In Twilight's Dark

there lived a great and powerful sorcerer named Solaire. A wicked man of cunning and pride, he had clawed his way to dominance in the realm by harvesting the energy of light. Solaire’s magic grew as bright and unrelenting as the sun itself, and all creatures of the day bowed to him in reverence.

But Solaire’s arrogance and vanity grew with each passing day. As the power of daylight filled his veins, so too did his insatiable thirst for more.

He turned his sights to the enchanting ways of the night, seeking to claim the magic of the moon and stars for himself. 

Yet no matter how hard he tried, the celestial forces eluded him. The vast, open pastures where his sunlight thrived proved powerless in the face of the night’s mysteries. The thick, shadowed forests confounded his magic, leaving him to wander in humiliation.

That was when he came upon Alura.

Alura, a spirit of twilight, appeared each night along the skyline where day kisses night. Taking a woman's form, she danced joyfully through the darkness of the trees, her laughter mingling with the glittering lights of the heavens. At dawn, she would dissolve into the morning mist, vanishing as the sun claimed the horizon.

She was as radiant as a sunset, seemingly woven from the same threads that weave through the skies in hues of gold, violet, and crimson. Her magic was neither light nor dark but both, gentle and harmonious, like the stars themselves.

Solaire quickly fell in love.

Each night, Solaire approached Alura as she took form, bearing gifts and professing his undying love. Though Alura was kind to the sorcerer, her heart already belonged to another...

Ceylan, the spirit of blackened leaves.

Legends say Ceylan’s essence was born of ancient leaves, brewed by a vengeful witch during a storm, producing a male figure of both comfort and chaos, calm and fire. Ceylan embodied all that there was to love about the night: wild, sensuous, and alive. Yet his presence held a rich, dark mystery, a blend of warmth and bittersweet beauty that made him as alluring as the star-strewn skies.

Alura and Ceylan existed in perfect harmony, magic of the night made flesh. Together, they danced beneath the darkened heavens, their movements a spellbinding union of light and shadow.

But Solaire’s admiration of Alura twisted into obsession. From the shadows of the trees, the sorcerer watched the lovers, his jealousy consuming him like a flame. That sort of magic, he thought, was never meant for another. It was meant for him.

One evening, unable to bear it any longer, Solaire approached Alura alone, yet again confessing his yearning. But Alura’s once-patient sympathy had worn thin, and she turned him away with kindness for the final time.

Fueled by rage, Solaire conjured unbreakable chains of pure light, forcibly taking Alura to his grand palace.

Terrified into submission, Alura did not resist. She resigned herself to the sorcerer’s demands, spending her nights under his fervent, unrelenting gaze.

Yet as time passed, Alura became suffocated by his obsessive affection. Night after night, she would flee to the palace gardens before dawn, desperate to catch a glimpse of the fading moon before it sank behind the hills.

Growing suspicious of her disappearances, Solaire had her followed.

What he discovered enraged him… Alura had enlisted the aid of the heavens themselves to guide her beloved Ceylan to the palace, risking everything to reunite with him.

Looking up, Solaire saw the stars had formed a brilliant path, their light cutting through the darkness, leading straight to his sacred grounds.

Consumed by jealousy and rage, Solaire devised his plan.

Feigning remorse, he promised Alura that she might leave if Ceylan succeeded in his search for her. Together, they would be free from the palace, never to see the sun sorcerer again.

And so, one evening, Ceylan’s dark essence found its way to the palace beneath the dissolving sun, just as Alura took form. Solaire greeted Ceylan as though he had won some wicked game, presenting the lovers with kindness, declaring both were free to go.

As they passed through the gates of the palace gardens, Solaire stopped them, offering Ceylan a beautiful blackened cup of glistening porcelain as a token of goodwill.

Hesitant but gracious, Ceylan accepted the cup with a nod. But as he turned to leave, Solaire’s smile twisted into something sinister. Without warning, the sorcerer unleashed a cloud of black, glittering dust.

Ceylan, caught off guard, stumbled back, choking on the plume. The delicate porcelain slipped from his grasp, skittering across the earth. Falling to his knees, his form flickered like a dying flame.

Alura cried out in horror, rushing to her beloved. But before she could reach Ceylan, her vision blurred. The world spun, and her strength gave out. She collapsed to the forest floor, gasping for air as consciousness left her.

When Alura awoke, the night was much too silent.

As she turned to where the smoke had settled, the stars trembled as her thunderous cry pierced the heavens. For all that remained of Ceylan were blackened leaves nestled inside the cursed porcelain chalice.

Solaire and his grand palace had vanished without a trace. He had, in truth, kept his promise.

Alura wept through the night, her sorrow filling the cup drop by drop. As morning crept across the horizon, Alura prepared to vanish into mist, until, before her eyes, Ceylan began to take form once more.

Tears of joy streamed down her face as she reached for him. But just as her fingers brushed his, her body dissolved into the valley mist.

When she returned at twilight, hope carried her to his waiting arms. Yet she watched, heart breaking anew, as Ceylan’s form faded, retreating once more into the porcelain chalice.

His hand, nearly caressing her face, vanished like smoke.

Desperate, Alura ran through the skies, her sorrow painting the atmosphere in ribbons of vibrant color. Her stars shot across the heavens, searching the cosmos for a way to break the curse.

But no answer came.

Exhausted and broken, Alura returned to the chalice. She realized, with bitter acceptance, that her tears were the only way to wake Ceylan each day. And so, she wept into the cup, soaking his beautiful leaves in her grief.

As dawn broke and Ceylan took form, they gazed into each other’s eyes, two souls bound—yet forever apart—as Alura once again dissolved into the mist.

That evening, as twilight embraced the world, Ceylan smiled at her as she appeared on the skyline with tears in his eyes, and a piece of parchment trembling in his hands. Barley even mist, Alura closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of him returning to the cursed leaves.

When she opened them, the parchment lay gently over the porcelain cup.

With shaking hands, she lifted it. Smudged and tear-streaked, it bore a single line,

“You were always my favorite time of day.”

Clutching the note to her chest, Alura’s grief cracked the earth and shook the heavens. Tears streamed down her face as she turned the parchment, her trembling hands conjuring her reply without ink,

“And you, mine.”

The cup was filled once more.

is still searching for the cure, running through the midnight sky, leaving trails of color in her wake.

Others believe that when stars fall in great numbers, she draws closer to breaking the dreadful curse.

What is known for certain is this:

When we brew black tea each morning,
we aid Alura as the heavens once did.
We release her love into the world,
a love so powerful that not even the sun could extinguish it.

Until the next story unfolds,

Yours in tea & tales,

~Faerie Good~