Post by Sirena Shahrizai on Jun 25, 2008 19:24:31 GMT -5
I don't know where I got this horrid redness, but it came in a flash, and I writhed and lashed about in my covers, unable to be free of their mad confinement and then craving their closeness. My will couldn't force any part of my body or mind to obey; my stomach roiled and spilled everything from itself, my skin wished to be flayed free of my body with its aches and my voice was hoarse and ugly- as unlike itself as it had been when my beloved Tal had wrapped my hair around my neck to try and offer me blissful death.
Tal- the servants spoke in whispers as I called for him, pleading for him to make me better, to take away his curse for my unthought engagement to Yvan, who was now dead himself. His will had dictated that his lands and estates were to go to me, but I cared nothing for them at the moment; and no matter how I howled or cried or ordered, Tal never appeared.
Finally, after days of fighting with myself and the dreaded illness I rose on unsteady legs and went to his room, pulling the skeleton key from my mantel on the way out and opening the door. There he lay, as though sleeping- but rather than red roses in his cheeks and fire in his eyes, it was all ice. Even his lovely red lips had no more blood. Horrified and mesmerized I walked deeper in as the servants watched in shock, then opened his precious flechette case and pulled the tiniest blade, setting it to the skin of his wrist. The blood that welled wasn't even scarlet, or crimson, not even a dull red, but black as sangoire.
With a keening wail I began to sing to myself, once I'd walked to the door in a swaying near-swoon and closed it in the face of those silly servants. My fingers went to his hair and began braiding as I whispered between bars of music, telling him the age-old secrets I'd realized in my sickness and winding them in with the thread and blood, my own and a paler red than usual. As I'd used the flechette to finish the braids and trim their length I'd grown careless and sliced my fingertips near to the bone. Inspired, I finished and then ran the blood over his bloodless lips, then my own- and they were red again. Slowly I slid open a cold eye and found their color to be the same stormy grey, though sightless, and then opened the other.
There he was, at least in body, and I smiled, thoughts and songs and exhaustion all playing in my mind. I didn't know the time, and didn't care, but the room was dark. Picking up some book I threw it through the curtained window- and there was the proper light to see him by. I didn't even hear the crash over the screams of utter grief in my head.
Turning to the door I opened it again. "See him shrouded and returned to the Bois de Millefleurs- and don't change a thing, or close his eyes," I told them in a serene tone, then swayed in a dreamlike state out again. In my hand I clenched a long braid, a scrap of sheet soaked with his blood and the earring he'd worn to Midwinter when he went as Master of the Straits.
My next stop was the study, filled with its stained glass, and I finally wailed my rage and pain. Picking up whatever I could I threw them at the assortment of pretty colored pictures, then stopped at the one I'd fixed, the one he'd broken himself and I'd poured blood and tears and every ounce of hope into after he'd returned from his departure. Immediately I dropped what was in my hand and lay on the wooden floor, coiling my hair in my hands. Could I join him? There wasn't the strength in my body to go the way he wished me to- and wherever he was, there was an eternity to wait. When time claimed me I'd put away my body and my soul would finally leave- just this age, just this way, for today it had truly died.
For a long time I simply lay there, singing and tracing the wood grains on the floor with a smile. Whether he was in Terre d'Ange-that-lies-Beyond, or Hell, or in between, I'd go there too. I just had to have patience, and he'd helped teach me that. Patience, and nothing to leave behind, which meant an heir and a husband to see to the land after I left. And roses- white roses- I had to have them everywhere, flowers and blood and screams every day with the secret, divine hope that he would appreciate them and know they were all in his name.
Finally I stood and found one of my trinket boxes he'd given me, and placed every treasured item inside- and shards of glass and my own blood. I sealed the outside in red wax, then went to my room and placed the box inside the clock on the mantel, which I'd again stopped. Smiling and reassured I slipped into my bed again, still whispering to Tal as the servants wrapped his body in sheets and sewed them clothes, fearing his open eyes.
When I went to sleep I was thinking of his grave, and him, and I surrounded myself in his scent for my dreams.
Tal- the servants spoke in whispers as I called for him, pleading for him to make me better, to take away his curse for my unthought engagement to Yvan, who was now dead himself. His will had dictated that his lands and estates were to go to me, but I cared nothing for them at the moment; and no matter how I howled or cried or ordered, Tal never appeared.
Finally, after days of fighting with myself and the dreaded illness I rose on unsteady legs and went to his room, pulling the skeleton key from my mantel on the way out and opening the door. There he lay, as though sleeping- but rather than red roses in his cheeks and fire in his eyes, it was all ice. Even his lovely red lips had no more blood. Horrified and mesmerized I walked deeper in as the servants watched in shock, then opened his precious flechette case and pulled the tiniest blade, setting it to the skin of his wrist. The blood that welled wasn't even scarlet, or crimson, not even a dull red, but black as sangoire.
With a keening wail I began to sing to myself, once I'd walked to the door in a swaying near-swoon and closed it in the face of those silly servants. My fingers went to his hair and began braiding as I whispered between bars of music, telling him the age-old secrets I'd realized in my sickness and winding them in with the thread and blood, my own and a paler red than usual. As I'd used the flechette to finish the braids and trim their length I'd grown careless and sliced my fingertips near to the bone. Inspired, I finished and then ran the blood over his bloodless lips, then my own- and they were red again. Slowly I slid open a cold eye and found their color to be the same stormy grey, though sightless, and then opened the other.
There he was, at least in body, and I smiled, thoughts and songs and exhaustion all playing in my mind. I didn't know the time, and didn't care, but the room was dark. Picking up some book I threw it through the curtained window- and there was the proper light to see him by. I didn't even hear the crash over the screams of utter grief in my head.
Turning to the door I opened it again. "See him shrouded and returned to the Bois de Millefleurs- and don't change a thing, or close his eyes," I told them in a serene tone, then swayed in a dreamlike state out again. In my hand I clenched a long braid, a scrap of sheet soaked with his blood and the earring he'd worn to Midwinter when he went as Master of the Straits.
My next stop was the study, filled with its stained glass, and I finally wailed my rage and pain. Picking up whatever I could I threw them at the assortment of pretty colored pictures, then stopped at the one I'd fixed, the one he'd broken himself and I'd poured blood and tears and every ounce of hope into after he'd returned from his departure. Immediately I dropped what was in my hand and lay on the wooden floor, coiling my hair in my hands. Could I join him? There wasn't the strength in my body to go the way he wished me to- and wherever he was, there was an eternity to wait. When time claimed me I'd put away my body and my soul would finally leave- just this age, just this way, for today it had truly died.
For a long time I simply lay there, singing and tracing the wood grains on the floor with a smile. Whether he was in Terre d'Ange-that-lies-Beyond, or Hell, or in between, I'd go there too. I just had to have patience, and he'd helped teach me that. Patience, and nothing to leave behind, which meant an heir and a husband to see to the land after I left. And roses- white roses- I had to have them everywhere, flowers and blood and screams every day with the secret, divine hope that he would appreciate them and know they were all in his name.
Finally I stood and found one of my trinket boxes he'd given me, and placed every treasured item inside- and shards of glass and my own blood. I sealed the outside in red wax, then went to my room and placed the box inside the clock on the mantel, which I'd again stopped. Smiling and reassured I slipped into my bed again, still whispering to Tal as the servants wrapped his body in sheets and sewed them clothes, fearing his open eyes.
When I went to sleep I was thinking of his grave, and him, and I surrounded myself in his scent for my dreams.