by a stormy night :

Diary of your fellow wayfarer Alfred Merryfriend, August 12 1645;

At last, I have found it ! I have found it ! The Eternal Queen be blest ! All those years of pain, of hunger and errancy are not in vain. I have travelled through the land of Ireland from north to south and from east to west, read everything left to be read, listened to every tale, story, rumor, legend and piece of lore, roamed by hills and woods, by lakes and caves, met friendly and unfriendly creatures hidden for ages from the mortal sight, and now I am here, here before the legendary tomb of the mighty Queen Titania, here have I finally reached the Last Grove. I cannot in these present notes explain how did I make my way to the Grove, for its dwellers have me swear on my own life, and I would not like anyway to jeopardize their secular peace with my imprudent words. The fairies have allowed me to enter this sacred place for I am a believer. I will now intend to describe this nonpareil place as best as I can, but trust me, it is beyond the reach of any mortal language.
Here : the grove itself is alike any other grove, the grass is green and soft, the trees (most of them oaks) are gathered in circle , shaping a little glade in their breast . The air is filled with the scent of wild flowers, the buzzing of flies, the majestic flights of butterflies and this strange sensation that something is sleeping nearby, like an invisible presence. It is a quite common place. But if you are like me a Believer, then you are revealed the true nature of the grove : sundry fairies of countless shapes and sizes flying to and fro, some watching and guarding, some harvesting or gardening. Flowers like no others strewn upon the ground, blooms with colors so bright that the simple memory of them hurts my eyes and there, in the exact middle of the glade, beneath the leafy roof, stairs .Gigantic stairs whereof each step is a colossal root, stairs that leading you down into the depths of the earth. Once I have been authorized to go further, I am escorted to the entrance of the stairs. There a beautiful fairy, starkly naked and bearing seven necklaces of gold and silver, introduces to me as the Keeper, responsible for the watching of the Grove. Trust me fellows, even if she would look like a bug to you, don't get misunderstood, her powers are awful and deadly. I do my most perfect reverence then follow her downward. The steps seem to have no end. Around us, where it must have been mud roots and dark are ceilings, lamps and light. Though the tunnels, corridors and rooms should have been sized for fairies, I can process easily and freely through them (I will be told later that it is a part of the magic of the place). We finally end up into the most impressive and vast hall I have, and will ever ,beheld. Its very dimensions are beyond any measure, its beauty beyond any word. The ceilings are adorned with paintings of the most delicate art, the roof is supported by graven columns of stone that sprout out of the ground like many fingers of some godly creature, the walls are hewn in the very rock but so skillfully that it looks like glass. The lamps are so numerous and bright that the light , even here some five hundreds feet down beneath the ground, is day-like. And music...Music my lads. Never has a human ear heard so beautiful and sad a song. The Keeper explains to me that it is a mourning song, sung all day and night to the memory of Titania. I am not ashamed to confess that I, who have been through years of pain and suffering, who have seen all the decay and woe of the human world, wept for a long time, even after we have crossed and left the hall. After a walk that lasts many hours( it seems to me), we finally arrive before an awe-inspiring iron door, some fifteen feet high, guarded by twelve heavily armed fairies. The Tomb of Titania, Queen of the Fairies, Light of the Other World. The Keeper tells me I am the first human being allowed to get in, ever. I thank her again and again, for it is the most exceptional honor that is now done to me. The doors open. And there I see it : the deathbed of the queen. I had expected some stony monument but nay, she lies upon a couch of heather and blossoms. I step in it. A delicate scent comes to me, an odor of woods, of oldness, of legend. I behold what no man has beheld before : the body of Titania. Her skin is as pale as the unveiled moon, her hair is of pure gold , and her face, even in death, is smiling and fair.She's wearing a thin pale green dress and is barefoot. The fays' magic has been keeping her body away from decay for three thousand years, the Keeper explains then to me, and shall do so forever more. I notice strange symbols carven upon the walls and ask what it represents. She tells me that there is written the sad story of Titania and of Her husband Oberon, the Mighty King of the Fairies. It is thousand lines long but she reads a short part of it to me :




And then again I cry, for she has softly mouthed those words , and they conveyed all the sadness of her kin. After I have paid my respects to the lying body of the Queen (who is, trust me, the most sublime and perfect creature whereupon one will ever lay his eyes), I thank my guide again, and then bid them farewell. She and her folk grant me before I leave the title of Fairy Friend, which is another great honor to me.
This is the end of my journey to the tomb of the majestic Titania. I am not afraid to tell I shall never be the same again after that. I am led outside the grove and bid farewell again. When I look back, everything has vanished.

Remember, you who read these lines, the most important lesson life ever taught me : you do not have to see if you want to believe, but you must definitely believe if you intend to see.

Your devoted adventurer,
Alfred Merryfriend.

Death is bored.


If there is one very thing common to every man on earth, save the fact of course that he is potentially a murderer, a rapist or a bloodthirsty dictator, it's death. Of course animals and plants are also concerned by the phenomenon but it is not our point here. Our point is man.
In every civilization, all around the world, at any time, death has been present. Either feared and frightening, or worshipped and mysterious, she (let's use she, you will soon know why) leaves nobody unmoved and careless.Most people despise her because when she does her job, she brings along woe, mourning, sadness and loss. Fair enough. But has anyone ever thought or tried to figure what was her point of view ? Did anybody ever wonder about her feelings, her impression, her feedback concerning her life, her position or her future ?
I bet no one ever did. And that is why we have met Her. How ? The easiest thing in the world : we went to a hospital after a dreadful car accident and awaited before the surgery room. And believe me, when you see Her ( even if she 's used to go unnoticed), you know Her. Mystics or oracles would probably tell you that if you don't believe , you won't see. Well, I believed and I saw. Our first meeting doesn't really matter at the moment ( I did not at first introduced myself as a journalist, I did not want to freak her out ), but in the end we decided to meet again a week later, in her favorite pub, surprisingly called The Dead Boozer.
The D-day, I went there alone, armed with my traditional recorder and pen, and there she was. Before I give you the interview itself, let me tell you a few words about her apparence. Well, to be honest (and reasonably correct) she's hot, which by the way proves the expression "as cold as death"to be totally wrong. Let's keep on. She looks like a young woman around 25, the prettiest and most handsome woman I had probably ever met. She always goes fully clad in black, lightly clad needless to say. Her hair is raven, her lips are black, her eyes are black, her nails are black and , still I'm not sure to believe this statement of her since she's a very humorous and cynical person, but her nipples would be black as well. Detail. That's for the looks.
The first thing that strike you when you have a talk with her, is that she's cool. One would have expected a gloomy and sad person , stern and unsmiling, but not at all !Well, I won't have you wait more : here is the interview of Death, on Monday 23th at 9.pm, at the Dead Boozer.


Me : 'Hello ! How have you been since last time ?' ( I kiss her on the cheeks)

Death: 'Good good, busy as hell but good. Nice to see you again. Hope you're gonna like the place it's a bit particular.'

Me : ' It's ok. what are you having ?'

Death : 'Peach Pint. What for you ? My turn.'

Me : 'Oh cheers. Well two Pints.So let's begin if you agree.'

Death :'Sure sure. But honestly I don't really what to say or where I've to begin, so just ask me questions and I'll answer , if I can' (She smiles broadly, her smile is devastating)

Me: 'Alright. Well, how may I call you ? The Death ? Death ? Lady Death ? Deathy ?' (she laughs)

Death: 'Death. Just Death, it's kinda like a first name, only I've got no last name.'

Me: Good. So, Death where's your scythe ? And your black hood ? And you're far more fleshy than what I had expected, to tell the truth. No offense.'

Death :'Well...'(she looks a bit uncomfortable). 'This scythe stuff is really really lame actually. I don't even how to use one ! And it's far too heavy and too voluminous to be carried everywhere (and God knows I travel a lot). So I don't kill people with this huge blade. Never did and never will.'

Me: 'What do you use then ? And where does this strange scythe story come from, if ever you know it,?'

Death:' I don't use anything. I just come to people, take their hand and bring them back to dust, to say it properly. I don't really know where this bloody scythe legend did begin but it was probably just to make me look more frightening and dreadful than I do.'

Me: 'Did you choose this apparence ? Or were you just born like that ?'

Death: 'I chose it. To tell the truth, my range of abilities and powers is very large, not to say boundless. Then my looks follow my will, but most of the time I am this young woman.'

Me: 'Can I ask why ? Any reasons ?'

Death: 'Yeah, I just wanted people to see something beautiful and pretty before they make their last journey, instead of a terrifying grinning skull with a lame black hood.'

Me: 'Alright. Good to know.Do you know what you really are, where you really come from or who brought you here ?'

Death:' I don't.'

Me:' OK. Important question : What is feeling about your "job" ? Don't you ever feel guilty or sad, I don't know the figures but you must kill something like thousands of people a day.'

Death:' Well first there's something you need to understand, I don't kill anybody. Men died because of diseases, accidents, age or most often because of other men but I am not responsible for that. What you call my job is to make them pass out of life, but they're already dead. What you human beings call "the death" has nothing to do with me.'

Me:'I'm sorry but I'm not quite sure to get the all of it. Imagine I cross the street unwatching and a truck hit me, killing me right then, what will happen ?'

Death:' Your body will stop working. That's "the first death" if you want, then I'll come to lead your soul out , that's the second death, that's my job.

Me: 'Right. To lead me where to ?Will I be conscious of it ?'

Death: 'I can't tell. And yes you will. And, believe it or not, they're are far more people thanking me fondly for flying them out that you could ever imagine.

Me: 'People are happy to die ?'

Death: 'Seems so indeed, part of them.And to answer your question, no I don't feel guilty since I'm not responsible of anything, nor sad since I truly think that I send people to a better place than the one they leave.But , point is : it is a really boring task . Again and again and again. And I let you imagine what it looks like during wars. Awful.''

Me:' I understand. So you're really not "The Death".

Death: Nope. And it doesn't exist. It's just a biological mecanism, it is not embodied by anyone.Fortunately I'd say, imagine the horrible thing it would have been !'

Me:'You must be right. You were right, this place is very strange, what is it actually ?'

Death: ' A place for people like me . See this mature woman clad in grey over there, drinking alone and sobbing ?'

Me: 'I do'

Death: 'It's Sadness. A job mate I'd say.And the two lovers on the table near the window, who are about to have rough sex right on the table ?'

Me: 'Aye.'

Death : 'They're Love.'

Me:' Really ? Why two persons ?

Death :'For the two opposite aspects of love, good and evil.'

Me:'Incredible...' (I was very astonished).'Well I think I'm running out of questions, it was very nice of you to accept this interview.

Death:' Don't mention it. It's good to have true talks with living folks sometimes. (She laughs again, damn she's beautiful)'

Me: 'Thanks for everything Death, and I hope we'll see again someday...Well, not too early.'

Death :' Don't worry, I'll be kind.'

The night had fall'n.

It was shining as though it knew its time was being counted, harshly, carelessly. The mocking stars hanging above the world of men, were staring down. Unmoved. Silence spread and He could hear the beating of his fearful heart, so clearly, so distinctly, so terrilbly strong that it was like He had been holding it in His own hand. The night had fall'n. He was still running, his lungs assailed by the ruthless icy air, his limbs crying and begging for rest. On his left , an empty street and on his right, the despairingly familiar place. No matter how bad and tired He felt, He could not stop, not yet, not till He had reached His aim. A dog barked. A car quickened its race. An angel failed.

Neither wind, nor bird-song nor warm words to welcome him there. Only that overwhelming confidence, challenging both time and men, rising towards the skies. The cathedral stood there, undefied. Its high carven walls, guarded and adorned with beasts and fays and tears, witnesses of its victory in the battle against decay. The sky-piercing towers wrought in the hardest stone raised from the sacred ground like in an insane fit of vanity. No doubt, He knew His journey was over. He stopped, caught His breath, wiped the tears off his cold cheeks. The night had fall'n.

The awe-inspiring oaken doors were opened and from the space between them a warm and cheerful light was leaking. He entered. The building was thoroughly deserted, save a bent silhouette seated wearily before the organ, hidden beneath a strange amount of black rags. Candels were lit everywhere and though bright and luminous it was cold. Deadly cold. The place was tremendously majestic; beyond the reach of a mere human mind, escaping the painters' brush, ridiculing the poets' feather. He felt that though people went there to hope and pray, the cathedral was a very sanctuary of death and despair. A faint music tickled his ears, like a whispering choir but naught was to be seen. He walked up the nave, bereft of any will, simply following that strange drive that had led Him into the massive building far from his home. And the dark silhouette stirred, her pale wrinkled hands awaking suddenly upon the keyboard. Upon each of His step, she laid a note and, when he arrived to the quire, she hissed :' Neither cold nor night could have stood athwart thy way, for hither lies thy destiny.' The night had fall'n.

Suddenly released from the spell that until then had bound him, Thomas shook his head in disbelief and fear was in his eyes. He would have run but her legs were like lead and he had no strength left. The organ player uttered a grim laughter then went back to his playing, note after note, darker and darker was the theme but it nonetheless sounded eerily familiar to the young man. From beneath the black time-worn shrouds, the ghostly voice spoke again :' Of course thou knowest this music my dear, since this is the very symphony of thy life. ' Thomas remained silent, bewildered. 'I'm not responsible for thy coming here, boy, your fierce and yet unavowed desire for death is the one to blame, I'm but a tool. The time has now come to reveal your real self, the side thou hast been hiding for those too many years of untruth. Listen to me, and to this rhapsody of death !' Now her hands ran fast over the keyboard, the crooked fingers showing an unexpected vitality, the folds of her rags waving softly, agitated by the moves of her arms, and the dull voices that Thomas had heard at his arrival were now fully assumed and, though nowhere to be seen, echoed in the air like the flight of some legendary bird : they were countless, alike in beauty and despair, in power and meaning. And they were singing an elegy.

In the dead of the night, when the blackest thoughts drive you to Hell.

'Hearest thou ? They sing for thee. Whilst my melody celebrates the end of thy mortal life, they are here to bear sadness and grief. They are the Last Choir, and nothing upon , above or under the earth can ever challenge the beauty of their chant. The time has come.' Thomas fell on his knees, hands on his tear-wet face ,and the organ played louder, and the choir sang stronger. ' Why me ?' he mouthed.
The ragged presence laughed again, more dreadfully than ever, and answered with a weary voice : ' You don't have understood yet ? I am thee. At least a part of thee, the darkest part, every vile, malicious and malevolent things you ever said, did or thought was my glorious deed. I am the one hiding behind your smiles, lurking within you. I am your shameful brother, your true self, your doom. Thou canst not deny me, nor get rid of me since I am thee, and before the dawn we shall become one.' The notes had again grown in sadness and sorrow, and the Choir had switched onto a mournful requiem, the beauty of their voices filling the air of the cathedral, bouncing upon the ancient walls and rising in grandeur every second. The young man had stopped weeping, he stood on his feet,his will renewed. He walked up to the organ and asked :' Why now ? why this night ? Have I done something bad ?' There was no fear nor anger in his voice. ' I am now strong enough to accomplish what I live for. Over years and years , I have awaited, devouring your soul, feasting on your pain, gnawing your grief and leeching your desire to life away. You gave birth to me, bringing me to life , I now shall offer thee rest, bringing death to you. Are you afeard ?'
' No'.

When dawn starts to rise, chasing the night away.

In an ultimate outburst, the organ offered its last forces : the notes rose finally in a tearful yet fast and energetic symphony, the player now being extactic. As for the Choir, they had reached their last utterance , the saddest song that Thomas had ever heard and it was loud, so loud that the whole cathedral seemed to tremble. The young man wept once more, but that time he shed tears of joy, caused by the beauty of the music and by the unexpected ending of this non-pareil night. The organ player, still lost in his frenzy, asked with a mad voice :' Now, tell me, what is your most eager desire ? What wishest thou above everything else ? What doth thy heart long for ?' And the answer was yelled to the face of the stars , ' Death !'. And the notes of the brass tubes blended with the Choir's voices, creating an ultimate part to the song, the most tragic ever performed, the black silhouette still playing with her pale hands, the Choir still invisible. Thomas walked peacefully up to the altar and there he found a short dagger. His thoughts were now totally overblown by the music, his heart was beating incredibly fast , ready to burst out of his chest. And he was still crying for he now realized that he was living the brightest day of his whole thwarted life; he whispered to himself :'And this is how the story ends, now vanish the pains and the doubts, now disappear sadness and grief, unto this last journey I shall now depart in mirth, for this is what I have always sought and desired, my heart lies no more.' Outside, the first rays of the waking sun just loomed behind the misty horizon and the time had come. Amidst this chaotic harmony of sounds and majesty Thomas was standing. He grabbed the dagger and apply softly the glittering blade upon the skin of his wrist, the palm of his hand turned towards Heaven. A smiled appeared on his pale face. The Choir reached its highest note, bearing all the vow of the world. The organ wove its last melody around it, entwining beauty with despair. All now was music...

The dawn had risen.

Some freshly shining daye, in the thriving and fruitful lands of Albion, beneath the cerulean unsundered skies, there came a fair and slight lady clad in grey, and her name was Beauty. Her hair was incredibly long and dark, flowing behind her in the warm and howling summer breeze. Her skin was pale ,as pale as the waning wintermoon, as pure as the purest dove and her eyes were grey like oblivion. And she would never smile.
On and on she would walk her way a-roaming along lanes and paths, haunting the woods , the forests and the glades, wandering, for neither a home nor any place to dwell did she have, nor anyone to live or to share a meal with. She was alone.Desperately alone. Now, there she came up to a little wooden house built upon a greeny bald hill . There a-singing softly she went and , in a smart and minutely arranged garden, she saw a fleshy happy woman , down on her knees, plowing and planting. Her name was Joy. When she got nigh, and before she could say anything ,the bumpy gardener asked a sonorous :' What are ya doin' here lassy ? Are ya lonely or something , you look dreadly sad, wait a minute, when I'm done with this muddy labor we'll sit together and laugh and sing with a good pint of fresh ale ! ' Beauty stared at her a short while, unwinking, unmoved, then she walked away without a word, stepping down the hill unto a sketchy forest. A few seconds later she heard from behind ' Well, next time ! Have a good day !'.
Beauty had stopped singing but still she was walking, and neither weariness nor fatigue could have made her stop, for she was seeking something, in the depths of her heart. Now she entered a sun-lit forest, peopled with majestic oaks, shy elms, gathering shamrocks and stealthy beasts. And then she heard someone laughing, heartily, with a deep and cavernous voice, filling the air. She drew near and saw , seated upon a felled tree, a monstruous man covered with leaves and boughs, twice as tall as her and probably twice as large and the tonitruous laugh was his. When she entered the glade , the man got quiet and lifted his eyes at her : ' Art thou lost ? What a fresh fair lassy like you doin' here ? Ain't a place for you , but indeed I am not refusing some company. Let's a have a funny talk together. Lemme introduce myself , I am Happiness.' And he burst into another endless space-filling laughter. Beauty looked at him, but her mouth would not unshut and no word would she utter. She just left him. And long after she had crossed the forest's edge, she still could hear the laugh of the mighty Happiness.
The light grew dim, the sun was yielding to his pale foe and the stars started to cast their luminous yoke upon the world of men. Beauty arrived on a grassy plateau, wherein were scattered stony ruins of every size and form, from the most little stone to the tremendous arch or the awe-inspiring chapel. Everything was waging a hopeless battle against time and ivy , and Beauty felt in peace in there. She stooped before a great wall adorned with damaged patterns and scenes of old ,and as she was about to fall asleep upon the very ground she heard a weeping woman nearby. She sought and there she found a young lass, all ragged and cold , leaning against a fallen wall. The mysterious young woman was beautiful, even in tears, and beneath the rags could be figured the body of a princess. She calmed down for a moment and declared : ' My name is Sadness, and as thou seest me I am alone, and doomed to die.There's no way out of life, no way out of despair. I've been walking upon this earth with no purpose, I've not even been asked if I wanted to. This world doesn't suit me , and therefore I am awaiting death. Who art thou ? Thou lookest familiar to me.' And for the first time, Beauty answered, as she knelt down on the ground and sat beside Sadness :' My name is Beauty, and now that I see you I know that you are the one I've sought.'Then she got even closer to the lass and embraced her , fondly and tenderly. ' To thy tears I shall add mine, for our fates are entwined and our hearts are bound. ' Then she kissed softly her brow and lips and finally said : 'To thee I am enthralled unto the end, and with thee shall I forever dwell.'

Aux êtres aimés.



Ainsi s'achève cette trop longue vie. Ainsi débute enfin cette trop lente mort. J'ai vécu dans l'attente de ce moment depuis que mon esprit est assez mûr pour en ressentir l'importance et l'enjeu. Je n'ai jamais su l'expliquer, et emporterai cette énigme avec moi au pays des morts. L'égoïsme qui motive tout cela est à la hauteur de ma souffrance, de mon mal-être, de mon angoisse, de mes peurs. Le chagrin que je laisse derrière moi rivalise avec celui que j'ai ressenti durant toutes ces années, enfermé dans ce corps inutile, victime d'un destin et d'une vie que je n'avais jamais choisis, que je n'aurais jamais choisis.
Tout s'achève ici, enfin. Ne versez aucune larme, car jamais je n'en ai mérité. Il est d'autres secrets, si honteux et atroces que même au seuil de la mort je n'ose les révéler. Ceux-ci également sous terre me suivront. Tout ceci est lâche , je l'ai été de mon vivant et le serai également dans la mort, car contrairement à ce que l'on pense, les gens ne changent pas. Les gens ne changent jamais. Les gens ne changeront jamais. Personne.
Mes biens matériels iront aux personnes désignées plus bas, tous sans exception. Quant à mes pensées, mes doutes, mes peurs, mes espoirs et mes peines, je les lègues au néant, car même dans la haine ou la rancoeur que j'ai pu éprouvé je n'ai souhaité, et ne souhaiterai jamais à personne de ressentir ce que j'ai ressenti, de voir ce que j'ai vu, d'entendre ce que j'ai entendu, de vouloir ce que j'ai voulu. Ne pleurez pas, ne regrettez pas, ne vous lamentez pas car celui dont vous lisez les derniers mots n'est pas celui que avez connu, n'ai pas celui que quelqu'un aurait aimé connaître.