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Post subject:  Posted: January 21st, 2011, 1:49 pm |
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Location: Going to Hell in a Handbasket
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Post subject: Posted: January 23rd, 2011, 9:40 am |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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Prompt 5: Loathe
Bathsheba-Juliet sat on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, which were drawn up under her chin. The door to her chambers was locked shut; both her mother and her father had tried to coax her out, but it was no use. Her features were stained with tears as she rocked back and forth. She didn’t usually hold with weeping, but today she felt she had a right to. Bathsheba faced the prospect of remaining an old maid for the rest of her days, and it infuriated her to the point of despair. She pushed a strand of blonde hair away from her face, her forehead crumpling. What was to become of her if she did not marry soon? All women improved their stations with marriage. She wanted – no, she needed – a fine young gentleman, for both emotional happiness and financial security.
And yet her father found himself unable to secure such a match! In Bathsheba’s eyes, he had failed her in every way possible. She supposed this was all because of his humble origins. She shuddered at the fact that he’d once been poor. It had been sheer luck his business had done well, and it had also been lucky he’d wed a gentlewoman. Bathsheba loathed her own “inadequate” circumstances of birth. If only she’d been born to a lord. But she believed that her father’s previous lot in life did not stand in her way; she had a right to every luxury in this world.
This belief was not enough to stop her crying, though. Still, tears streamed from her blue eyes, and she wiped her damp cheeks furiously. She quickly scrambled up to her feet, glancing around her chambers. What if she lost all of this? The four-poster bed, the beautifully carved dressing table? Suddenly, she felt the urge to seize all of her treasures before someone stole them from her. She leapt across the room and hurriedly opened the drawers of the dressing table, clutching at her embroidered handkerchiefs, her necklaces, her earrings… in her haste she dropped a pair of pearl drop earrings, and she fell to her knees, scooping them from the floor.
A few moments passed as she gazed at the earrings lying in the palm of her hand. More tears welled up in her eyes. She didn’t think that she could bear to be poor. What if she ended up like her cousins Eve and Angel? Oh, those pitiful girls… she really did sympathise with them. They had no prospects, no hope of ever marrying anybody. She could not become like them. She’d seen for herself how miserable their lives were. Hurriedly, she secured the earrings in her earlobes, and grabbed her amethyst necklace, securing it about her throat.
She let out a small, relieved exhalation of breath. She had to keep her finery. It was all she had. Well… perhaps not all she had. Her gaze fell upon her violin, which sat on her bed. She would certainly not let anybody take the instrument from her. It was a great deal more precious than any of her jewelry. Rising to her feet, she was beginning to feel a little calmer, although her rage was still impressive. She crossed the room and picked up her violin, expertly positioning it under her chin, before delicately picking up the bow. She would not allow her life to dwindle to nothing. She would make sure of it. If her father could not help her, then she would simply have to help herself. For moment puzzling out which tune to play, Bathsheba finally decided upon Henry Purcell’s Rondeau movement. Music could always comfort her, even if her mind was still filled with loathing.
Suddenly, there was a knock on her door. Determinedly, she carried on playing her violin. A pause, and then another knock, followed by a flurry of insistent taps. Bathsheba growled with fury, and the music came to a halt with a deafening strangled sound, as she dragged the bow across the strings.
“Whoever it is,” she screamed, “you can stay away! I’m not opening this door! And there’s no way you can make me.”
“Dearest,” said her father’s voice, pleadingly, “please open the door. You’ll make yourself feel ill if you carry on in such a way.” A small pause. “You cannot continue being angry forever.”
“I beg to differ!” she called. For a single, half-demented moment, Bathsheba felt the urge to hurl her violin across the room. Her hand twitched; she could not do it. However angry she was, she couldn’t destroy what she loved. With a small sigh, she cast her hand over her face, her shoulders shaking. More tears were spilt as she waited to see if her father would try to speak to her again. But only silence followed.
“I don’t need you anyway,” she yelled. “I don’t need anybody.”
Prompt 6: Obsession
Morgaine sat at the kitchen table, her expression tranquil as she watched the other young woman pace about the room, her steps quick and agitated. Morgaine noted that she had also started picking at the embroidery on the sleeve of her dress, and shook her head. “You’ll unravel all that fine work,” she reproved her. “Not to mention you’ll wear yourself out with all that walking. Won’t you come and sit down beside me?” These last words were warm and soothing, and she invitingly patted the stool beside hers. “Tell me your troubles, Miss Mary.”
The girl turned, her bright green eyes flashing. “First I want to know you’ll not tell a soul what I say to you.” Her hand twitched and fell to her side. “I want to know I can trust you.”
“Of course you can trust me,” Morgaine replied. “I am the soul of discretion. What is said in this room shall go no further.”
The girl nodded, drawing closer to the table before placing herself beside Morgaine. She observed her with a frown, seeming ill at ease. Morgaine smiled at her amiably. There was a small silence before her guest finally spoke up again. “I need you to help me,” she said, hesitantly. “I need you to… I need you to make me a potion.” She cleared her throat, as if frightened by her own words. Morgaine instantly leaned forward, her interest caught.
“What kind of potion? Is it for you, or someone else?”
“It’s not for me. No. But still… I don’t suppose you have a potion to make me more beautiful?”
Morgaine shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“I thought not. No,” the girl said quietly. “Well. You see, I need you to make someone love me. I want the potion for this young man.” Her cheeks flushed. “He has to be made to love me. I can’t make him notice me; he doesn’t say a word to me. He acts as if I don’t exist. I know I’m not pretty enough for him. But if you could just…” she broke off, desperate, before reaching out and grasping Morgaine’s hand. Morgaine’s eyebrows rose. “I can’t carry on like this. I love him, Miss Ellis, I love him so much.”
Morgaine waited a moment, before carefully disentangling her hand. “Perhaps you do,” she said, softly. Obsessively so, she added in her thoughts.
“Perhaps? Of course I do! More than anything else in the entire world!” the girl exclaimed. “Aren’t you going to help me?”
Morgaine simply looked at her, sensing the girl’s utter desperation, her longing. She had the ability and the skill to make the potion she so wanted, but something within Morgaine fought against it. Somehow, this was not right at all. Time and time again, people came to her, seeking an answer to their problems, and she was nearly always able to help them. But she was always wary of using her gift to interfere with affairs of the heart. “You do know,” she finally said, “that if I made him love you, it would not be real?”
The girl’s fists clenched. “Do you think I care?” she sniffled a little. Her gaze was furious as she observed Morgaine. “I suppose you think I don’t deserve to be loved by him. You wouldn’t be the first. I’m so unimportant, aren’t I? Insignificant little Mary.” her tone dripped with sarcasm despite the building tears. “Just give me a yes or a no, and then I’ll leave and go about my business. I do actually have work to do today, you know, but I actually saw this as a more important matter than scrubbing tables.”
“Be calm,” Morgaine told her, gently. “I must tell you that I cannot and will not supply you with the potion you want. It strikes me that this can only end in tears. If he does not love you, then why should I force him to? The best thing for you to do would be to find a young man who adores you from the bottom of his heart. Find the right man for you. I shall not force the wrong one to fall in love with you, Miss Mary.”
The girl’s cheeks had now flushed bright red with fury. Her hands were shaking wildly now as she forced herself to her feet. “I knew you would deny me!” she hissed. “You self-righteous witch! Who do you think you are?”
“I think I am somebody who knows what I’m talking about,” Morgaine said, rising to her feet with infinite dignity. “And if you insist on addressing me thus, then I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave immediately.” Her eyes flashed as the girl seemed to shrink back from her, before darting forward, raising her hand as if she would strike Morgaine. Morgaine seized her wrist with alarming strength and bent back her hand. The girl yelled out in agony. “You will leave, and you will not come to see me again,” Morgaine stipulated. “But you may recommend me to your friends if you so wish.” She released the girl’s wrist and shoved her backwards.
Within a moment, her guest was scuttling backwards and escaping out of the back door. Morgaine gave a small exhalation of breath and sat back down on her stool. These people who continually demanded her help never ceased to infuriate her. She brushed a strand of golden-brown hair back from her face and poured herself a measure of ale. She had a good mind to close down her business sometime very soon. Morgaine wanted to get out and see the world, instead of shutting herself away in this tiny house, making potions for people who didn’t deserve them.
_________________ 
~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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Post subject: Posted: January 24th, 2011, 12:37 pm |
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Joined: 10 January 2008
Posts: 2443
Location: Going to Hell in a Handbasket
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Today's Prompt is: Dreams.
(Thank you to Goldy for this prompt.)
_________________ 
Illuminate the way to my heart,
It's twisting on a thread
+ COME RAISE THE DEAD +
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Post subject: Posted: January 24th, 2011, 3:16 pm |
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Joined: 18 October 2007
Posts: 4502
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(Here we are!  So glad you decided to use one of my prompts Lothy  I'm sorry if this is quite long  )
Prompt 7: Dreams
It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining dazzlingly, and there was not a spot of cloud in the sky. The crew of the Anne Boleyn had broken their journey to port on a small island, to make a few repairs to the ship, which had been damanged a little by a violent storm a couple of nights ago. Their work was almost finished, and the captain had allowed the crew an hour’s respite. Cairbre had taken this opportunity to investigate the island further. Rosalind had offered to go along with him, but in the end she’d stayed behind on deck, complaining of the heat and furiously trying to cool herself down with an old lace fan. Cairbre preferred solitude at the moment anyway; he needed time to think.
Last night, he’d had a vivid dream, which he had believed was real, until the moment he woke up. It had been a bitter disappointment to learn that it had been nothing more than the workings of his imagination. The dream had filled him with so much hope and happiness, but upon waking, his joy had been drained away, only to be replaced by bitterness and despair. As Cairbre walked along in silence, his expression was downcast. It was just as well Rosalind wasn’t here; if she had been, she’d probably have poked him and made some mocking remark about his depressed state. At times, his little sister wasn’t exactly the most helpful person to look for sympathy from.
About ten minutes into the walk, he came across a magnificent sight: a natural pool set against a wall of rock. The surface of the water glittered in the areas where the sunlight filtered through the treetops, and the only sound to be heard was the gentle trickling of the small waterfall. The tranquility of this place was so tangible that it entered Cairbre’s soul, allowing him a little peace from the gloominess that had gripped him since last night. He sat down at the edge of the pool and soaked up the serenity, allowing himself even to smile.
~~~
“He’s been gone a long time,” Guinevere said, worriedly, her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to get Rosalind to listen to her. Rosalind was kneeling in the sand, making an intricate pattern with seashells she’d collected. She focused intently on her work, only gazing briefly up at Guinevere every so often. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Your brother’s missing and you don’t care?”
“Of course I care,” Rosalind replied, calmly. “But I’m not getting into a fuss about it. He’s a grown man, Guin. He knows how to look after himself.” She smiled slightly, the expression bordering on a smirk. “You said to everyone, let’s have a break, so that’s what we’re doing. He said he was going to have a look round the island, so that’s what he’s doing. Now tell me, what exactly is your problem with all of this?” She looked up at Guinevere, her blue eyes very steady. Guinevere sighed.
“Alright, so I maybe overreact sometimes. But it’s the job of the captain to be concerned for the welfare of her crewmembers.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Rosalind said lightly, innocently looking back at her shell pattern. It was nearly finished. She arranged two more shells, and sat back with a pleased smile on her face. They formed the shape of a heart, filled with elaborate swirls and stars. “Now, this isn’t bad, even if I do say so myself. What do you think, Guin?” She looked up, but Guinevere was nowhere to be seen, having obviously disappeared whilst Rosalind’s attention was otherwise occupied. Rosalind’s smile took on a knowing edge, and she laughed quietly to herself.
~~~
Carefully leaning over the water’s edge, Cairbre dipped his curved hands into the pool, collecting a fitting amount of liquid before pouring it over his head. The weather was only getting hotter today, and he needed to cool down. The water ran in rivulets into his dark hair, seeping into the collar of his shirt, and droplets clung to his face. Anyone observing him in that moment could not have denied his striking good looks, the way the water emphasized the elegant contours of his features.
He wondered how long he’d been gone. Not so long, surely. Besides, he doubted anyone would miss his presence much. Immediately, he cast away this thought, scorning himself for such self-pity. He despised his habitual depression, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Maybe – no, certainly – if he had more reasons in his life to be happy, things would be different. But the only person in the world who could make him happy seemed utterly beyond his reach, as untouchable as the sun, or the stars and moon.
Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. It was only small, the sound of a footstep. Cairbre immediately got to his feet, his hand going to the pistol at his waist. But when he turned around, he did not face some unknown hostile enemy, but Guinevere, who stood a little way away, her hand resting against a tree, her expression unreadable. There was something strange, something slightly different, about the way she was looking at him; her eyes were soft but she seemed to curb her expression with restraint, as if she was afraid of smiling. Cairbre remained standing in the same spot for a few moments, although he yearned to go forward, when suddenly, they both started towards each other at the same time. It was Guinevere who brought her footsteps to a halt, with a small laugh, as Cairbre closed the gap between them.
“I thought I would come and look for you,” Guinevere said, as if in explanation. “You’d been gone quite a while. I… I was worried.” She lifted her slender shoulders a little, the gesture almost half a shrug, before she let them drop. She smiled hesitantly at Cairbre, nodding at his wet hair. “I see you’ve been able to cool down – I can’t say the same for the crew. They continually complain about the heat. One would think they’d be used to the Caribbean by now.”
Cairbre nodded, not knowing which remark to reply to first. He was distracted by the way Guinevere tucked back a strand of red hair behind her ear. He knew that he would never cease to marvel at how lovely she was. Not being able to tell her exactly how he felt was like torture; it was the same every day, having to conceal his feelings. How many more years could he keep it up? “You didn’t need to worry,” he said, finally, with a smile. “I just came across this pool, and passed some time here. It’s very peaceful – I didn’t notice the time passing.” He paused, searching for more words. Guinevere waited, seemingly patiently, even though she was hanging on his every word. Cairbre took a small breath, before continuing, gazing directly into her eyes. “If my absence concerned you, please forgive me.” Had she been very worried? Had she feared he might not come back? He so wanted to know the answers to these questions.
Guinevere smiled at him. She had feared that some harm might have befallen him, and was so relieved that he stood here before her perfectly safe. Although she would never admit it to herself, where Cairbre was concerned her emotions were vulnerable. She cared for him more than she could fathom or say. “Well,” she said, “it’s a good thing I found you, because we’re starting work again soon. I could use an extra pair of hands.” Her smile widened a little with mirth. It was so like her, to make a lighthearted comment during an emotionally charged moment. Somehow, she was afraid of her own feelings – it was so peculiar, how the most daring of captains could brave the seas, risk her life every day, and yet fear love.
Cairbre gave a tiny laugh. “I suppose you could,” he said, softly. “Because both you and I know Rosalind will find a way of getting out of helping with the repairs one way or another.”
Guinevere nodded with the smallest of laughs. Another pause followed; many things remained unsaid in this moment, and Cairbre longed to fill the silence with words, words he badly needed to say. But before he could speak, to his surprise, Guinevere reached out and very gently brushed a drop of water from his cheek with her fingertip. Her touch was so soft that Cairbre wondered if he had simply imagined it. But no; as Guinevere’s cheeks flushed with warmth he realised that it had happened. “I’m sorry,” she said, her laughter a little rushed, “but it was just sitting there, I had to brush it away. But look, you’re covered with water droplets. Why did I choose that one?” The more she said, the more embarrassed she seemed to become. It was so unlike Guinevere, but then, Cairbre so often seemed to bring out her bashful side.
“Thank you anyway,” Cairbre said, smiling. His heart rhythm was wild as he observed her, and how she fidgeted with the stray curl of her hair, which had fallen back out of place. For a small moment, she closed her eyes, willing herself to behave normally and rationally, before opening them again. She did not want to put the pieces of the puzzle together and ask herself exactly why it was she felt so disarmed. The reason was standing here right in front of her, and he was looking devastatingly handsome, too.
The silence continued. Cairbre slowly reached out and brushed the strand of Guinevere’s auburn hair back into place, behind her ear. As he withdrew his hand, his fingertips lightly grazed her cheekbone. Guinevere looked up at him, her blue eyes shining. One more moment passed, and then another, before suddenly she forced herself to take a step back, and adopted a careless grin.
“Well,” she said, a little too loudly, “we’d better be getting back to the ship. There is work to be done, you know.” She turned, and looked over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
It was almost as if the moments that had passed between them had never happened. Cairbre understood. Guinevere was afraid; afraid of being weak, of recognising her feelings for him. But as far as he knew, she had no feelings for him, at least, none that went beyond the boundaries of friendship. For a long time now he had believed she’d never love him, and her behaviour now only made him believe it even more. But the simple fact was that she did, even though neither of them knew it.
As she disappeared through the trees, his head dropped, and he cast his hand over his face. The expression in his eyes was desolate and filled with longing as he lifted his head. He was reminded suddenly of the dream he’d had last night. He’d dreamt that Guinevere had told him she loved him.
_________________
~~Siggy by Lembas~~
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Post subject: Posted: January 26th, 2011, 6:14 pm |
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Joined: 13 June 2007
Posts: 8115
Location: Asleep Somewhere... Anywhere
Country: 
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[Okie dokie... a tad disturbing but the first is a capture of some stuff Lothy and I have talked somewhat about happening at the end of BOAP where cole and 'drea get in this insane relationship that's a little possessive and obsessive.  cole might seem a little darker than normal but that's cause he has matured a lot since the beginning of BOAP and I think there's still some Cole-ish moments in there.
The other prompt is somewhere in the fictional future just for fun... I hope Goldy doesn't mind that I godmoded Angel and Eve just a tad.  Honestly, I sorta envision Eve and Henry's relationship as always a tad strained just 'cause of how they met but Angel... seems like she and Henry would have more of a confiding, closer brother-sister thing going on.]
Prompt #6: Obsession
Cole's dark eyes were locked on Andrea as they sat across from each other. The ship swayed to and fro on the tranquil dark seas, causing the food on the ancient round table to move ever so slightly to the right and then back to the left. The lantern swinging above the table cast an eerie light around the room. However, the way it illuminated 'Drea's features made him desire her even more. His heart thudded within him for her beauty and perfection. He looked down on his food, attempting to concentrate upon it instead of her, but he had to face it: the food was no where near as appetizing as she.
Looking back up he caught her eye momentarily but the silence in the cabin still reined - neither said a thing. Mentally, Cole wondered what he was doing acting like such a possessed fool but… he was a possessed fool. Not a thought went through his mind that did not involve her. That was how it had been ever since he had saved her from the gallows that fine Port Royal morning and run away with her. The more time they spent together the more they seemed to sink into an increasingly obsessive and passionate relationship of which neither of them seemed particularly discontented to be in.
As he thought back he wondered how he even got here. The boy from Port Royal seemed a stranger to him now… a very innocent and different man. He frowned, focusing downward, trying to envision the pain he caused his family in disappearing with a pirate but, truth be told, he didn’t exactly care. Alarmingly, he cared more about his own happiness. For once he was actually truly happy... wasn't he? When he saw ‘Drea once again he was overwhelmed with jealousy that he had ever allowed Hector Barbossa to call her "his". He was overwhelmed with the desire to have her always and... he was always overwhelmed with the thought "what if he lost her?" so... was he truly happy?
Prompt #7: Dreams
A young woman with light, tumbling brown locks lies in a rich four poster bed. One side of the bed’s drapes have been pulled aside so she can peek over at the sleeping child lying in the crib next to her. The room is simple but comfortable and the window looks out over the slaves’ quarters and the forest behind them. The trees rise tall and the colors in them are of only the most intense reds, oranges and browns as the summer expires into an early winter.
The woman lying on the bed, hair amassed around her like a halo is extremely pale and her eyes are lifeless. Her arms limp, never again to reach for the whimpering babe lying wrapped warmly in a blanket. Her features are calm and her tear-stained, reddened eyes will shed tears no longer. Her dreams are no doubt sweet as she has moved on from one world to the next - the better one, the best one.
Quite suddenly, the bed begins filling with dirt and worms, covering the woman’s lifeless features and devouring them. The baby begins to wail, unattended and uncared for, lost in an endless drift of dirt. A man stands to the side, seemingly wondering if he should help the babe or go along his way. He eventually moves on but looks back often, seeming to doubt his decision to leave the infant behind. The babe, now suddenly grown into a young child, reaches out towards him but his face contorts into the image of death itself and he vanishes from sight on the stiff wind which blows, tousling the crying child’s hair. The boy screams in horror at the sight, lost in the darkness which is rapidly closing in around him, threatening to suffocate him. Something reaches out for him, grabs him and he hears Lord Beckett’s voice, looking down his hands are covered in blood. Blood is rushing from everywhere. It’s soaking him but he can’t get away from it …
Henry flew up in bed so quickly his head later ached. He looked around the moonlit room, feeling sweat soaking his bedclothes and his heart beating inside of him. For a moment he still felt like that lad, darkness closing in all around with death and blood. He frantically searched the room with his eyes. Nothing. It had only been a dream. Relief swept over his aching body. He reached over and lit the candle on the bedside table, holding it up and taking in the familiar surroundings. Swinging his legs out of the bed, he left his room and, walking down the hallway, he glanced in at Eve’s room. She seemed to be sleeping soundly. He was envious. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. The nightmares would never end. Sometimes he wondered if it was payback for all the merciless things he had done in years past. He frowned and moved on, sitting in a chair and deciding to read.
Just moments later he quickly glanced up, hearing a soft rustling noise. He saw Angel looking down at him with concern. She observed that this was the sixth night in a row he had gotten up and she voiced her concern. Henry suddenly felt himself open up. His heart longed to confide in someone.
_________________ Chase a couple hearts, we could leave 'em in shreds
Meet me in the gutter, make the devil your friend
Just remember what I said, cause it isn't over yet
Get.Lost.In.The.Dark.To.Find.Yourself
-sig by Loafers-
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Post subject: Posted: January 26th, 2011, 6:17 pm |
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Joined: 13 June 2007
Posts: 8115
Location: Asleep Somewhere... Anywhere
Country:
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[Okie dokie... a tad disturbing but the first is a capture of some stuff Lothy and I have talked somewhat about happening at the end of BOAP where cole and 'drea get in this insane relationship that's a little possessive and obsessive. cole might seem a little darker than normal but that's cause he has matured a lot since the beginning of BOAP and I think there's still some Cole-ish moments in there.
The other prompt is somewhere in the fictional future just for fun... I hope Goldy doesn't mind that I godmoded Angel and Eve just a tad. Honestly, I sorta envision Eve and Henry's relationship as always a tad strained just 'cause of how they met but Angel... seems like she and Henry would have more of a confiding, closer brother-sister thing going on.]
Prompt #6: Obsession
Cole's dark eyes were locked on Andrea as they sat across from each other. The ship swayed to and fro on the tranquil dark seas, causing the food on the ancient round table to move ever so slightly to the right and then back to the left. The lantern swinging above the table cast an eerie light around the room. However, the way it illuminated 'Drea's features made him desire her even more. His heart thudded within him for her beauty and perfection. He looked down on his food, attempting to concentrate upon it instead of her, but he had to face it: the food was no where near as appetizing as she.
Looking back up he caught her eye momentarily but the silence in the cabin still reined - neither said a thing. Mentally, Cole wondered what he was doing acting like such a possessed fool but… he was a possessed fool. Not a thought went through his mind that did not involve her. That was how it had been ever since he had saved her from the gallows that fine Port Royal morning and run away with her. The more time they spent together the more they seemed to sink into an increasingly obsessive and passionate relationship of which neither of them seemed particularly discontented to be in.
As he thought back he wondered how he even got here. The boy from Port Royal seemed a stranger to him now… a very innocent and different man. He frowned, focusing downward, trying to envision the pain he caused his family in disappearing with a pirate but, truth be told, he didn’t exactly care. Alarmingly, he cared more about his own happiness. For once he was actually truly happy... wasn't he? When he saw ‘Drea once again he was overwhelmed with jealousy that he had ever allowed Hector Barbossa to call her "his". He was overwhelmed with the desire to have her always and... he was always overwhelmed with the thought "what if he lost her?" so... was he truly happy?
Prompt #7: Dreams
A young woman with light, tumbling brown locks lies in a rich four poster bed. One side of the bed’s drapes have been pulled aside so she can peek over at the sleeping child lying in the crib next to her. The room is simple but comfortable and the window looks out over the slaves’ quarters and the forest behind them. The trees rise tall and the colors in them are of only the most intense reds, oranges and browns as the summer expires into an early winter.
The woman lying on the bed, hair amassed around her like a halo is extremely pale and her eyes are lifeless. Her arms limp, never again to reach for the whimpering babe lying wrapped warmly in a blanket. Her features are calm and her tear-stained, reddened eyes will shed tears no longer. Her dreams are no doubt sweet as she has moved on from one world to the next - the better one, the best one.
Quite suddenly, the bed begins filling with dirt and worms, covering the woman’s lifeless features and devouring them. The baby begins to wail, unattended and uncared for, lost in an endless drift of dirt. A man stands to the side, seemingly wondering if he should help the babe or go along his way. He eventually moves on but looks back often, seeming to doubt his decision to leave the infant behind. The babe, now suddenly grown into a young child, reaches out towards him but his face contorts into the image of death itself and he vanishes from sight on the stiff wind which blows, tousling the crying child’s hair. The boy screams in horror at the sight, lost in the darkness which is rapidly closing in around him, threatening to suffocate him. Something reaches out for him, grabs him and he hears Lord Beckett’s voice, looking down his hands are covered in blood. Blood is rushing from everywhere. It’s soaking him but he can’t get away from it …
Henry flew up in bed so quickly his head later ached. He looked around the moonlit room, feeling sweat soaking his bedclothes and his heart beating inside of him. For a moment he still felt like that lad, darkness closing in all around with death and blood. He frantically searched the room with his eyes. Nothing. It had only been a dream. Relief swept over his aching body. He reached over and lit the candle on the bedside table, holding it up and taking in the familiar surroundings. Swinging his legs out of the bed, he left his room and, walking down the hallway, he glanced in at Eve’s room. She seemed to be sleeping soundly. He was envious. He hadn’t slept well in weeks. The nightmares would never end. Sometimes he wondered if it was payback for all the merciless things he had done in years past. He frowned and moved on, sitting in a chair and deciding to read.
Just moments later he quickly glanced up, hearing a soft rustling noise. He saw Angel looking down at him with concern. She observed that this was the sixth night in a row he had gotten up and she voiced her concern. Henry suddenly felt himself open up. His heart longed to confide in someone.
_________________ Chase a couple hearts, we could leave 'em in shreds
Meet me in the gutter, make the devil your friend
Just remember what I said, cause it isn't over yet
Get.Lost.In.The.Dark.To.Find.Yourself
-sig by Loafers-
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