Perhaps I was a fool in the beginning to believe there could actually be someone out there for me, someone to claim as mine and someone destined to be with me. Perhaps I was a fool to go into the woods that one night alone in the dark forest. Perhaps I was an even bigger fool not to believe the legends my grandfather use to tell me and my brother, Arthur, when we were little, legends he claimed has been told in our family for generations.

My grandfather was long dead, but the last memory I had of him was still fresh like it was yesterday. The worst snowstorm ever to hit the city really hit it hard, swirls of heavy snow so thick you could barely see, snow falling so heavily in nearly endless streams it was almost like someone was tossing gigantic pillows of white snow from the sky, and layers and layers or pure white snow covering the ground, the trees, and buildings, making everything look like it was a winter wonderland. The snow was so horrible; we were all caved inside the house.

My father was sitting in his favorite chair, reading his newspaper while mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner. There was nothing left for Arthur and I do to anything else, so we sat on Grandfather's lap. He took a moment to finish smoking his much-needed pipe, let out a stream of smoke we were careful not to breathe in, and then he looked at us with a certain gleam in his eye he always had whenever he told us his stories and told us one of his favorites, which was also mine.

The story of the Spirit woman, a beautiful woman who was as beautiful as an angel and had the certain charm of a siren temptress, who lives in the great Forest beyond our backyard waiting for a young man foolish enough to come to the deepest part of the Forest and even more foolish enough not to ran the other direction when she made her apperance. The Spirit was a mystical creature of the Mother Earth, a fairy my grandfather claims, able to bend nature at her will, and was very powerful with her magic. Her beauty could immediately make a man's eyes widen in shock from her mind-blowing loveliness, could easily freeze heart in a heartbeat moment, she could easily trap her prey with one look in her eyes and a sweet smile spreading across her face, and the man would be hers for the taking-and possibly keeping if she found the man under her spell amusing enough to keep around for more than a little while.

She wasn't an actually siren that sings to men, leading them to their cold deaths. Instead, love was something she would steal from them, making them fall absolutely in love with her, then leaving without a trace and making their hearts bleed for her, striking them with a powerful spell of lovesick and their hearts desiring nothing else but her and seeing her again.

My grandfather told us he thankfully never had the chance or the guts to go into the deep area of forest, but unfortunately his elder brother who was three years his senior, Damon, wasn't so lucky. My grandfather would sometimes get misty-eye as he looks at me and think about his elder brother. I've seen enough pictures to know how much our resemblances are so exact: same tall and lean frame, long midnight blue hair we preferred to tie in a loose ponytail, rather pale than fair skin, such intensity in our aqua eyes, and average-looking faces that wasn't unattractive yet overly handsome.

According to my grandfather, one winter night much like this one we were experiencing when he was fifteen and Damon was eighteen they were suppose to bring in the firewood for their fire that was running low fast. My grandfather was stricken with a cold, but still braved the cold while he and his brother went down the woods to get the biggest chunks of firewood. Grandfather went to the east while Uncle Damon went to the west, foolishly thinking splitting apart would be a much better way for them to get more firewood. Because Grandfather was a bit younger and was too busy thinking about getting home so quickly, he thought of nothing else.

Suddenly, as he was adding more wood to the pile he already collect, he heard a scream he recognized was Damon's. Quickly forgetting about the wood, Grandfather ran to the Westside to assist his brother, getting more fearful the louder the screams would become. The snow was too much, too thick and cold, Grandfather's running slowed down to a walk, his walk slowed down to baby steps, and those baby steps ended with him dropping to his knees and unable to move anymore.

All he could do was hang his head down in shame, having no other choice but to listen to his brother screaming at the top of his lungs for help.

After the screaming went on for nearly forever, soon they were replaced by the most beautiful yet purest sound Grandfather swore was unlike any sound he ever heard before. Singing that was as clear as the calmest wind, low yet soothing like a whisper promising nothing but goodness and protection from anything wrong, delivered with such power Grandfather still to that very day was shaken and nearly hypnotized by remembrance of the sound.

Once Grandfather was able to find enough strength to get back to the house, he immediately told his parents what happened to Damon. He and his father spent hours, nearly endless days, searching and searching for Damon but found no trace of him. Finally, after nearly hundreds of days of endless searching, Damon finally returned late at night, coming to Grandfather's bedroom window on another horrible blizzard day, but looking much worse than the last time. He looked so much skinny than he was before, looking like he hasn't had anything to eat for days, his clothes nearly torn and dirty, his hair a bundle of mess, but the most disturbing feature that scared Grandfather was the look in Damon's eyes.

In Damon's eyes, Grandfather always said there was usually such seriousness and intensity, a glare full of maturity and wisdom belonging to someone wise beyond his years. That look was long gone, replaced with insane belonging to a man who was mad but darkened with the desire of lustful love. My grand uncle spoke of what happened to him, speaking all about this mysterious woman who appeared out of nowhere from the trees, dressed in light shades of pink and white and had actually delicate wings sprouting from her back. She was the most beautiful creature he ever seen before in his entire life, her beauty and loveliness could easily be mistaken for an angel and walked slowly to him, holding a beautiful fully-blossom pink rose, a delicate smile spreading across her face as she sang her heart out to him.

Grandfather said after seeing his brother that one night, the next morning Damon was long gone as well as the song haunting him as he slept that night, still featuring its' pure beauty but had an undertone he noticed for the first time: bone-chilling and intensly dark. Damon came to see him briefly every once in awhile, always looking so crazed with love, talking about nothing else but that beautiful mistress of the forest. The third time Damon came over was the last time Grandfather ever saw his brother again.

Grandfather always told us it seemed his brother was madly in love with this mistress of the forest, but he always suspected she used enchantment on Damon to get his love and leave him alone with a broken heart that still desire her and only her.

I noticed, even as a small child, when Grandfather was done telling Arthur and I the story about the Spirit woman he would always stare at me for the longest time, his eyes asking me a question I couldn't understand nor had the answer to. I always had the slightest suspicion, thanks to my resemblance to his brother who was an unfortunate victim to the manipulative temptress; he feared I would be the next victim to the mysterious woman of the forest.

Ordinary if this was any other time, I would roll my eyes while thinking he was being just crazy. Only now I couldn't.

Because what he feared came true.