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crazkoala

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       The dull rush of blood swished in Fate’s ears, muffling the sounds of the world. Light danced on his eyes in the inconsistent blots splashing down from the looming trees overhead. The overwhelming immensity of pressure from forgotten pain weighed Fate down, making his thoughts and movements slow and groggy. He twisted his bruised fingers into the thickness of the horse’s mane and again drifted into a thoughtless, but conscious, twilight state.

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       Fate observed the scene progress in mute horror. Denial surged through him like a berserk animal. The hot coal of anger ignited in him as he watched the filthy brute Gurn shove ivory into the throne room.

       Ivory staggered and fell, face smashing into the carpet that covered the stone floor. Soundlessly and unbalanced she managed to stand without the use of her hands, which were tied behind her back. Stumbling slightly, she regained her grace and glided elegantly the remainder of the distance between Wisteria and herself.

       The icy numbness of shock was thawed by the raged inferno that followed. Fate watched, fists clenched, as blood gushed in a scarlet river down Ivory’s face from one nostril. The only thing that suppressed Fate’s overpowering urge to snap Wisteria’s neck right then and there was the presence of Gurn and the glint of his knife in Ivory’s shadow.

       Profound pain scorched Fate’s already charred soul as he stared in terrified astonishment. Wisteria’s cold voice rang clear from his side, but he didn’t bother to interpret its meaning. He was distantly aware that Wisteria had told him to take Ivory to her room.

       He stood, feeling utterly helpless and trapped, and was hurt ever more by the pain that flashed in Ivory’s eyes when he emerged from the shadow. Vacantly, He grasped her elbow in his hand, relishing the warm softness of her flesh against his own, and guided her silently to a distant room far from Wisteria. Then, chasing one outrageous notion, he had escaped with her.

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       Ivory’s tender fingers traced lingering lines of fire on the exposed skin of his newly bandaged shoulder. The wound had already been dressed, and yet she continued to touch him. Fate didn’t want her to stop. He turned his head slightly, breathing in her citrus scent, before releasing his breath in a silent sigh.

       Abruptly, Ivory withdrew her hands, turning her face away from Fate. He caught Ivory’s chin on the tips of his fingers. His other hand had managed to find its way to the nape of her neck, where the waterfall of obsidian hair cascaded upon his flesh.

       Ivory’s cheeks were on fire and her breathing was much like his own—hastened and irregular. Her vast, clear eyes and their fanning lashes were only inches from his own—how had they gotten so close?—seductive puffs of her luxurious breath cause him to loose his focus, his control. The warmth of her flesh on his hand seemed to blister his skin.

       “May I just…?” It was a stupid question and he didn’t know why he had uttered such foolish words once he had spoken them. He knew not the origin of their intention. He closed his eyes, feeling regret turn his blood cold at its boiling point. He inhaled deeply, preparing to pull away before she denied him… always the coward.

       With frantic eyes Ivory seemed to devour him. She shuddered involuntarily under his touch and just as fate was about to distance himself from her, both hands twined behind his neck and brought him forward with surprising strength. Ivory fell back, lips crushing his, and Fate landed on top of her. Shocked by her boldness, Fate felt her fingers comb through the length of his hair. Hands played about his chest, his arms, caressed his back and bare stomach with a fiery touch.

       Coming to himself, Fate pulled away before things had gone too far. The feel of her velvet lips lingered on his own. He gazed down at her, in all of her purity, and he yearned for the feel of her skin against his again.

       Fate couldn’t help but think that he had enchanted her—persuaded her actions and intoxicated her judgment. The thought was exiled from him as she took his hand in her own and guided it behind her. His fingers brushed upon the bow of her dress lace. She smiled at him and an unexpected tear slipped from his eye. For five years, Fate never cried. He had known hate and sorrow; they were distinct and unwelcome familiarity in his agony. They pained him, but never would he allow them the value of his tears. No, he hadn’t cried in the absence of those he cared about. There was no need, no hope of joy to cry for. But in the presence of love, his tears flowed as freely as Ivory’s. She had promised, in her silent way, happiness.

       Ivory had offered Fate a gift that someone could only give once in their entire life… Her innocence.

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       The horse’s canter had slowed to a steady trot and with it, so did the flow of Fate’s blood beneath his flesh. Fate wasn’t in pain of afraid as he had always pictured death, but perfectly content and peaceful. His grip on the horse’s mane slowly slipped as sleep tugged at his eyelids.  The muggy, humid heat of the forest draped over him like a woolen quilt, relaxing him. The emerald light of the forest caressed his eyes and the soothing buzz of fairies put him at ease like a hummed lullaby.

       Suddenly he was falling from mortality and into eternity. His lashes fluttered uncertainly as he tried to paint his last moments in this life on the canvas of his memory. Moist earth cushioned him from below, the colors blurred, smudging together before sharpening into focus again. He was hit with dismay by what he saw, for he hadn’t captured the image as he had hoped. He was already gone. Only one thing told him this, or he wouldn’t have realized he was dead for the transition between life and death was so seamless.

       The face of an angel hovered over him, glorious; with skin as white as ivory. Patches of color the shade of rose petals painted her cheeks and the truth in her lilac eyes was too pure to be human. Slowly, her black hair tumbled forward in a dark halo surrounding her face.

       Fate smiled, trying to evade sleep that pulled persistently at his consciousness. No, there was something wrong. The lush curvature of her pink lips twisted in agony and her eyebrows drew together with disbelief. Tears dewed on her splayed lashes. With frantic hands, she smoothed Fate’s sodden, matted hair from his forehead. With an unsteady, leaden movement, Fate brought his fingers to Ivory’s cheek. He brushed a thumb across the white expanse of silk skin and let his arm fall once again. His hand had left a single, smudge of rusty crimson in its wake.

       Confusion blotted Fate’s thoughts and he tried desperately to understand. Fear crept upon him, cold and foreboding, only just remaining at bay. Blood… that meant he was still alive… and that Ivory wasn’t an angel… not dead…

       Living. Fate fought for his own life then, Ivory babbling desperately above him. He struggled to decipher the meaning of her words, muffled and slurred to his ears.

       “Fate! Adonis!” she cried, taking his fallen hand in both of her own. “Stay with me! Stay with me… oh, god, please don’t die… please don’t…” she pleaded, voice thick with emotion. She tried to calm herself with deep, shuddering breaths. Droplets of water fell from above and spattered Fate’s brow.

       Great waves of pain cascaded over him, consuming. He clenched his jaw and fists to keep from crying out. Digging his heels into the earth, he battled the shadows at the border of his vision.

       “Fate! You can’t leave me… please don’t leave me.” Ivory begged. Her hands tightened around his as if she could hold him to reality if she didn’t let go.

       He turned away, tears rolling down his face.

       Both of Ivory’s hands were placed on Fate’s cheeks. Gently, she turned his head to face her. “I hate you,” she gasped. She was silent for a moment, hysterical sobs taking her by the shoulders and shaking her relentlessly. “I hate you, I swear.. I—”

       Fate pulled her towards him with all of the strength he could muster, until her face was a fraction of an inch from his. Pressing his lips into her brow, he spoke. His words mere wisps of wind. Ivory’s pained cries muffled. She was screeching his name, clutching his skin, crying for help. Fate’s entire body relaxed, drifted away, sounds faded to serene silence, sight dulled into shadow. His words still lingered, forever in the breeze, whispers of hope and memory…