Moondrops, fallen from the bruised sky and carried on the wings of shadowed butteflies, had long ago knitted together to breed a fairy. She came to be known as the Belle Dame of the Westerly Woods.
Leaves twisted into each other from the dead branches above the Belle Dame to form a swing. She stole a flower from the ravaged earth, twirled it in her grasp, and seated herself on the swing. She watched the shadowed butterflies flit across the empty sky. Strings of dewdrops hung from their wings. A smile spread across the gruesome lips of the Belle Dame. A nearby rabbit shrunk back into the shadows. The whole forest knew to stay away from the fairy when that smile lit up her face.
The best jewellery could be found, she thought, in souls extracted from knights. Such a noble lot. Their souls tended to crystallize into diamonds from the dew.
The Belle Dame could see him, her knight, just past the mangled oak. He wandered near the lake. He was looking for her. Well, he would never find her. He would never find anything ever again.
She had had kings and princes and warriors, too. But none were ever so sweet as the honourable knight.
Image here: http://elvenspot.deviantart.com/art/Pearls-of-Light-132363415
Inspired by http://talesthursday.blogspot.com/2011/03/tale-52.html
Also be sure to check out Keats's poem "La Belle Dame sans Merci."