Elven Woman Novels & Stories

He was just a man reaching for a ghost. I tried to reach for the fire in my gut. I tried to find that spark of dragon-heat that had saved us so many times. But my stomach just felt empty. I wasn't a Queen. I wasn't a Vespera. I was just Elara Vance, a girl who had been rejected by a wolf pack that had been dead for ten thousand years. The woman at the silver gate began to walk toward us. She moved with a slow, graceful rhythm. Her linen dress trailed in the grass, and the apples in her basket looked redder than blood. When she reached us, she didn't look down with pity. She looked at us with a terrifying kind of curiosity.

The cities had their own councils, but even they had only one representative of the city in the main region’s council. Nio knocked on the door of one of the larger houses in the village and waited. The door was opened by an older elven woman. She had silver hair, a plump body, and was quite short for an elf. She stared at him for a few seconds, then her eyes widened in recognition. Tears showed up in her eyes and she ran into his arms. The hug lasted a long time. Nio felt the wetness of her tears as they slid from her face and found their way down his arm. She smelled of cinnamon pies and freshly baked bread. She smelled like home.

Behind her I could see a glorious castle that was covered in flames and smoke. As she got closer to us, I started to back away. I didn’t want to have to put Jade down in this unknown place to protect her. As the woman came closer I could see her pointed ears telling me she was an Elf. She also had a crown own that looked to be woven into her head.

Inside, the general counseling office was easy to find, its door marked with a simple brass plaque. Inside the office, a woman sat behind a heavy oak desk, writing in a ledger. Her hair was silver-gray, twisted into a tight bun. Her pointed ears told me she was elven, and the faint scars across her knuckles said she had lived long enough to know her way around a sword and a thousand ways to manipulate the earth’s core—at least a century old, maybe more. She didn’t look up as I entered, her pen scratching across a notebook. “Sit,” she said, her voice clipped.

It was faint, faint enough for my ears to pick up on while many elves continued to walk across the grasses. My dragon, pulling me in the direction, I walked over, ready for anything that might cause danger to my Odessa. Looking back, she was still at a small treehouse situated on the ground, giggling with Annabelle. As I traveled deeper, the clicking stopped and a green cloaked woman adorned with gold and silver threaded flowers walked out. Her hood covering her face, she unshielded herself. “Black Dragon,” she whispered. “I have little time. I don’t wish to cause your intended trouble,” she heaved a solemn breath. “I’m Glinda. I’m part witch, formally full until I mated with my Elven mate.

Her voice wasn’t probing but sweet, like a lullaby, and that, in some absurd way, calmed me down a lot. “Confused,” I replied, without letting go of Arsel’s hand. The woman gave me a small, comforting smile but kept a respectful distance, something I deeply appreciated. “It’s normal. You’ve been through a very intense spiritual storm,” she explained calmly. “Arsel has told you what we discovered, and I know it scares you. But I want you to know one thing, Elina. I am a weaver of magic, and my loyalty is to the truth, but above all to life.”

They shimmered in the moonlight, humming softly. A woman stood at the center, her hair braided with vines, her eyes glowing like the tree’s runes. “You made it,” she said. Aria froze. “Who are you?” “I’m a flamekeeper,” the woman replied. “My name is Elira. The Grove called you.” Aria stepped forward, shielding Luna. “Why?” Elira smiled gently. “Because you carry something rare. Something the Grove remembers.” Aria’s heart pounded. “I don’t understand.”

she said. The old woman chuckled, her voice rough like dry leaves. "Do you? Strange, neither of you asked my name." They exchanged surprised looks. "What is your name?" they asked in unison. The woman's lips curled into a smile. My name is "Lapátasodara Valkà." Elowen froze, the name like a cold wind down her spine. "That name… I heard it in tales as a child. A witch of the old world." The woman's laugh was soft, almost mocking. "it's just a stories, my dear princess, I don't mean to scare you, Nothing more. But I am pleased to know your home valued its moonlight tales."