Length: Max 2000 words
Theme: Romance
Genre: any!
Date: Wednesday, 2/20/2013
In honor of your participation, I created a small short story of my own =) Hope you enjoy!
The chill of
the aged stone under her bare toes was a drastic and welcome change to the
heated atmosphere and stagnant air flowing throughout the hall leading from her
room. Although her quarters were comfortably furnished, those four walls seemed
to press in upon her, containing her, caging her, making her restless. Pulling
the wild mass of waves hanging down her back up into a ragged bun, the
necromancer treaded silently down the long corridor.
Her steps
slowed as she reached the parapet overlooking the gardens, the barest breath of
a cool breeze brushing against her face. She closed her eyes for a second, her
elven soul reveling in the promise of the new spring even as her necromantic
nature delighted in the lingering scents of decay that still permeated the
air. The ancient keep itself called to
her, the age of the stones under her hands pulsing with mysterious memories of
great battles long ago, when the countryside surrounding it was still untamed
and wild.
She could
sense the pall of death clinging to the stone like a shroud; How many men, she
mused, had fallen in this very courtyard in the past? How many legacies had
been witnessed only by these aged and silent stone columns, their timeless
visages unscarred by the trivial battles of men? How many times had ownership
of the crumbling structure been the reason for those battles? She traced the stone gently, wondering as she
had several times what had triggered the subconscious urge to tie herself to
this place.
She’d
drifted—sometimes in the light, but much more often in the shadows—for
centuries; occasionally to avoid enemies, but much more often simply to quell
her elven need to explore, to travel, to broaden her knowledge. She’d spent her
entire life (all 3 thousand years of it) looking for something, although she
knew not what; why did she look upon this stone facade and suddenly feel like
she’d come home? What was it that made her reach into her overflowing coffers,
and not even hesitate when she found out the exorbitant price?
She gently
trailed her fingertips against the rough stone, her enhanced senses picking up
the nuances of magic. Old world magic, she suddenly realized, pressing her
hands more intently against the cold surface. Ancient magic, of a power she
hadn’t witnessed for centuries thrummed gently beneath her skin. She cocked her
head slightly, and closed her eyes; it felt so very familiar to her, this power
she was feeling, so very intimate…
“Cattyra…”
Her entire
body went rigid as she felt the name whispered against her hair, although she didn't open her eyes. Quickly and
silently, she allowed her magical wards to weave in place around her as she
sent tendrils of conscious thought outward. Her defenses were in place and
secure within a single heartbeat; she’d long since learned the value of never
letting them fully fall. Although she could sense that she was still completely
alone, she knew she hadn't imagined the soft voice whispering to her a moment
before.
“Cattyra…”
This time,
the voice was not a mere whisper. This time, the husky baritone that whispered
against her skin sent chills down her spine even as it sent a shiver of delight
through her system. Instantly, a pair of
deep, silver eyes that mirrored her own sprang into her mind’s eye, framed by
long, black lashes. She remembered that
voice, and the dark knight to which it belonged. She remembered the passion in
those eyes…and she remembered the betrayal. She could feel his presence
surrounding her, his magic pulsing beneath her hands in the cold stone; it
simply couldn't be possible, after all these years, that she’d finally found
his resting place. It couldn’t be possible that she’d been drawn to these
stones as surely as she’d been drawn to the man himself…could it?
She took a
deep breath, and slowly opened her eyes. On the stone wall in front of her,
poised gently on its stem between her two hands, was a single black rose. Not a
dead nor dying bud, as one would expect from a flower of such a dark hue…not at
all. She smiled softly in the dark as she tenderly wrapped her slender fingers
around the stem, avoiding its poisoned crystal thorns, and lifted it to her
face. She felt the soft, black petals brush against her face in a velvet
caress; the deep, musky aroma of death and the sweet, sweet scent of decay
teased her nostrils as she inhaled the rose’s unique scent. This was a roseria nosferata, a death rose from the
deep tunnels of the wild, dark places she used to inhabit.
“The darkness of this death bloom, and the poison it
holds
May be rivaled only by the shade and hue of your very
soul;
You’ve infiltrated my mind with your soft deadly
grace,
Your fingertips, as these petals, velvet against my
weary face;
Your dark beauty, to which this beautiful rose cannot
compare,
Leads me gratefully to my death, which I know, you’ll
never share…”
She could
feel the anguish in those words, murmured against her hair now, as they were
then. His voice hadn’t changed over the years, even death unable to touch the
power of his being, the power of his soul. She could feel his power resonating
around her, pressing against her elven senses. She remembered how she’d
betrayed him in her youth, her passion unleashing a power much too strong for
her to control…He’d wanted to love her, then. He hadn’t been aware of the
monster within that she kept so tightly reined, the darkness that always
threatened to overwhelm her that she kept at bay.
She felt her
magic gathering inside her, her eyes glowing silver as the air around her began
to swirl. Her soft, melodious voice began to chant as she used her fingers to
weave intricate symbols in the space before her. She continued to chant as the
air in front of her began to shimmer as the spell she was weaving began to tear
a rift in the very fabric of reality. With a slight flex of her fingers, she
widened the portal far enough to slide her lithe form through. Swiftly, before
the portal could close, she slipped from the land of the living into the realm
of spirits, the home of the dead.
The
landscape before her would seem very barren to anyone else’s eyes; to the
necromancer, the right hand of death, the beauty was absolutely staggering.
Silvery swirls of lich-magic ran in rivulets along the bark of every tree,
across every rough patch of rock, along every shallow stream. Souls of the dead, both the enlightened and
the damned alike were mere shimmers in the air surrounding her, pathing past
her in order to pay the proper homage deferred to one of her kind.
Closing her
eyes, she waved them all away…all save one. She was here for a specific soul,
to right a wrong she’d committed all those years before, when she was too young
to know better. She was older now, and her magic was no longer a force that she
feared. She’d spent centuries learning how to bind it to her will, force it to
do her bidding, and now it would do so again. She used her power to search
around her, holding her hand in the air as she began to whisper her summons to
the spirit she sought.
“Zaethos,”
she murmured. “Come, dear friend. We have much to discuss, you and I.”
She stood in
perfect silence as her soft voice faded, stoic and still with her hand poised
in the air as she waited. The seconds stretched into long moments, and still
she held firm. She could hear the whispers of the souls around her, could hear
their excitement. It had been a long time since a necromancer had stepped into
their plane, and demanded audience with one of their own. She heard the instant
a collective hush fell upon them, as if they were all holding a breath that
they no longer needed. Then, she felt her fingertips tingle as another magical
entity pressed its hand against her own.
“Do you
still trust your soul to me?” she asked softly.
She felt,
more than heard the deep timbre of his voice respond to her.
“I trust you
now as I always have. I will follow you today, as I followed you all those
years ago, even knowing it was to my death which you led. I told you then,
Cattyra, that my mind, heart, body and soul belonged to you…even as you warned
me not to. I still honor that pledge. Do with me as you will, my dark
Mistress.”
Lacing her
fingers through the soul’s incorporeal ones, she began the soft chant once
again. This time, as the rift opened, she stepped backwards though it, pulling
it with her. She opened her eyes as she stepped through, and watched as he
followed her. Her hand, which before had been grasping at a magical presence,
was suddenly cradled by long, slender fingers. Those fingers grew into a large
hand before extending into a heavily muscled forearm. Her mouth opened softly
in wonder as her magic continued to work, until finally the eyes from her
memory stared back at her in physical form.
Her eyes
roved over him hungrily. She’d searched for him, tirelessly, for so many years;
her betrayal of him biting her more deeply than she’d ever imagined possible.
His ebony hair fell in soft waves across his strong brow, his hooded eyes
watching her as intently as she was watching him. Her eyes dropped to his nose,
his high cheekbones, and finally, to those sinful lips she’d dreamed of so
often. Her eyes traced his jaw line and then fell below. She could feel the
flush creep across her skin as she realized he was standing in front of her
completely naked.
She couldn't help the slight huskiness in her tone as she whispered to him, “I have given
back the life I took from you, and have fulfilled my vow to return to you that
which was unwillingly taken. What will you do with it?”
Zaethos
looked away from her molten silver eyes as he held his hands in front of him.
He slowly turned them over, noticing how the muscles in his forearms rippled at
the slight movement. Slowly, he stretched his arms to their full length,
feeling strength and vitality flow through him in ways that he’d long
forgotten. Tightening his shoulders, then his chest and abdomen, he felt each
of the sensations with an appreciation he’d never before granted them. Amazing
how perceptions changed after 2,000 years in the land of the dead.
Hearing her
sharp intake of breath, he speared the necromancer with the intensity of his
gaze. Her eyes were riveted to him as he moved, the longing in her eyes so
fierce that it almost took his breath away. Without even thinking, he stepped
toward her, sliding his hand behind her head and wrapping his fingers tightly
in her long tresses. He tugged her head back, raising her face toward his…and
in one smooth motion claimed her lips with his own.
Searing heat
rushed through his veins, burning him, awakening him. Her lips were so soft,
her gasps against his lips so sweet as she surrendered to him. He groaned
against her as he lifted her to perch delicately on the low stone wall,
spreading her knees just enough that he could slide himself between them. He
could feel her wet heat pressing against his throbbing hardness; he could feel
her soft curves instinctively molding to him as he groaned into her lips…
“I will
fulfill my vow to you, now, little one. I will love you as you desire to be
loved…whether or not you believe happiness to be a fate that you truly deserve.”
The End =)
