George tried his best to stay away from the forest. During the day, he was working in his grandmother's barn, fixing the wood that broke over the winter. Then, he was leading the cattle to graze on the plain at the edge of the village. As far away from the forest as possible. In the evening, he would meet his friends and walk through the village, stopping at a gate to talk to a girl, or just talking with the lads about the fieldwork or the cattle. But his friends noticed George was no longer laughing as before. The walks were no longer to his liking. He didn't like the challenges of the past, such as jumping over the fire or climbing the tallest tree.

"What's wrong with you, mate?" Stefan, his friend, asked him one day. "You don't laugh anymore... You don't like anything anymore ... It's like it's not you anymore."

"I'm fine ..." George replied, forcing himself to speak. "I'm just tired, that's all."

Stefan turned silent for a while.

"Maria asked about you," he finally said. "She's worried."

"What did you tell her?" George asked, feeling a heaviness in his chest.

"That you were busy ... That you were tired after you got lost in the woods ..."

George swallowed hard. "Tell her not to worry anymore."

"You know what, I don't understand you," Stefan continued. "Anyone would be the luckiest lad in the village to have a girl like her interested in him. She is as good as warm bread, hard-working and, above all, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. Isn't she dear to you? "he wondered.

George felt his body hot all of a sudden.

"You know what? Why don't you woo her if she's so perfect, huh?" he shouted. "Go on! Woo her! I don't care," he shouted, walking away from him, his fists clenched.

He didn't need to hear his friend's pathetic excuses, anyway.

That night, George couldn't find sleep in his bed with the straw mattress, in the attic. Nights were the hardest. At night, all the memories of what happened in the forest invaded him as if they were real. He had tried his best to tell himself that everything had been a dream. Maybe it was too hot that day, and he had fainted from the heat. But as the darkness fell, that sweet voice called to him, ever more alluring as if it were coming within him. And the lights in the forest flickered, brighter than the stars. George tried to chase the voice away, thinking of Maria. He touched his lips with his fingertips, trying to remember her every kiss. Then he pressed his lips, hoping that her kiss would stay on his lips forever. But her kiss dissipated with each night that passed.

Sometimes, when there was complete silence, he could hear the faery's song. And her song reached the depths of his soul, troubling him and sending away his peace. And the torment began again. George would fall asleep late at night, his eyes on the lights dancing above the forest. And the next day, he would wake up more tired than when he went to sleep.The next day, George met Maria at the fountain in the middle of the village. She had come to bring water with the yoke, and the girl had filled both the wooden buckets. The sun was reflecting in the fresh water, shedding light on her face and hair. Her sad eyes were dark-blue now, but the sadness made them even more sparkling.

When she saw him, the girl hurried away, but in her haste, she poured out the buckets and the hot ground beneath her feet sucked in the water. Large, shiny drops of water scattered on the girl's bare feet. George hurried to pick up her buckets and refill them with water. Their hands touched and the girl shuddered at his touch. Then she took a few steps back, looking away.George helped her put the yoke back on her shoulder.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he said, smiling at her with his whole being.

The girl didn't answer but hurried to walk away from him. The water began to pour from the buckets, now too full.

George followed her. "Listen, Maria ... I know you're mad at me ... For what happened at the Sunday dance, I mean ..."

The girl still didn't say a word to him but continued to walk, not caring that the water almost spilled from the buckets.

George cut her off and she stopped. Her lips were pursed and tears gathered in her clear eyes, no matter how hard she tried to stop them.

George stroked her flushed cheek with his hand.

"I'm sorry ..." he whispered.

But the girl broke away from his caress. The buckets spilled at her feet. She shook her head as if she was trying to convince herself of her own sayings, "No, you're not sorry ..." she told him and her voice broke.

"Mary..."

"If you were sorry you wouldn't behave like that. I don't know you anymore," she told him, looking him dead in the eye. "You're always gone, you disappear with the days without talking to anyone, without giving a sign ..."

"You don't understand..."

"Oh, I understand too well. You've given so much in the passion for money that nothing matters to you anymore. You don't care about anyone or anything. About your grandmother, or your friends, or ... me," she said and tears began to fall down her cheeks. "Money changed you ..."

George felt he couldn't take it any longer. "What's wrong with wanting to get out of poverty?" he shouted. "What's wrong with wanting a better life? And yes, you're right. Money changes you. It makes you stronger, it makes you bolder, it makes you more in control! People no longer laugh at you for being an orphan, they don't mock you for being poor. They look up at you. And they're afraid of you. And fear keeps them away. It keeps all the shallow, fake people away from you. And when you don't want to deal with people like that, money keeps them away from you." 

She took a few steps back, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe the words she was hearing coming out of his mouth.

"You know what? I think I once loved you ..." she said softly. "But now ... I don't even like you anymore," she added and ran away, not caring about the overturned buckets.

George looked after her with a heavy heart. He kicked the buckets until his toes began to bleed. Yet, he let her go.

*

On that hot afternoon, George felt the need to be in the woods more than ever. As he stepped into the forest, he was greeted by the coolness of air, the smell of moss and lichen. The ferns at the edge of the forest bowed, guiding his footsteps on the path that formed in front of him. The farther he went to the heart of the forest, the more he felt he was not alone. He saw her out of the corner of his eye as she lurked behind the trees and bushes. He could hear her giggle behind him, and he felt his body tense as he always felt she was slipping through his fingers.

He stopped when he reached the round glade in the middle where colored mushrooms were growing in a circle where there was no sign of grass. But do not dare to walk in the circle of mushrooms. She could feel the faery watching him, but when he turned his head, she was nowhere to be seen.

"Magda" he shouted, feeling tired of her games. "Stop playing! Show yourself!"

A blueberry bush moved behind him. George turned and saw the faery emerging from it. She moved towards him, barely touching the ground. She stopped in front of him and looked at him with her big eyes that chaced away his peace and quiet.

"Did you call my name?" she asked, and her voice sounded softer than silk.

"I wanted to see you..." he said, feeling lost in her eyes.

"I missed you," she said and took his hand in hers. Her hand was slippery, cold, and wet like reptile skin. But George squeezed her and felt her hand begin to warm in his.

"Come," she said, and he couldn't help but obey her. He followed her inside the mushroom ring.

"Why did you want to see me?" she asked.

"I wanted to ask you something," he dared.

"Anything, my love," she said, as he was melting under her gaze.

George gathered all his courage. He had to do it. It was now or never. "I want you to show me the faery treasure."

She looked away. "I can not do this."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not my treasure."

"But is it real?"

"As real as you and me ..."

"Then I want you to bring me a coin. Just one. A golden coin of the faery treasure."

The faery's eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings. "So be it. I'll get you a golden coin. But you have to give me something in return."

George laughed. He was getting used to her games. "Only if you promise me you won't make me disappear for three days in a row. The people in the village will start asking questions. I don't think the faeries like to see them roaming their forest."

Magda laughed. "If they're as handsome as you, it doesn't bother us at all."

George frowned. "Do you fancy all handsome boys?"

The faery stepped even closer, her longing gaze upon him. "I only fancy you ..."

George could barely breathe. "What do you want from me?" he asked. At that moment, he felt that whatever that strange being in front of him asked of him, he would give her. Even the moon in the sky.

"A kiss ..." she whispered. She was so close, that George smelled the fresh blooms in her hair.

"I'd give you a kiss and a thousand more ..." he whispered, cupping her face and kissing her lips. Her skin felt so soft under his touch. Her lips tasted of berries and warm honey. The fae kissed him back and her slippery arms chained him as the boy felt her salamander-thin body cling to his. George felt stings and tinglings on his lips as if dozens of ants were stinging him. But it was such a new and different feeling from everything he had known before, that he gave in to her kisses, completely forgetting about himself, about the treasure, about the world altogether. When the faery let go of the kiss, it was already night. Magda giggled again and her chuckle burst into dozens of echoes. Then she turned on her heels and ran, as light as a feather, until her silhouette of light was swallowed by the darkness.

George stood in the middle of the woods for a long time, in the soft moonlight, looking behind her, feeling his heart longing for one more kiss. He felt something cold in his hand. At first, he thought it was just the memory of the faery's slippery touch. Then, he opened his fist. Under the moonlight, a gold coin the size of an egg yolk was shinning in his palm.

Thank you for reading this story, too. What do you think? Should George surrender to the faery or just be with Maria and long for the faery treasure for the rest of his life?