I said she's gone but I'm alive/I'm alive/I'm coming in the graveyard
She was there again. The temple surrounded her, made her feel safe. She looked around at the smiling priests, her lips twitched up to return the smiles directed toward her. The gardens filled the air with the pungent scent of roses, and the white granite walls were covered with their lush brilliance. One rose caught her attention, so different from the others. Its dark red color like a ruby stood out from the trellis. Its satiny petals calling her toward it. She never saw the happy priests' smiles turn to expressions of horror, never heard them calling out to her to stop. Her eyes focused on her goal, her blood pounding in her ears. She reached the rose, her hand spanned the distance between them, her fingers wrapped around the stem. Pain shot up her arm, and blood ran down the stem, a black thorn lay embedded in her finger. She pulled her hand away quickly, looking down at her wounded finger. She watched, mouth agape as her skin took on the pallor of one dead, the veins in her injured hand stood out black against the white, translucent skin. She looked around in terror as the sound of crumbling entered her ears. The pristine white walls were now black and cracked. The air around her filled with the stench of decay. The roses were black, surrounded by rotting leaves. The priests were gone, replaced by skeletons dressed in their own decomposing flesh and robes. The rose remained intact, mocking her as the pain of her betrayal swept through her own decaying body.
Chaline awoke with a jerk, and pain shooting up her right arm beneath the black leather glove. She pulled it off quickly revealing again to herself her betrayal in the stark white skin and black veins of her wounded hand. She clenched her fist in anger. Four thorns thrust out through the sickly flesh like the one that pricked her all those years ago. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared down at her new acquisitions. She flexed her hand, watching as the thorns disappeared to reappear with her closed fist. She stood slowly, her eyes locked on her fist, she never heard the man enter her small clearing, until he pounced. Instinct guiding her actions, her closed fist came in contact with his face. The black thorns slid into his sun-damaged skin as if it were nothing. Her attacker cried out in pain at the shock. He backed up, his fingers moving to his damaged cheek, his blood wetting the tips. She watched as he began to decay like the priests in that far away temple. As the intense pain registered through his shock, he started to scream, his limbs atrophying, he watched as the flesh upon his fingers disintegrated to nothing. His screams finally ended as nothing remained but a corroded skeleton with bits of rotting flesh and muscle. She stared down at her would be attacker's skull, tears streaming down her hollowed cheeks from blackened eyes. A slow transformation took place as she looked at the body. Her face took on a monstrous appearance, her jaw changing to resemble that of a large feline, and her even, white teeth elongated into fangs. She walked toward the body, her eyes glinting with both hunger and disgust. Her infected arm reached out, trembling to pull off the arm of the decayed body. She brought the rancid meat to her lips, her fangs ripping the softened flesh, chewing her putrid sustenance, swallowing it down with a disgusted face. When the last of the muscle was gone, she snapped the bone like a twig, sucking the marrow out with sickening slurping sounds. Appalled with what she had become, she threw the empty bone at the ground, wiping her mouth as she stood quickly. Giving one last look at the body and her camp, she left, handing back to her old home.
A quiet, thoughtful approach of a black clad man. He looks over the body, a slicked, black brow arched over a cold yellow eye. He shakes his head, laughing softly at the folly of his companion. He walks straight across the camp, his black booted feet crushing the corroded skull of the demon girl’s victim. He comes to the end of the clearing, he looks back over his shoulder.
“Only a fool acts with out thinking...and only a fool shall die by an accident,” his voice harsh, and un-human as he speaks ill of the dead before leaving the clearing, following the path of his latest hunt.
It stands within a valley of green. Its white walls standing out like a beacon of light to any weary travelers. For miles around the sweet scent of the tower’s roses could be smelt on the breezes. The kind lord of the keep took pity on a young farm girl, marrying her, and falling in love. The castle and surrounding lands blossomed with the young couple’s love. The temple priests within the walls blessed the marriage, but to no avail. A war sent the lord away, and took away his life. But before Lady Death could take him away, he gave his seed to his wife, and kept his blood going in an heir. So they thought. The priests knew, that no child could be born from dead seed, but the child grew. A young daughter to carry on their lord’s blood. Yet there was something strange in the lovely girl’s eyes, such an odd color of purple. None in either family had such eyes. Then in the temple grounds, a rose bloomed, like no other. Its blood red petals never blossomed. The dark green veins, connected to no bush, and the thorns that grew were unholy black. The priests then knew the father of young Lady Chaline. They kept the harsh secret from all, and loved the little girl despite.
Her sixteenth birthday was to be her wedding day. To a valiant knight, from a far off land. Her dowery present was made of magic, a doe-skin jerkin, and a leather glove. Her last stroll through the gardens of the temple, she came across the rose. It drew her to it, it kept her deaf to the cries of the priests. Her finger was pricked, her blood fell, and her lineage finally revealed. Her demon blood chilling her arm, turning it dead. Her father’s present to her, the deaths of all around. Her eyes took in all the decay of her father’s legacy, nothing remained intact, but the rose and her. Crying in despair the Lady ran naked through her home, finding nothing but the decayed remains of all that she loved. Until she came to her betrothed’s room. There in the center of the corroded chest, was her dowery present. The dark green doe-skin still soft and smooth, enveloped her small form, swallowing her up. The black glove fit her hand though, as if made for her. It covered the demon skin from sight. Clothed in her betrothed’s tunic, she ran from her land, the stench of decay could be smelt for miles around on the cold winds that blew through the land.
Damien closed the book, sighing softly. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, the greasy texture reminding him to bathe. He wiped his hand clean on his thigh, the hard muscle flexed as he stood, the book in hand. He looked around, making sure none could see his little thievery. Satisfied the book was placed carefully in his well worn pack, dried mud falling off it on to the floor as it was hoisted on to his shoulder. Walking non-chalantly toward the door, he left the old library, his quick steps taking him East, toward the home of Lady Chaline.
Chaline found her way home, back to the castle and the temple, and the god-forsaken rose. It remained, strong and vibrant amidst the decay it had produced. She stood before it, her purple eyes glaring at the blood red petals. She wanted to tear it out, wanted to crush it in her hands, and watch it burn. Only fear kept her hands still. Fear at what might happen, to her, or the surrounding areas. Already the borders of her home had rotted beyond what was nature. She was startled from her revery by the snapping of a bone behind her. Spinning around, golden hair hitting her dirt stained face. Before her was an awe-struck traveler, his clothes dusty and well worn. She blinked twice, taking in his appearance. Not even her betrothed had looked as this man did. His hair fell to his shoulders in thick sheets of chestnut. His skin was tanned from constant exposure to the elements, but none the worse for wear. His eyes were a startling blue, she could tell that, even from her distance. Her heart fluttered in her chest, she was surprised she could feel this feeling again. He spotted her, a quick look of apprehension passed over his face, but was quickly replaced by the brightest smile she had ever seen. He walked over to her, his stride so at ease, so practiced. He stopped a few paces before her, his gaze flowing up and down her half clothed body.
"This hardly seems the place for a pretty girl to be spending her time,” he said to her, his voice light and full of mirth. So unused to speaking, she took his words, though changing them around a bit.
“This hardly seems the place for a pretty boy to be spending his time.” Unaware of her insult, she was confused by his glare, but it was quickly replaced by his smile.
“Touche...I am Damien the Bard, come seeking the place of my favorite legend, and you, my dear are..?” he inquired of her, his stunning azure eyes locking with her’s.
“Chal...Chaline....of...no man...” she swallowed, breaking contact her eyes staring down at the dried, cracked mud that was the ground. A low gasp escapes him at her name, he walks closer to her, she sees the toes of his mud caked boots.
“Chaline?...The Chaline?” he asked, his voice giddy. She looked up, startled by the intenseness in his eyes. She swallowed nervously.
“The Chaline...?” she asked quietly. He stepped back, his arms spread wide, indicating the whole castle.
“The Chaline who lived in these very walls before they crumbled into rot.” her eyes widened as he knew her past too well.
“How...how could I be?...The Chaline you speak of lived...four hundred years ago.”
“True...but her father was the Lord of Rot...she’s half demon...she could live for thousands of years!” His words were effecting her, he saw. He had found the Lady Chaline, and she had no idea why she had remained alive all those years. Suddenly she gasped, and turned from him, sprinting out of the garden. Not feeling inclined to let his prize go, he ran after her, keeping up with her quick pace, but barely.
Vassago, the black clad figure entered the deserted courtyard. His harsh yellow eyes burned as he looked about the deteriorated temple. He growled softly, twirling his blade in the air in anger. The cold metal swished as it passed through the air, the sun glinting off the arcane runes etched in the steel. The long hilt held many gems, all dark and morbid adding to its menacing air. He followed her foot prints out, noting the second, heavier pair.
Chaline had felt it again. The need to run, she smelled danger on the air, she never knew from where it came from. She was always sure it was from everyone, but she actually talked to someone. She didn’t smell the danger, she knew it came from another source. She ran quickly, she was surprised when she saw Damien in her perirhinal vision. No one had ever managed to keep up with her, until him. Her attention focused on him, she never saw the gnarled root she tripped on, until she was sprawled on the ground, some rancid moss chocking her. She felt strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her up, helping her up. She looked up at him, her confusion written on her face, in her eyes. He knew the answer to give her, but he couldn’t bring himself to say he’d fallen in love with her legend.
“I know you really are her. And I know you don’t know what your father really was, but I do, and I have proof,” he pulled out his latest book, turning to the part of the destruction to her home. She read it in silence. He didn’t interrupt, just watched her, listening to the pages turning. She closed the book, her eyes closed. He saw the clear line of a tear falling over her cheek, cleaning it of the dirt that stained her noble face. He knelt by her side, taking the book from her.
“Do you believe it?” he asked her. She opened her eyes, looking at him.
“How could it be so accurate, when nothing survived? If that is right...then my father should be too.” she cries out in pain, gripping her right wrist. He pulls back, startled by her outburst, and even more as she pulls off the black glove revealing her infected arm. He reached for it, holding her hand in his, the cold skin chilling him. Neither heard the man enter their solitude, until his harsh, mocking voice.
“Oh, isn’t this cute...a demon girl and her human lover.” his voice startled the two apart, and Chaline came face to face with the danger she had felt before. Her eyes wide, she backed up, whimpering softly. Vassago advanced on her, his sword drawn, his eyes flashed bright and Damien found he couldn’t move. He backed her toward the river, toward, what he thought would be her death. She did as he expected, backed right into the strong currant of her father’s weakness. Her scream was cut off by the rushing water, and Damien’s own cry of denial. With his prey writhing in her own watery death, flowing downstream, he broke his spell holding the bard. With his freedom, Damien dove into the freezing water swimming with the flow of the river, hoping to catch her before she drowned.
Chaline broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. The river’s roar filling her ears, she barely heard Damien’s cry before she was swept under again. She felt arms around her, pushing her up. Her lungs filled with sweet taste of much needed oxygen. He followed her shortly, his gasp for air next to her ear. He dragged her over to the lesser current, freeing her from his grasp. For safety’s sake they stayed in the river, following its course downstream, away from the hunter.
Soon they began tiring, and made there way to the security of the bank. She crawled out of the river, shaking her bedraggled body of as much water as she could, splashing Damien as he crawled out behind her.
“Thanks,” he mumbles as he falls on to his back, vaguely aware he finally took his bath. He looked over at her, his eyes widening at the sight she made. With out the dirt caking her hair and face, she was as lovely as the legend said her to be. Her hair of spun gold fell well past her waist, in it’s wettened state it clumped together in strands, clinging to her pale face. Thick brown lashes framed her dark purple eyes under thinly arched light brown brows. Her altered leather tunic hugged her small body like a second skin. The glove and surrounding leather seemed dry though, despite its recent dip. He sat up, wringing his hair out on the ground, and shaking the moisture from his hands. He stood up, his weight causing the water in his boots to squish out on to the ground. He shook his head, hating to be wet.
“We should get going. Never know when he’s going to pop up and where.” he told her, helping her up to her feet.
“I thank you for your help, but you needn’t go with me from here.” she whispered softly, backing away from him. He laughed softly.
“No, I don’t. But you seem to know when he’s around, sometimes, and I don’t. He’s going to be after me when he finds out you’re still alive, and I’d like to be a little prepared.” he told her, crossing his arms over his compact chest, little drops of water raining from his arms. She looked down at her feet, thinking it over, finally she looked back up into his eyes, nodding slightly. He smiled at her again, with his brilliant bardly smile. She couldn’t help but smile back, and so she did, tentatively.
“Where shall we go?” she asked him softly. He thought for a few minutes before shrugging.
“We go home. To my home.”
They had traveled for the rest of the day, Damien slowly getting used to the stench of rot that permitted the air. They made camp in a small clearing, and Chaline took the first watch. She waited until he was asleep before she found something to quench her hunger. The putrid remains of a small squirrel became her meal. She stayed awake the rest of the night, knowing that the only danger to them was the hunter.
Vassago opened his book of names looking for his newest hunt. When he found that Chaline’s name was not crossed out, he knew she still lived. Growling his frustration, he slammed the book closed, storming out of his camp.
They left the borders of her home with little incident. Damien was grateful to have fresh air, and his bright smile returned full force. His laughter and jokes as they traveled wouldn’t allow her to be miserable. For the first time in four hundred years, Chaline knew what it was like to be happy. In the week it took them to reach his village, Chaline found she had grown to love her handsome bard, and he had discovered truth in her legend and in his feelings. In his furs, Damien showed her true happiness, and in the heat of ecstacy, her fist clenched and the thorns escaped their prison...
The hunter entered the small cabin, finding her kneeling beside the decayed remains of the bard. Her eyes were spilling salty tears, they landed on the rotten flesh of the man she had loved. Her head was bent, the perfect sacrifice. She felt the cold metal of his sword on the back of her neck, felt the wind it made as it cut through the air. Then, Lady Chaline felt nothing more.
Chaline awoke with a jerk, and pain shooting up her right arm beneath the black leather glove. She pulled it off quickly revealing again to herself her betrayal in the stark white skin and black veins of her wounded hand. She clenched her fist in anger. Four thorns thrust out through the sickly flesh like the one that pricked her all those years ago. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared down at her new acquisitions. She flexed her hand, watching as the thorns disappeared to reappear with her closed fist. She stood slowly, her eyes locked on her fist, she never heard the man enter her small clearing, until he pounced. Instinct guiding her actions, her closed fist came in contact with his face. The black thorns slid into his sun-damaged skin as if it were nothing. Her attacker cried out in pain at the shock. He backed up, his fingers moving to his damaged cheek, his blood wetting the tips. She watched as he began to decay like the priests in that far away temple. As the intense pain registered through his shock, he started to scream, his limbs atrophying, he watched as the flesh upon his fingers disintegrated to nothing. His screams finally ended as nothing remained but a corroded skeleton with bits of rotting flesh and muscle. She stared down at her would be attacker's skull, tears streaming down her hollowed cheeks from blackened eyes. A slow transformation took place as she looked at the body. Her face took on a monstrous appearance, her jaw changing to resemble that of a large feline, and her even, white teeth elongated into fangs. She walked toward the body, her eyes glinting with both hunger and disgust. Her infected arm reached out, trembling to pull off the arm of the decayed body. She brought the rancid meat to her lips, her fangs ripping the softened flesh, chewing her putrid sustenance, swallowing it down with a disgusted face. When the last of the muscle was gone, she snapped the bone like a twig, sucking the marrow out with sickening slurping sounds. Appalled with what she had become, she threw the empty bone at the ground, wiping her mouth as she stood quickly. Giving one last look at the body and her camp, she left, handing back to her old home.
A quiet, thoughtful approach of a black clad man. He looks over the body, a slicked, black brow arched over a cold yellow eye. He shakes his head, laughing softly at the folly of his companion. He walks straight across the camp, his black booted feet crushing the corroded skull of the demon girl’s victim. He comes to the end of the clearing, he looks back over his shoulder.
“Only a fool acts with out thinking...and only a fool shall die by an accident,” his voice harsh, and un-human as he speaks ill of the dead before leaving the clearing, following the path of his latest hunt.
It stands within a valley of green. Its white walls standing out like a beacon of light to any weary travelers. For miles around the sweet scent of the tower’s roses could be smelt on the breezes. The kind lord of the keep took pity on a young farm girl, marrying her, and falling in love. The castle and surrounding lands blossomed with the young couple’s love. The temple priests within the walls blessed the marriage, but to no avail. A war sent the lord away, and took away his life. But before Lady Death could take him away, he gave his seed to his wife, and kept his blood going in an heir. So they thought. The priests knew, that no child could be born from dead seed, but the child grew. A young daughter to carry on their lord’s blood. Yet there was something strange in the lovely girl’s eyes, such an odd color of purple. None in either family had such eyes. Then in the temple grounds, a rose bloomed, like no other. Its blood red petals never blossomed. The dark green veins, connected to no bush, and the thorns that grew were unholy black. The priests then knew the father of young Lady Chaline. They kept the harsh secret from all, and loved the little girl despite.
Her sixteenth birthday was to be her wedding day. To a valiant knight, from a far off land. Her dowery present was made of magic, a doe-skin jerkin, and a leather glove. Her last stroll through the gardens of the temple, she came across the rose. It drew her to it, it kept her deaf to the cries of the priests. Her finger was pricked, her blood fell, and her lineage finally revealed. Her demon blood chilling her arm, turning it dead. Her father’s present to her, the deaths of all around. Her eyes took in all the decay of her father’s legacy, nothing remained intact, but the rose and her. Crying in despair the Lady ran naked through her home, finding nothing but the decayed remains of all that she loved. Until she came to her betrothed’s room. There in the center of the corroded chest, was her dowery present. The dark green doe-skin still soft and smooth, enveloped her small form, swallowing her up. The black glove fit her hand though, as if made for her. It covered the demon skin from sight. Clothed in her betrothed’s tunic, she ran from her land, the stench of decay could be smelt for miles around on the cold winds that blew through the land.
Damien closed the book, sighing softly. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, the greasy texture reminding him to bathe. He wiped his hand clean on his thigh, the hard muscle flexed as he stood, the book in hand. He looked around, making sure none could see his little thievery. Satisfied the book was placed carefully in his well worn pack, dried mud falling off it on to the floor as it was hoisted on to his shoulder. Walking non-chalantly toward the door, he left the old library, his quick steps taking him East, toward the home of Lady Chaline.
Chaline found her way home, back to the castle and the temple, and the god-forsaken rose. It remained, strong and vibrant amidst the decay it had produced. She stood before it, her purple eyes glaring at the blood red petals. She wanted to tear it out, wanted to crush it in her hands, and watch it burn. Only fear kept her hands still. Fear at what might happen, to her, or the surrounding areas. Already the borders of her home had rotted beyond what was nature. She was startled from her revery by the snapping of a bone behind her. Spinning around, golden hair hitting her dirt stained face. Before her was an awe-struck traveler, his clothes dusty and well worn. She blinked twice, taking in his appearance. Not even her betrothed had looked as this man did. His hair fell to his shoulders in thick sheets of chestnut. His skin was tanned from constant exposure to the elements, but none the worse for wear. His eyes were a startling blue, she could tell that, even from her distance. Her heart fluttered in her chest, she was surprised she could feel this feeling again. He spotted her, a quick look of apprehension passed over his face, but was quickly replaced by the brightest smile she had ever seen. He walked over to her, his stride so at ease, so practiced. He stopped a few paces before her, his gaze flowing up and down her half clothed body.
"This hardly seems the place for a pretty girl to be spending her time,” he said to her, his voice light and full of mirth. So unused to speaking, she took his words, though changing them around a bit.
“This hardly seems the place for a pretty boy to be spending his time.” Unaware of her insult, she was confused by his glare, but it was quickly replaced by his smile.
“Touche...I am Damien the Bard, come seeking the place of my favorite legend, and you, my dear are..?” he inquired of her, his stunning azure eyes locking with her’s.
“Chal...Chaline....of...no man...” she swallowed, breaking contact her eyes staring down at the dried, cracked mud that was the ground. A low gasp escapes him at her name, he walks closer to her, she sees the toes of his mud caked boots.
“Chaline?...The Chaline?” he asked, his voice giddy. She looked up, startled by the intenseness in his eyes. She swallowed nervously.
“The Chaline...?” she asked quietly. He stepped back, his arms spread wide, indicating the whole castle.
“The Chaline who lived in these very walls before they crumbled into rot.” her eyes widened as he knew her past too well.
“How...how could I be?...The Chaline you speak of lived...four hundred years ago.”
“True...but her father was the Lord of Rot...she’s half demon...she could live for thousands of years!” His words were effecting her, he saw. He had found the Lady Chaline, and she had no idea why she had remained alive all those years. Suddenly she gasped, and turned from him, sprinting out of the garden. Not feeling inclined to let his prize go, he ran after her, keeping up with her quick pace, but barely.
Vassago, the black clad figure entered the deserted courtyard. His harsh yellow eyes burned as he looked about the deteriorated temple. He growled softly, twirling his blade in the air in anger. The cold metal swished as it passed through the air, the sun glinting off the arcane runes etched in the steel. The long hilt held many gems, all dark and morbid adding to its menacing air. He followed her foot prints out, noting the second, heavier pair.
Chaline had felt it again. The need to run, she smelled danger on the air, she never knew from where it came from. She was always sure it was from everyone, but she actually talked to someone. She didn’t smell the danger, she knew it came from another source. She ran quickly, she was surprised when she saw Damien in her perirhinal vision. No one had ever managed to keep up with her, until him. Her attention focused on him, she never saw the gnarled root she tripped on, until she was sprawled on the ground, some rancid moss chocking her. She felt strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her up, helping her up. She looked up at him, her confusion written on her face, in her eyes. He knew the answer to give her, but he couldn’t bring himself to say he’d fallen in love with her legend.
“I know you really are her. And I know you don’t know what your father really was, but I do, and I have proof,” he pulled out his latest book, turning to the part of the destruction to her home. She read it in silence. He didn’t interrupt, just watched her, listening to the pages turning. She closed the book, her eyes closed. He saw the clear line of a tear falling over her cheek, cleaning it of the dirt that stained her noble face. He knelt by her side, taking the book from her.
“Do you believe it?” he asked her. She opened her eyes, looking at him.
“How could it be so accurate, when nothing survived? If that is right...then my father should be too.” she cries out in pain, gripping her right wrist. He pulls back, startled by her outburst, and even more as she pulls off the black glove revealing her infected arm. He reached for it, holding her hand in his, the cold skin chilling him. Neither heard the man enter their solitude, until his harsh, mocking voice.
“Oh, isn’t this cute...a demon girl and her human lover.” his voice startled the two apart, and Chaline came face to face with the danger she had felt before. Her eyes wide, she backed up, whimpering softly. Vassago advanced on her, his sword drawn, his eyes flashed bright and Damien found he couldn’t move. He backed her toward the river, toward, what he thought would be her death. She did as he expected, backed right into the strong currant of her father’s weakness. Her scream was cut off by the rushing water, and Damien’s own cry of denial. With his prey writhing in her own watery death, flowing downstream, he broke his spell holding the bard. With his freedom, Damien dove into the freezing water swimming with the flow of the river, hoping to catch her before she drowned.
Chaline broke the surface of the water, gasping for air. The river’s roar filling her ears, she barely heard Damien’s cry before she was swept under again. She felt arms around her, pushing her up. Her lungs filled with sweet taste of much needed oxygen. He followed her shortly, his gasp for air next to her ear. He dragged her over to the lesser current, freeing her from his grasp. For safety’s sake they stayed in the river, following its course downstream, away from the hunter.
Soon they began tiring, and made there way to the security of the bank. She crawled out of the river, shaking her bedraggled body of as much water as she could, splashing Damien as he crawled out behind her.
“Thanks,” he mumbles as he falls on to his back, vaguely aware he finally took his bath. He looked over at her, his eyes widening at the sight she made. With out the dirt caking her hair and face, she was as lovely as the legend said her to be. Her hair of spun gold fell well past her waist, in it’s wettened state it clumped together in strands, clinging to her pale face. Thick brown lashes framed her dark purple eyes under thinly arched light brown brows. Her altered leather tunic hugged her small body like a second skin. The glove and surrounding leather seemed dry though, despite its recent dip. He sat up, wringing his hair out on the ground, and shaking the moisture from his hands. He stood up, his weight causing the water in his boots to squish out on to the ground. He shook his head, hating to be wet.
“We should get going. Never know when he’s going to pop up and where.” he told her, helping her up to her feet.
“I thank you for your help, but you needn’t go with me from here.” she whispered softly, backing away from him. He laughed softly.
“No, I don’t. But you seem to know when he’s around, sometimes, and I don’t. He’s going to be after me when he finds out you’re still alive, and I’d like to be a little prepared.” he told her, crossing his arms over his compact chest, little drops of water raining from his arms. She looked down at her feet, thinking it over, finally she looked back up into his eyes, nodding slightly. He smiled at her again, with his brilliant bardly smile. She couldn’t help but smile back, and so she did, tentatively.
“Where shall we go?” she asked him softly. He thought for a few minutes before shrugging.
“We go home. To my home.”
They had traveled for the rest of the day, Damien slowly getting used to the stench of rot that permitted the air. They made camp in a small clearing, and Chaline took the first watch. She waited until he was asleep before she found something to quench her hunger. The putrid remains of a small squirrel became her meal. She stayed awake the rest of the night, knowing that the only danger to them was the hunter.
Vassago opened his book of names looking for his newest hunt. When he found that Chaline’s name was not crossed out, he knew she still lived. Growling his frustration, he slammed the book closed, storming out of his camp.
They left the borders of her home with little incident. Damien was grateful to have fresh air, and his bright smile returned full force. His laughter and jokes as they traveled wouldn’t allow her to be miserable. For the first time in four hundred years, Chaline knew what it was like to be happy. In the week it took them to reach his village, Chaline found she had grown to love her handsome bard, and he had discovered truth in her legend and in his feelings. In his furs, Damien showed her true happiness, and in the heat of ecstacy, her fist clenched and the thorns escaped their prison...
The hunter entered the small cabin, finding her kneeling beside the decayed remains of the bard. Her eyes were spilling salty tears, they landed on the rotten flesh of the man she had loved. Her head was bent, the perfect sacrifice. She felt the cold metal of his sword on the back of her neck, felt the wind it made as it cut through the air. Then, Lady Chaline felt nothing more.