This story was written in response to a storyline I was playing online. It was a way to stimulate
the role play for the evening. It was also a way for me to let go of some of the emotion within me.
Of having to make a hard decision. I know it seems rather -
unconnected and unexplained, and I apologize for that.
Endgame
Slowly, slowly, the sun sinks below the treetops, past the horizon, letting go of its grasp of the world. It will return in due course, buit for now, at this juncture in time, the night has come, allowing the moon - when she rises - to reign. With the coming of dusk, so comes the stirring of the creatures of the night. Owls emerge from their trees, taking to the air upon silent wings in search of the night's meal - the small mice scurrying from their day havens in search of food. There are other predators out this night as evidenced by the dying scream of a hare - the only sound it ever makes in its life. What has ended its life is hard to say. A variety of large cats prowl the forest as well as wolves and wild dogs. There are also predators of the two legged variety out to prowl in the dying light of day. Ones wrapped in long coats.
Amdist all of this organized chaos of the routine night, nestled among the trees, sits an inne - one that goes by the name of The Blood Rose. Large and with four stories, it seems to be settling down for the night, customers spilling from its front door on their way home. One long woman slips from the inne after a few moments, off upon some mysterious errand. Once these have vanished into the emerging shadows, the inne seems quiet, none stirring within it.
Save one. A small woman, she sits in a chair in the suite of rooms she shares with the man still sleeping peacefully in the bed next to her chair. Curled in this winged chair, she looks tired - as if she has neither slept nor eaten. Deep blue-green eyes, filled with longing, love, and sadness, survey the man with the raven black hair - a color that matches her own. Yet his is untouched by white as is hers despite his many more years of roaming this plane of existence. Tucking that strand of white hair behind her left ear - a gift from a long ago encounter with a man who wished - and did - to possess her - she leans forward, running her fingers through the man's hair, gently so as not to awaken him. This small gesture of affection elicits a smile from the sleeping man, causing him to shift slightly, toward the woman in the chair. She sighs softly and stands, moving quietly from the bedroom and into their small sitting room. He will not sleep much longer. The decision must be made. If she waits, he will find her still here and try to keep her from the decision she knows must come.
Sighing softly once more, the woman moves to a window, setting aside the piece of parchment that had been clutched in her hand. Dark and nearly red in color rather than the expected light tan, the page is covered in spidery handwriting signed merely with a symbol - that of a square within a circle and a triangle to one side, giving the symbol the feel of an arrow. Staring out the window at the oncoming night, the woman gnaws upon her lower lip as is her wont when disturbed by something. Turning from the snow-covered view, she leans against the window, closing her eyes, trying to shut out the pain the decision causes - a decision that really is no decision.
"So it begins so that it may end," she whispers softly into the darkness. Moving back to the door of the bedroom, she looks upon the sleeping man once more. The last rays of the sun glitter from behind her, weak and from opposite where she had been. A look of extreme longing and pain crosses her fine features. Unable to help herself, she enters the room and sits gently upon the bed, next to the man He turns slightly, one hand shifting to rest upon her leg. He is so close to being awake. Leaning close, she rests a hand upon his cheek, a faint warmth flooding him as she whispers to him softly.
"I'm sorry, beloved. Please do not be angry or hurt. I know you would help me, but I could not live if they hurt you. So I go to finish this." The small sleep spell cast, she leans still closer to him, brushing a butterfly kiss over the man's lips. "Please don't be hurt, beloved. S'il vous plait . . . " She sounds upon the verge of tears as she watches the now fully asleep man. Running soft fingers over the skin of the man's cheek, she kisses him again, softly and gently, with passion and love, and with - perhaps - a bit of goodbye. Pulling herself away from him reluctantly and with extreme effort, the petite woman rises, casting her robe to the chair she had been sitting in. She walks from the bedroom without a stitch, but as she enters the sitting room, her curvy form is dressed in dark pants, a dark shirt, and a dark cloak. She carries in her hand a sword, its hilt bearing a panther and a wolf entwined. Looking back once more, she bites upon her lower lip, a tear skipping down her cheek. She brushes it away impatiently and turns quickly, vanishing through the door and down the stairs. The sleep spell will not last long and she must be away before it wears off.
She walks through the the empty main room, nothing that Aurora had stoked the fire before vanishing upon some mysterious errand. A wry smile touches the woman's lips as she passes through the front foor and out into the cold, snowy night. Perhaps she will live to curl up beside that fire with her beloved once more. She frowns, shaking her head, and vanishes into the trees. So much to do and so little time to accomplish it in.
The sun has given up the fight, leaving the night dark as sin, swallowing the woman into itself completely as the man in the room above slowly starts to stir and waken . . . .
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Seeking more of my heart? These paths are lit for you.
Moon's Gleam / A Soul Tears / Untitled / Into the Fire
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