And the End is, in Fact, a Beginning….

F ather Issac huffed and puffed on his way up from the house. The little circle of nuns heard him groan before he managed to meet them.

"Yes?" Father Issac muttered in an irritated tone. "Has the girl bent at last? Bring her down to take her vows."

"Look at the well, Father."

The voice was so meek that Father Issac wasn't certain which one of the nuns spoke. Not that it mattered. He cleared his throat and took a few steps toward the well.

"I do not recall a well being here," Father Issac muttered.

"It was not there yesterday," a nun insisted with wide eyes.

The rest of the sisters shook their heads to confirm that they had not seen the well before.

Father Issac cleared his throat. "A well…does not appear overnight."

"Unless it's enchanted."

Father Issac turned his head to see Norla standing at the edge of the thicket. Samuel and Clement had come with her. All three of them were on the edge of the forest, not even a toe in the meadow.

"There are stories Father," Samuel began. "Tales of this meadow being enchanted."

"Aye," Clement added. "That's why the house could never be sold. No one wanted to risk their little ones being lured away by the Fae folk."

"This is why the Church needs to have a presence here," Father Issac declared. "It is time for these tales to stop being repeated."

"They have taken the girl," Clement said. His old voice crackled with too many years to count, lending credence to his words. He pointed a gnarled finger at the well.

Father Issac turned and squinted.

There on the edge of the well sat Rhona's clothing. On top of them lay a head wreath of autumn leaves. all scarlet and gold, along with a barley stalk bridal crown, the stems carefully crafted into a headpiece that dated further back in time than anyone recalled. It was the traditional—although pagan—adornment for an autumn bride.

"Do you think she drank from the well at midnight?" Norla asked in a husked tone. "She must have seen the face of her groom."

"If she drank the water, the Fae would think it a binding commitment," Clement answered.

"Such a sweet, tender lass," Samuel muttered. "Little wonder she was enchanted by the well…left in a cold, dark shed by herself."

Father Issac made the sign of the cross over his chest. His complexion had turned pasty.

"I only intended to have the girl see the blessing of joining the cloister," the priest defended himself. "I wouldn't have left her there much longer."

"Do nae be too hard on yourself, Father," Clement spoke up. "The girl's mother often danced upon the green beneath the moonlight."

"The cloister's life would have saved her," Father Issac muttered with a shake of his head. "It is too late now."

Everyone was silent for a long moment. A gust of wind howled down from the north, bringing the bite of winter.

"Return to your prayers," Father Issac instructed the nuns.

One of their numbers started toward the clothing. Norla drew a huge gasp. Her eyes were wide with alarm when the nun and Father Issic looked toward her.

"Are you not worried the enchantment will spread to you?" Norla asked in a hushed tone.

The nun jumped back and hid her hands beneath her tabard.

"Leave the clothing," Father Issac decreed. "It is like the thirty pieces of silver paid to betray Christ…it will only bring a curse to anyone foolish enough to use it."

He muttered a soft prayer and made another sign of the cross before he headed back for the house.