Giselle Woodling, Giselle Wylt, the wild girl of the greenwood. Seen as often as a ghost, she is more rumor than person to those who have heard of her...but she lives, deep in the forest that she forsook civilization for, eight years ago.

Running away, go to it
Free from the ties that bind
No more despair or burdens to bear
Out there in the yonder...
~From Into The Woods

   A mere eight years of age when she ran away from the home she no longer remembers, Giselle chose the forest over civilization, running from things she no longer remembers, nameless horrors she chose to forget. Forgetting was safer, she knew, for she was not strong enough to hold those memories...not yet.

He says when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast...
~Tori Amos, "Winter"

   And eight years it has been since Giselle locked away the past and ran away to the forest. Somehow, she survived...rather...thrived in her new environment, and now she is more animal than human in her way, but the human part of her still lives. Somewhere. And now it stirs, driving her to seek out the company of people, to again hear words, and try to speak them, and force her to remember that she is still human.

   Did I have to be all those people to become the person I am today? Are they still living inside me, hiding in some dark corner of my mind, waiting for me to slip and stumble and fall and give them life again?
   I tell myself not to remember, but that’s wrong, too. Not remembering makes them stronger.
~Charles de Lint, Dreams Underfoot

   A thin young woman, with sharp dark eyes and pale brown hair...usually in a state of disarray...she wears a plain smock and little else, going barefoot most of the year. She also carries a battered straw hat, often, for reasons of her own. Not shy, but wary, she is hesitant in approaching people, and is rather uncommunicative, preferring to listen, and see if what she hears stirs anything human inside her. Nothing lasts forever...not even the wild girl of the greenwoods.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
~W. B. Yeats, "The Stolen Child"

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