Crossing Lines: The Traffic Jam and a Visit from Lindelion

She knew he would hear her as if she were in the car. Perhaps she should have actually gotten into the car before opening her mouth, but there wasn't time. Besides, the view was better from outside. Gleefully, Bridget looked at her self-made traffic jam. The upturned lips made more than a smile now. To the drivers in the cars closest to her, she looked absolutely radiant.

Back in her apartment thirty minutes later, Bridget went into the bedroom. She'd left the scene as soon as the first patrolmen arrived. Never one to hang around for official questioning, she'd taken the relieved and diverted attentions of the drivers as her opportunity for escape. No doubt, there would be a police sketch, and this would be distributed to all of the local news stations. For a few days, her face would be plastered all over the television at six, noon, six, and eleven. It didn't matter. No one would find her in her little loft more than a hundred miles away.

She shed the now-torn dress and tossed it in the general direction of the clothes hamper. She would throw it out when it was time to do laundry later in the week. Naked, she opened her closet and looked at the dozens of robes hanging inside. Instinctively, her hand pulled the lilac silk from the rear. It came off the hanger, happy to be chosen, and she slid her arms into the sleeves. The neckline was cut low. Tying the little string around her neck to secure the front of the robe, she wrapped and secured it around her waist. To anyone looking, it would seem a strange robe and her manner of donning it even stranger. It looked like she was putting it on backwards. She wasn't. The robe was tailored to wrap closed as did most robes, but the back of it was open from the string at her neck to her waist… almost, but not quite, in the style of a halter dress. All of Bridget's robes were made this way. It was requisite for she demanded comfort when she was inside her own home.

Her slender frame covered once more, Bridget moved to the vanity that sat near the large window on the front side of the apartment. She sat and picked up her hairbrush. The soft boar bristles moved through her close-cropped auburn hair, and as she brushed, the smile returned to her face. It had been a fair day's work on that highway. Bridget was pleased with herself. She laid down the brush, smiling at her own smile in the mirror, and then completed her ritual. Slowly and with exaggerated care, she spread the wings on her back. All the colors of the forest, mottled and muted, came to life in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. She smoothed them, rubbed a little oil into them, and sighed. Brushing the wings now, she reflected that it was good to be free of her city clothes.

"Bridethelasa!"

In spite of the fact she was startled, Bridget didn't drop the brush. She couldn't see him in the mirror and, so, turned on the little stool to face him.

"Lindelion… hello." She should have quaked in fear. She didn't. She should have rushed headlong into childish apology. She didn't. "I just returned." It was all she would give him.

"Well I know. I have been awaiting you for some time."

They looked at one another in silent standoff. A fairy whose blood still ran thick with nobility and the ancient elf who was now her lord. Neither would budge willingly, and Bridget finally relaxed if only to hurry along the inevitable.