This is very much inspired by two stories, Kissing The Witch by Emma Donoghue and The Nightingale And The Rose by Oscar Wilde: hence the Oscar Wilde style of writing.

As she walked through the cornfield, her lips moved, as though she was singing softly to herself. But, she made no sound; she was quieter than the smallest of whispers.

Now, she walked through the poppy field, and hundreds of red flowers lay across the ground she walked on. But, her blue eyes never gazed upon them. They didn't seemed to focus on anything; they just stared into space. Her blank expression was somewhat frightening, she seemed stunned, and distant.

Now, a gentle breeze was blowing. But her long blonde hair stayed in its tidy position, as if it was stuck by glue, and her mouth carried on singing her soundless song.

Now, the wind blew stronger. The leaves in the trees danced, but they had no rhythm; perhaps they were dancing to the soundless song. Still, her hair retained its neatness, and her mouth carried on singing her soundless song.

Now, the wind blew stronger. The branches in the trees danced, but they had no rhythm; perhaps they were dancing to the soundless song. Still, her hair retained its neatness, and her mouth carried on singing her soundless song.

Now, the wind blew even stronger. The trees danced, and the grass beneath her feet danced, but they had no rhythm; perhaps they were dancing to the soundless song.

She stopped walking. Her lips stopped moving. But, her eyes still seemed to be staring at something that was not there, and her hair still stayed in its tidy position.

She raised her arm, and the wind stopped. The leaves were calm again, and the branches were calm, and the trees were calm, and the grass beneath her feet was calm.

Now, the sun appeared from behind a cloud. It shone over the poppies, colouring them brightly. Birds started to sing in the trees.

She turned, and faced a tree. From this tree came the songs of four birds, more beautiful than anyone had ever heard. But as she raised her other arm the bird song stopped abruptly.

She opened her mouth, and began to sing.

She sang the tunes that the birds had sung. Her voice was silky, like the silver moonlight. The birds flew down from the trees and rested on her arms to listen. The sun shone stronger, and coloured the trees a deeper green and the poppies a more passionate red. Her eyes twinkled like the stars. Her hair glistened like a glittery river. But, she still stared at the invisible mountain, and her hair still stayed tidy.

Now, the birds began to sing with her. They sang beautiful harmonies, more beautiful than any in the world. And the sun and the wind listened.

Now, she stopped singing the songs of the birds, and sang the songs that the wind whistled. The wind began to blow a gentle breeze for her, and the birds and the sun listened.

Now, she stopped singing the songs of the wind, and sang a song in praise of the sun. In return, the sun shone stronger and stronger, and gave her eyes the deep blueness of the sky. But, they still stared into nothing.

Now, she stopped singing the song of the sun, and began to sing her soundless song again. The birds and the wind joined in with her, singing with all their might the song that only they knew the tune for. But there was not a sound to be heard, and the light of the sun shone less bright.

Now, she stopped singing the soundless song, and the birds flew from her arms back to the trees. The wind was calm again.

She walked towards the tree, her eyes staring at something that was not there. The tree welcomed her, and she stopped in front of it. She reached out to touch it, and the sun hid behind a cloud. As her hand came into contact with the bark of the tree, she became pale. The sun came out from behind the cloud to try and brighten her colour again, but she was becoming paler and paler, her life fading into the tree.

As she disappeared, the birds sang the soundless song.