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I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity
Any Velou who isn't me tonight.
I feel charming,
Oh, so charming
It's alarming how charming I feel!
And so pretty
That I hardly can believe I'm real.
See the pretty being in that mirror there:
Who can that Green Goddess be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!
I feel stunning
And entrancing,
Feel like dancing and ringing a bell,
For I'm loved
By a pretty wonderful Mel!
Yawanna twirled around as she sang in the gardens of Valleyum, and flowers sprang up where her bare feet touched the ground. It had been a long time since the words of the ancient tale of the West Side had occurred to her, and she was well aware of the fact that this song was no longer hip. But for some reason, it made her feel young, as young as Melvin had made her feel with his charming smile and flattering words. Ever since she had willingly suspended disbelief, she had surrendered to his enchantment, and it did not break.
She stretched a pale green hand down to collect some seeds, and the plants gladly gave them to her. Carefully marking each kind and wrapping them in paper envelopes, she put her most prized possessions in a large suitcase. She would turn Muddled-Mirth into a paradise, a garden in which love, light, and joy could dwell forever – or at least as long as it lasted. She envisioned herself as its Queen – she would not be dark, but terribly beautiful, fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth! All would love her and despair! Finally she would no longer have to play second fiddle to that upstart Prada – who did she think she was anyway, with her head full of fashion nonsense instead of Yawanna’s creativity?!
Thus did she dream of a fair future, and it occurred not to her to doubt Melvin’s sudden appearance nor to question the truth of his words. Yet gradually she became aware of a melody that intruded upon her singing, a discord that she at first wove into her own music, yet it did clash and she realized that her Cell-antír was ringing shrilly. And she loathed the thought of being interrupted in her pleasant thoughts and tasks, yet she was also curious to know who wished to send her a message.
Her green brows furrowed as she read the words. They brought back a memory she had thought forgotten, and indeed she was not inclined to revive it, yet it left a bitter taste in her mouth and her normally smiling lips pressed together as tightly as her clenched hands did.
Dear Yawanna,
Mogul is leading you on. Please listen to the attached em-pethree. And please accept my sincere apologies for that incident at the last Velour Annual Charity Auction and Bazaar. I do hope your hair grew back out OK.
"Andy" Andotiruves
cc: Emu the Flightless
Almost involuntarily, her hand moved to click on the enclosure. She listened to it, first with disbelief, then with increasing doubt. She recognized both voices, that of the Elven maiden and that of her beloved. Could it be?
“It is by Yawanna’s will that the Ent shall be remade, and when it is, vile spirit of greed, you shall be no more.”
“Yawanna is it? You think that she will help you? Well, I’m sorry to disabuse you of that little notion, but the gullible wench thinks she is going to be my Queen. She has no intention of helping you now.”
She sank to the ground, covering her face with her hands. Who was she to believe, this obnoxious “Andy” or her darling Melvin?
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