Humans are known to tell many stories. They tell legends of heroes and fables of mythical beasts with unfathomable power. With time, their tales fade into mere stories, and the creatures woven of their dreams are forgotten and left to the shadows where no one dares to look. It was in these shadows that the sylvatrice wandered, within the deep woods. It watched and waited, where it observed the humans as they destroyed much of nature and created their beautiful steel spires. The woods were quiet, and the bustling cities were so alive…Yet the sylvatrice bit back its temptation, and it settled for the quiet hum of life of the occasional adventurous mortal. Of course, the idyllic peace that the myths resided in, encased by wishes and kept alive by the fantasies of dreamers, could not last. And the golden age had ended when they stormed the wilderness. Many creatures fled, their magical hearts pounding with fear. But not the sylvatrice. It stayed, watching with wide eyes and perked ears. The humans held up a small black box, and from it flowed wonder…Aliferous and lilted, like a river that contained the sweetest water. The sylvatrice had been ensnared by the gentle lure of music, almost seeming to have foamed at the mouth. It lurched forward and took large, staggering steps. It ignored the vines caught in its antlers and the pull of thorns in its thick brown pelt, only aware of the flowing song. That was the last day the sylvatrice roamed the Earth, seeking for what it could never have and yearning for a life not its own, just as we all do when lost in a dark time. The sylvatrice had learned too late that humans were many things. They were aggressive, arrogant, impulsive, greedy…But most of all, they were deceptive.
