Hello,
Dear soul,
And welcome to the Library of Ecos,
A timeless space where the past,
The present and the future meet.
Here,
My voice will be your companion,
Carrying ancient stories that heal,
Inspire and awaken your heart.
So close your eyes,
Breathe deeply and allow the echoes of the past to guide you within.
Is everything we call coincidence truly random?
Or is it the play of a greater force,
One we can never fully see?
If so,
Perhaps our role is simple,
To recognize the signs and to walk with the current of love,
So that in the end we may say with peace,
We were here and we did what was ours to do.
And if everything is only chance after all,
Then still we have done no harm,
For we spoke in the language of love.
This is how legends are born,
Even the smallest ones,
And this is how the legend of feather grass came to be.
Once upon a time,
Far beyond the seven lands and the endless seas,
There lived a mighty king.
This king ruled over nine kingdoms and in each of them his power was known.
Yet his greatest treasures were his three daughters,
Each beautiful,
But the youngest was more radiant than the morning light itself.
One day,
The king rode out into the great forest,
Hunting alone.
He wandered deeper and deeper,
Until the trees grew thick and the shadows heavy.
As night fell,
The forest became so dark that,
As the old saying goes,
One could hang an axe upon the darkness itself.
The king tried to find his way home.
He turned right and left,
Forward and back,
But the forest closed around him.
He raised his horn and blew,
Hoping someone might hear,
But no one came.
The forest was silent,
Save for the beating of his own heart.
At last,
Weary and resigned,
The king told to rest beneath a tree until the morning light.
But just as he lay down,
A sound reached his ears,
The sound of a child crying.
The cry was thin,
Yet so fully of sorrow,
The tears welled in the king's eyes.
He rose at once,
Searching in the darkness,
Pushing through branches and thorns.
At last,
Beneath a bush,
He found a small baby girl,
Lying all alone upon the ground.
The moment he lifted her into his arms,
The child stopped crying and wondrously the forest opened before him.
The path became clear and the way home was revealed.
The king carried the child back to his palace.
He sent messengers throughout all nine kingdoms,
Proclaiming that a baby girl had been found and that whoever claimed her should come at once,
Yet no one came.
So,
The king kept her and raised her as his own.
He named her Feather Grass,
For he had found her among the white grasses,
As delicate and gentle as the wind itself.
And he loved her dearly,
For her beauty was beyond compare.
Her hair was like soft silk,
Shining as if woven from sunlight and so long that it brushed the ground as she walked.
As the years passed,
The king's three daughters grew.
The two elder sisters were fair,
But none could revive Feather Grass.
People came from far and wide just to marvel at her.
And though the king loved all his daughters,
He favored the orphan maiden most.
Distilled envy in the hearts of the two elder sisters,
Bitterness grew in them like weeds choking a garden.
Though they smiled in public,
Their hearts burned with secret hatred.
At last,
A young prince came from beyond the great seas.
He saw the bride among the king's daughters,
And the king declared that he might choose whichever he wished.
But when the prince beheld Feather Grass,
He could see no other.
I will marry her,
He said.
The king agreed,
For he loved her as his own child.
But jealousy consumed the two elder sisters.
They ate their anger,
Pretending joy,
Yet in their hearts they plotted.
That night,
While Feather Grass lay sleeping,
They crept into her chamber.
With silent steps,
They came to her bedside.
Then with cruel hands,
They cut off her shining hair at the roots.
When morning came,
Feather Grass reached to touch her long,
Sealed hair,
But found it gone.
Her golden locks lay upon the floor,
At the sight she cried out in despair.
And such was her sorrow,
That her heart broke within her.
The prince moaned bitterly,
Burying her with tears and sorrow.
Stricken with grief,
He left the kingdom and wandered into the world.
Yet the tale doesn't end with loss.
For when the jealous sisters cast Feather Grass' hair out the window,
The wind rose softly and carried it away.
Across hills and valleys,
Across meadows and the rivers,
The strands flew.
Wherever they touched the earth,
They took root.
From the strands of her hair grew a new plant,
Slender and silver white.
Swaying with the breath of the wind,
It spread far and wide,
Filling the land.
And in every field,
Every meadow,
It became a symbol of beauty,
Of remembrance,
Of renewal.
And thus,
From her story,
The Feather Grass was born,
The living memory of the maiden herself.
From sorrow came beauty,
From loss,
New life.
And even now,
When the wind carries the soft white strands across the fields,
They whisper the memory of Feather Grass,
The maiden whose spirit lives forever in the grasses of the earth.
