She walked beside her friend through the country-side, being mindful of their steps landing between the homes beneath their feet. She carried forests of wood tied by rope the length of the towns at their feet, while he cradled an entire woods in his arms. Her blonde hair flowed all the way to the ground, which nearly tripped her, but she braced herself by holding a nearby mountain. The mountain tops cut her hand and her falling blood turned the river red. She watched as trails of the blood lead to the peoples city, stretching through every street and corner. She frantically reached for her wood to block off parts of the river into a dam, which slowed it down, and began draining the river dry almost immediately.
People gathered at them, like an angry pile of ants. She tried to listen to them, to calm them down and apologize. As she did, her friend eyed the rope used on the wood. He fumbled with the woods in his hands, biting his lip, gripping the trees tightly so that they did not fall. He looked to the rope and his eyes widened, and he grinned. He reached for the rope and took it, but was caught. The two pulled on the rope, and their muscles tightened, their teeth grinded, and the sounds echoed throughout the ranges. The rope broke, splitting, and the two fell onto the ground. Her friend managed to keep his footing, holding his part of the rope, but she lost balance and fell.
The ground swelled with a rumble, rocks fell from mountains, forests of trees splintered, and the homes of the people below were crushed into the earth. Walls fell, bricks flying into the air, leaving the city without any borders. As she stood, debris from the earth fell off of her, attached to the foundations of homes, and the remains of the people within.
Screams of agony filled the city. People ran to the borders, collecting as many things as they could, fleeing from her. She wailed, throwing her hands up, beckoning them, “I was defending myself, trying to keep my rope. My friend wanted to take it all from me. Had I not fought for it, I would have none. I should have let them have it all, and then none of this would have happened.” She said as she watched over the people below desperately trying to salvage any remains from their homes.
Some of the people below began to collect weapons and congregate at her feet. “For our forgiveness, you owe us the rope! You no longer deserve our gift, and we need it to rebuild our borders!” To which she returned the rope.
The people used the ropes great lengths to fix the borders of the city, and the city was safe from the wild. “I have you returned to you the gift” she said as her eyes watered, “Can you forgive me now?”
But their homes were still destroyed, and they needed a place to live. “For our forgiveness, you owe us your wood! We need it to fix our homes!” To which she gave them her wood, enough to build several cities.
As the town fixed itself, she sat and watched, watching the horizons for any more of her kind, and excitedly lending an ear to any people from below that came to her.
Winter came, snow laying a blanket of white across the lands. She watched the season come, and said to the people, “I have given you my rope and spent a season watching over you in the cold. Can you forgive me now?” But the people were cold and shivered, “For our forgiveness, you owe us your hair! We need it to keep our homes warm during the cold.” To which she cut her hair and gave it to the city, leaving her naked in the cold, on the mountain tops nearby, watching over the people below in their new homes.
As the winter’s snow eventually began to melt, her stomach grumbled, and it shook the ground, rattling the homes, sending people to hide in fear. She pleaded to the people, “I have given you my wood, hair, time, and starved myself. Can you forgive me now?”
They grouped together again and came to her, “For our forgiveness, you owe us your height! We need it taken away so that you cannot be a danger to us.”
“How can I do this? How can I give you such a thing?”
To which an elder person from below emerged from the mob, “I can cast a spell to bring you to the same size as us, but it requires your name.”
“You owe us your name! We need it to make us safe!”
To which she told them her name, and they used it to cast the spell. Her name written into the books to be forgotten, as her size was brought from a mountain to a hill, from a hill to a pile, and from a pile to a person.
“I have given you my wood, my hair, my height, my time, and now my name. Can you forgive me now that-”
To which the people interrupted her with their fists, beating her to death. Once her life left her, the people collected together in a line, taking turns spitting on her remains, and they did this throughout the following seasons.
In time, her remains could not be found. Instead, people spat where they stood, without knowing her name, and never wanting to either.
Mym's Well 