Lyrics: A Project Spellcheck Short Story

Midnight moon, morning stars,

Touch this troubled land of scars.

Heal the soul sealed in frost,

Filled with pain, wrath, and loss…

Pain, wrath, and loss… Pain, wrath, and loss… without warning, the tune in her head was brought to as the words circled and chaffed against her thoughts before halting them completely. While her throat rumbled in groaning and her teeth snagged her tucking lips, her head fell into her hands, heavy once more as the frustrations she swore she defeated rose to haunt her yet again.

Coronius saw no fault in the line, and that should have been enough to put her at ease. However, every time she tried to push herself to settle, her mind would rebound like a rubber ball back into turmoil, as though actively refusing to be satisfied. Trying to muster a reason, any reason, only made her mental hurricane worse.

She wondered: Was the wording not strong enough? Was it not verbose enough? Those three little words, pain, wrath and loss… such woefully ordinary things. Part of the heart for so long that their poetic edge had dulled. But then, what better describes pain more than pain, or wrath more than wrath, and in such a way that could still fit into the frame of that ancient melody? The question tormented her to no end, tormented her into fretfulness and frustration, tormented…

Yes… yes, that could work! Torment! Without so much as a spare wink, she scribbled the word onto the polluted parchment

Filled with torment and loss.

From the instant the words were jotted down, she found it to be an instant improvement. Still, she felt there was more to do.

“Filled?” How about “Fraught” instead? And what about “loss?” To be honest, pairing it in rhyme with “frost” felt like… well, cheating, but it was the most suitable in context while remaining at least somewhat suitable in syllable similarity.

Unfortunately for her, that one, preceding line that could not be changed. To do so would be to make taffy of the truth and sully all that to which the song served as tribute to. The giant monument outside her hut, mossy and weathered from centuries of age, yet paved and etched into with the enduring murals and prophecies that turned humble stone into the ephitet the Majus’s legacy, proved as much:

SCARS OF THE BURNT AND FALLING STARS TRAP THE HEART IN BITTER COLD.
THE NEW DAY MUST DAWN TO HEAL THE HEART AND BRING NEW MORNINGS.

Those ancient scribbles, transcribed to the best of her ability, were the last words in the story of the Majus Clan. Perhaps more poetic than one might prefer, but she personally didn’t mind; in fact, she found it quite wondrous that they would cling to beauty even as their whole world fell to pieces.

Reflecting on her song-crafting, she realized it was as much a self-test in linguistics as it was an indulgence amidst weeks-turned-months-turned-years of forest hermitage. Even among the mythical creatures of these woods, she found herself isolated, leaving her to be the subject of literal fairy tales—a humorous revelation courtesy of Coronius.

However, if the years turned to decades and centuries beyond her mortal life, perhaps she could make use of her hobby to immortalize her wishes—and theirs— for the one whom might fulfill her plans. A single song would never suffice for such a mission, but it would be a fair place to start.

Enveloped in a rare sense of tranquility, she found it best to pull herself away from her endeavors, lest any notion of a good night’s rest might elude her yet again. On her way to blow out the well-burned candles of her little abode, that familiar lullaby song began to hum from her mouth. Then, when her tongue wished to wag to the harmony, she sang without a second thought:

“Midnight moon, morning stars,

Touch this troubled land of scars.

Heal the soul sealed in frost,

Fraught with torment and loss.

Nighttime sky, let dawn break,

Bring an end to old heartaches

So the new day can at last awake.”

Perhaps tomorrow, she’d realize just how flawed the song was in its current state. Perhaps she’d make such sweeping changes that it would become completely unrecognizable. Many possibilities awaited, but for now, she would enjoy this brief moment of satisfaction that stayed her hands and heart as they told her, for now, that there was no need to change a single thing.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thanks for reading! Interested in what kind of song the one in this story was? Have a listen!