Death Four

The Immortal Lord leads the way through a maze of hallways while Desolation pads behind. If not for her fiercely palpitating heart combined with the soft swishing of her dress, he would think himself alone. There is something odd about her and it was not her curse. No, the curse he can understand. He is a cursed being as well. What unnerves him is her silence and a certain fearlessness. She does not reek of fear like the others. The erratic tattoo of her heart speaks volumes, but it is not him she fears.

Curious.

It does not matter what his wife is as long as the ritual is complete. He wants the pain to end, even for a few nights.

When the carriage set its wheels upon the road, his pain had lessened and by having tasted her blood; the pain is nearly nonexistent. For the first time in several centuries, he is not in agony by the the curse. But he would need more blood, he would always need more.

Unfortunately, all his brides manage to kill themselves before the ritual is complete and the blood of the dead is nowhere close to combating the blood of the living. Until the curse is broken, without a Moons Turn Bride, he will suffer the agony of a man whose heart has been torn from him.

The Immortal Lord purposely walks the long way to his quarters to give Gregoire enough time to prepare the rooms and to see if Desolation will run a wall or fall behind. He is intrigued by her ability to follow so smoothly and not stumble or bump objects along the way. True, for a female, Desolation is tall but he towers a head over her and his strides are much longer than an average human male.

Desolation is very different from all the other Brides before her, and again, it is not because of her curse. O'finren, in his time curses were all the rage. A being could not walk out of their homes without returning with a hex of some kind. No, her curse does not bother him in the least.

What bothers him is he heard her heart cease beating and her blood ceased flowing. As a being forever cursed to live off the blood of others; his senses are attuned to beating hearts and the flowing of blood. Ellh, even if blood is spilt in his castle, the pull will call. He never needs much blood, a drop will suffice with his meals but it had to be blood from a being of sufficient Will and lous'rife.

However, having a living bride, he only needs a bit of her blood every cycle of the moons. He can enjoy the taste of food and drink; enjoy the sensations of the world without pain. Through all the pain, the Immortal Lord forever remains aware of two things, the beating of hearts and the flowing of blood.

Desolation died; his surety is absolute. It sparks another question; does Desolation know she died? If not, he does not want to be the one to broach the subject. What is he to say?

Desolation, remember the first night we met and I made you look into my eyes? Then you got flung in the air and cracked your head on a pillar? Well, you died. Now, now, I don't understand it either. I have never died in my cursed life. I don't know if I can. Therefore, I have no understanding of how the dead can come back to life. No, that will not do, it is better to remain silent.

Most of his brides never stay in the apartments meant for them. Instead, they are sent across the castle to ease their panic. Never has it worked. He wants Desolation close to observe her. Furthermore, her presence relieves his ever-burning nerves, soothing him in a way no other bride ever had.

The Immortal Lord stops abruptly, turning sharply into a small corridor leading to his rooms. Ultimately hoping to confuse her, a childish action, but Desolation throws his acute senses out of balance. A power hover's around her. He feels her curse beneath the skin, crawling like invisible spiders. He shivers. Her power encases her like a heavy mist pressing upon his person.

His ploy fails. She follows swiftly, without incident, and never missteps. He stops in front of two elaborately etched doors wrought in the darkest feyan and lined in silver polished to an immaculate shine. He draws the marque of po'ne upon the air. Delicate curved runes shimmer, then flutter like a butterfly, landing gracefully upon the doors. They swing inwardly large enough for him to walk through the gap.

He turns to his bride in her pile of tasteless clothing, the dresses would have to be burned.

"Welcome little Desolation, to your new home."

Desolation

I am not expecting any sort of kindness from the Immortal Lord. Why would I? I grew up on a steady diet of tales about his cruelty and ruthlessness. He drinks blood, burns under the sun, and kills his bride. I thought kindness did not exist. To be honest, I am expecting him to either attempt to kill me again or strip and ravish me like some pue'thea. He does neither.

Instead, he welcomes me to my new home and shows me to my rooms. That's right, my very own rooms. I've never had a room before. All this time I am under the impression we will be sharing the same room, O'finren, even the same bed. It is something I resign to during the overly long and twisting walk to his apartments.

I suppose they are mine as well.

I know he is attempting to mislead me. Why else will someone take so many twisting turns? They run in circles, sometimes even backing into each other. He is trying to trick me. I know that three consecutive left turns will either turn into a circle or square in this case or some weird S shape. I have been living under this veil and hood my entire life. I don't rely on my vision like the rest of the world. I have learned to use my hearing.

I may see bits of tiled floor, but I focus more on the echo of his boots, the way sounds bounce off walls, and objects which vibrate like tables.

Sometimes the sound reverberates off ceramic accompanied by the scent of flowers, a sound I know so very well. I know when he turns left or right. In a technical sense, I am blind. My eyes remain covered at all times and my vision is secluded to the inside of my hood, it is pointless to trick me in this way. Heat rises along my spine with my ire.

My anger lasts for three breaths.

Once I enter my room, my temper vanishes like a sweet roll in the hands of a child. My boots sink into the thick, burgundy carpet. I tilt my head back and to the side, examining my rooms without removing my hoods.

My Dyu's, the rooms are gorgeous.

A large canopied bed lays in the center. Veils, the same shade as the carpet, waterfall down from clawed, heavy, black oak posts in voluminous folds. I want to cut some of the fabric and replace it with the veil I am now wearing. The bed is large enough to fit a family of six comfortably.

"My Dyu's," I whisper, confident the words did not travel beyond the edges of my veil.

The Immortal Lord stops, turns to face me, and proclaims, "There are no Dyu's here, only me." He strides past me into what I guess would be a common room, then towards a door at the far end.

While opening this door, he turns back facing me, and says, "We share the same bathing room. If you would like to bathe, do so now. I'll make sure you have some fresh garments waiting for you.

His anger swarms against my skin like a thousand bees. My confusion only exacerbates the sensation. I rub my arms but it does nothing to dispel the feeling. What the ellh did I do wrong? I remain silent for the walk. What did I do to invoke his anger? Nothing except say the word Dyu's.

The Immortal Lord is famous for his anger, maybe it also extends to mood swings that occur faster than the blink of an eye. Maybe it was the time of the moons. Ellh my mood changes faster than the tides when my time of the moons are upon me. Are men as affected by the moons as women are? I don't know. I was never told.

I shrug off the anger and shut the doors leading to my apartments. I lean against the cool wood and let the breath of anxiety escape me with a soft hiss. The Immortal Lord must have passed my death off as a feint.

I pull the heavy cloak and veil off, letting them drop to the floor; the infernal things feel like a hundred stone, making my neck and shoulder ache. I breathe deeply, tension oozes from my muscles like slip.

I hear a door open, I think it is the door to the common room. My body freezes. If someone happens to come into my room, I would not have sufficient time to reassemble my hood and veil. Then again I do not think the servants of the Immortal Lord will serve me first; this can only mean that whoever entered the apartments will go to the Immortal Lord's room first, not mine.

I press my ear to the door the Immortal Lord exited and am rewarded with a barely audible rap. The maids dear Dyu's I am going to have to watch for them.

A conversation ensues, words so faint even my keen hearing cannot make sense of them. A door clicks shut followed by the scuffle of hurried footsteps and another door opening and then snapping shut. I wait a few moments, and breath whistles through my nose. Hurrying over to my discarded cloak and veil, I swoop and toss the cloak about my shoulders but do not place the hood and fold the veil over my shoulder for quick access.

I move to an adjacent door. By the Great Mother Ira! They are larger than two of my Muttis home combined. The first is merely my sleeping chambers filled with a bed, armoire, and many large chairs encumbered with velvet pillows matching the burgundy of the carpet and trimmed in deep, forest green lace.

The second is more of a study with a great Feyan desk towards the back wall. On the right side is a Currath bookcase twice my height and three times as long. The spines of books are lined neatly in colours of red, black, maroon, green, and midnight. Gold lettering travels the spines in a script I cannot read but recognize as Tiygressian. Two black sofas about my length sit parallel to each other with a low, white oak table in between, which is adorned with fresh Lillianth flowers and a silver tea set. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting the tale of The Last Betrayal. The wall directly across from me is bare and there sits another door.

The third room is completely devoid of any furnishings and rather dusty and stuffy making my nose tingle like it's being tickled by feathers. I rub at it with the back of my hand.

Across is a window so large it nearly takes the entire wall. It offers a spectacular view of the cliffside dropping down into the Chimera sea. The vengeful waves scream against the rocks, beating against a force they cannot hope to master.

I exit and return to the sleeping chamber and slump into one of the pillowed chairs. The softness engulfs me like a mother's embrace and I sink into the cushions. This is what laying on a cloud must feel like. Muscles turn to clay and lethargy blankets me. The night has been long, trying and dying expends a lot of energy.

Sleep sings a soft lullaby, but the promise of a bath has my eyes snapping open and with a gathered force of will, I push myself out of the heavenly chair and head in the direction I know the bathing room to be, the only door I have not opened.

This door is made of white oak rather than black and contains gold inlay depicting a sun rising over a field of S'epopip. Pushing down on the cold gold handle, the doors swing noiselessly inward on hidden joints. Afraid the Immortal Lord will emerge from his rooms at any moment, I pause on the threshold. Feeling foolish I step into the insanely, large pristine room.

Every surface is either beige marble or gold illuminated with floating white light globes. Unaccustomed to the brightness, my eyes water and ache forcing me to place the veil over my head.

With a soft rap at the door, I jump and my hands fling the hood of my cloak over the veil.

Another soft tap, a click of the door, followed by a tentative, "Miss?"

"Y-Yes?" I ask partially turning to face the voice.

The door opens even further and three pairs of feet walk in. Feeling like I am being ambushed, I scatter back like a frightened rabbit. My eyes quickly scan the area for an exit but there are only two ways out, the way I came or the Immortal Lords rooms.

One of the maids steps forward and ushers the other two. They rush past me in a flurry of grey and black fabric going straight to the left wall.

"Miss, the Lord has instructed us to help you bathe and to make sure all your needs are met. I have also brought you some tea and a light meal in case you were wanting such things. I also have wine and spirits should you be looking for something stronger."

"S-S-Some wine w-w-would b-be l-l-lovely."

"As you wish Miss. Please head over to the tub."

Rushing water and hushed whispers fill the room like ocean waves.

T

he maids dim the magical lights and I notice four large time candles hanging from golden chains at each corner of the tub. One maid stands by the large, marbled hole in the floor watching water pour from a tall, elegant golden faucet. Every few flickers she dips her fingers into the stream checking the temperature.

"Myorla," she says, "it is too cold, two fingers hotter."

I turn my head. The third maid stands by the far-left wall placing her hand on a flat, golden square. It glows red for two blinks and the faucet gurgles with rushing water. More and more magic.

The maid by the faucet places her hand in the fall and says, "Perfect Myorla," turning to me she says, "Now Miss if you start undressing we will have you washed up and prepared for the Lord in no time." She takes a few steps forward motioning to take my cloak.

My heart falters like it's been struck by an arrow.

"N-No th-th-thank you. I-I can b-b-b-athe mys-s-self," I respond pulling the cloak tighter and taking a step back.

"Come on now Miss, no need to be shy it's our job after all," she replies taking another step toward me.

I take another back. The third maid, Myorla, watches in curiosity and amusement.

When the first maid returns, I am practically running around the marble pool with the second maid chasing me and Myorla is trying to hold suppress her laughter. She's failing like a Mo'ki push out of the nest too soon.

"Now what is going on here? Myorla, Ceres!" she snaps.

The one called Ceres immediately ceases to chase me and Myorla's giggles dissipate.

"The Miss refuses to let us undress and wash her," claims Ceres.

"Hence why you are chasing her around the tub barking like a mad lupinna. No wonder the girl is running from you. You ladies are dismissed. I thank you for your work you may retire."

"Yes Mistress Byerne," the maids say in unison, quickly making their exit.

"Well Miss, you must be firmer with your desires or you will always be chased around like that. I am going to put your tray right here on the side of the pool, right next to your robes. I am going to lay out all your bathing implements here on the side as well. If you do not need anything else, then I shall take my leave. I will return in one candle to see if you need anything else."

"Th-Thanks."

"Now, now Miss, no need to be afraid. Things are not so bad here. I am sure you will grow to like it if given time."

With that said, I watch her feet turn and make busy laying out my soaps and other tools. When finished, she leaves quietly shutting the doors behind her.

I wait a few long breaths, making sure no others come to disturb me before taking off my cloak and veil. Yes,

I need to be watchful of the maids, especially the pushy one. My appearance will be revealed eventually but I prefer later rather than sooner, much, much later. Ideally, I would like it to never be revealed but with so many servants about the castle, it is only a matter of time before one strolled in with my face uncovered.

I push those thoughts to the nadir of my mind. Letting my eyes wander to the pool, I notice the water continues to run. Was someone supposed to turn it off? What if it overflowed? I let the pool be, it still had a bit to go thus I turn my eyes to the tray Mistress Byerne left. At the sight of food and drink, my stomach rumbles, and suddenly realize how famished I am and how dry my tongue is.

Squatting, I examine the contents. The tray contains finely sliced cheese and bread, a bowl of fruit, I am unsure of the variety but it looks delicious. Next to that sits a large silver cup filled to the brim with wine. Picking it up, I take a sip, and the flavor explodes on my palate containing a sweet and fruity taste like freshly picked blueberries and grapes.

Next, I grab a slice of cheese and pop it into my mouth, it's soft and creamy complimenting the wine perfectly. I follow it with a piece of bread which is soft and warm, recently removed from the oven.

Lastly, I eat a piece of fruit. It's red, heart-shaped, and covered with tiny little seeds. I have never seen anything like it. Holding it up by its little green leaves, I take a bite. Juice explodes and dribbles down my chin like a mini waterfall. It's sweet with just a hint of sourness. I instantly love it. I place the rest in my mouth but the green leaves destroy the flavor. Maybe I am not supposed to eat those.

Taking a long swig from the wine cup, I swish the liquid around my mouth to cleanse my palate of the leafy flavor. After the night I have had, I can drink an entire bottle. I look around but it seems like the maid did not leave the bottle for me.

The tub is almost filled. My breath escapes in a long huff. I have a love-hate relationship with bathing.

Mainly, I hate the way my body is covered with its writing and designs. I start by taking off my gloves staring at my marquings as they are revealed. The ones on my hands are more design than writing. The tops of my hands are covered in tiny intricate dots, lines, swirls, and circles that start at the knuckle under my nails and travel to my wrists. The space from the first knuckle to fingertips looks like they have been dipped in cerulean ink. The design flows to the inside of my hands as well as covers my palms. Unlike the rest of my body where the marquings seem to be the same on each side, my hands are not a mirror of each other.

One by one I remove every single piece of clothing. I hate being naked. I hate having to look down at my marred body and be reminded I am not like everyone else. I am dangerous.

Grabbing the wine cup, I head for the stairs that descend into the pool. Water laps at the steps, the pool is finally filled. I glance at the faucet to see it shut off automatically.

And yet more magic.

With one hand firmly on the rail and the other firmly holding the cup, I look down at the top of my marred feet and step down into the water. When my feet touch the bottom, the water reaches the top of my breasts. I am thankful for the low lighting making the water appear black and my body is hidden beneath the depths.

I take another swing of the cup, holding it above water as I trudge my way to my tray. My feet hit something protruding from the wall.

Placing the cup at the edge, I plunge my hands into the water feeling a ledge of some kind. As my fingers explore further, I realize it must be a seat. I pull myself onto the ledge and recline. The height of the water remains in the same place.

Soon the wine and warm water begin to work magic of their own. I place my head on the curved edge and relish the feeling of weightlessness.

After a moment, I slide my body down into the water completely immersing my head. My hair swirls about me in a long, weightless cloud. Most women keep their hair short because it is a sign of their wealth. I keep my hair long not because I am poor but because should the need arise, and I am caught without my hood and veil, I can always hide behind my hair.

I quickly stand, hair plasters to my back and the room spins. I sit back down. I might have been a little overzealous in drinking the wine. When I recline, sleep pulls me. My eyelids become lead and I do not have the strength to open them. The water is warm, comforting like a blanket.

The logical part of my mind knows something is wrong. I would never fall asleep in such a compromising position and in a place where I could accidentally die. My body does not answer when I will it to move and I am pulled into uncontrolled slumber.