The Curse of Eternity

Death Four

The Immortal Lord leads the way through a maze of hallways. Desolation pads behind. If not for her fiercely palpitating heart combined with the soft swishing of her dress, he can think himself alone. This is something odd about her and it is not her curse.

No, the curse he can understand. He is cursed 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.

He cares not what his Bride is, only if she'll survive long enough. He wants the pain to end, even for a few moons.

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 and 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 over her about ahead 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'finern's t**s, in his time curses, were all the rage.

What bothers him is the fact heard her heart cease beating and when her blood stopped flowing. Felt it so keenly as his own. He is forever cursed to live off the blood of others; his senses are attuned to beating hearts and the flowing of blood.

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.

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 make 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, 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 brides ever have.

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

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 smokey silver. 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, those 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 brides. I thought kindness could not exist within him.

He welcomes me to my new home and shows me to my rooms. All this time I am under the impression we will be sharing the same room, O'fin, 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? 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 tiled floor, 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 secluded to the inside of my hood, it is pointless to trick me in this way. Heat rises up my spine along with my ire.

My anger lasts for three breaths.

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

My Dyu's, they are gorgeous.

A large canopied bed lays in the center. Veils, same shade of 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 o'frin 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 a flicker. Maybe it was the time of the moons. O'frin, my mood changes faster than the tides when my time of the moons is upon me. Are men 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 and lean against the cool wood letting 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.

A door opens, I think it is the door to the common room. My body freezes. If someone happens to come into my rooms, I would not have sufficient time to reassemble my hood and veil. Then again, I do not think the servants 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.

A conversation ensues, words so feint even my keen hearing cannot make sense of them. A door clicks shut followed by the scuffle of hurried footsteps and another door opening, then snapping shut. I wait a few moments, 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 Mutti's 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 sofa's 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 adorned only with a door.

The third room is completely devoid of any furnishings and rather dusty and stuffy making my nose tingle. 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 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.

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