Thought of the Rose

She's dying and she can never escape, but can she at least be saved?

 

Love…such a strange mysterious thing. It is filled of misunderstanding, pain, longing, and lies. One is always unsure, always tired, always…miserable. Can such be worth so much that it is worth the pain and suffering? Understanding love is never possible, understanding the one that your heart loves is rare, and understanding the source of it all only confuses one to the point that it’s never fair. All except for those who say, “Leave it at love.” Maybe people desire love because it’s the one constant, the one feeling that carries through for them…

Love…yes, it is indeed a strange mysterious thing. For why does it hurt so much when it breaks your heart, surely as it had rooted there against our will? And why do all say, “the one”, when there is not one for only those of a long forgotten past are the select few who ever said, “I found the one”? Will I find my answer?

 

A young woman rode down the trail on the back of a magnificent white stallion. The hood of her cloak just barely above her brows, threatening to cover her burning bright brown eyes, filled of determination as she stared with intense concentration at the road ahead, the dirt trail leading away from home. She was racing to something, away from someone, for a memory that suffocated her. She was racing back to a past, to a freedom that had been long forgotten…until it revived yesterday.

 

They were a strange group on the road, a pack of a mysterious bunch. One was a traveling monk, two were slayers, and one was a young woman with the powers of the sacred priestesses. Though they should be revered and hailed for their services, all she saw of them was a perverted monk who excessively womanized, a brute who was too rash with his sword and dumbly rough  with his tongue, a fighter who really needed a better taste in men, and a young naïve schoolgirl who had no business nor a mind for war.  She raced by them, not caring that they ran after her, the brute angry at her nerve to show such disrespect  and the fighter who was upset for who knows what.

They surprised her, chasing her for miles. How did they possess such stamina? She stopped by a lake, her horse trotting a few steps as they fully caught up to her. Watching them with cold indifferent eyes, she was silent. The monk, schoolgirl, and female slayer kept their distance from her, but the male slayer stomped his way to her and started yelling at her. The cloak hid her from his sight, her identity from his knowledge, something she didn’t want to lose. For the first time in her life, she had been yelled at, not lectured, not pleaded with, not cried at, but yelled at with anger and cussing as furiously as she had never been allowed to hear. From the shadow of her cloak, she smiled down at him, a cold hollow smile that she knew no other.

“Ijiyo, that’s enough,” called out the young woman.

“Yes, we should rest,” commented the monk.

The other slayer was not appeased. Her arms folded over her chest, she rolled her eyes as what she had obviously anticipated set in motion. The monk walked over to the horse and stared up at the cloaked woman. He had an eye for beauty, but this woman was hidden. How could he know what she looked like? She was weary of him instantly, and so was her horse.

They were not as she first perceived, offering her food even though she had been the one to upset them and lead them a long distance. Talking with her, they told her of the world, but she wouldn’t dare ask. Everything they were saying, she already knew. What she wanted to hear was of their lives, of the places they had gone, of their families, of their childhoods. That’s what she wanted to know once again.

They never asked her name or to take off the cloak. She would’ve thought they would be reluctant to sit with her if she didn’t, but when she refused, they let I pass and still asked her company. That made her smile, a warmer smile that felt strange on her lips, a feeling inside her that she had forgotten years ago. This is what she was running to, what she had wished to relive and not be haunted, suffocated by the missing sensation.

 

Her peace with them couldn’t last long. The guards found her and forced her back, but she brought them with her, not wanting to let go of her new friends, of the people that once again let her smile and give her the happiness that had been taken from her reach. At least, they had tried. At least, they understood her and supported her. As they rode the way back, more her riding and her friends walking, they comforted her and reassured her that she was fine. She was far from fine.

They didn’t know why she ran away, but they told her stories of how they came together, how they themselves had run away as well. The monk was insensitive the moment he stepped into the walls of the grand palace, her prison. He berated her with hidden insults and exclamations that made her cringe and shy away from him. She wanted to kill him, except that was against her honor. Then she was grateful, as to her surprise, both the slayers pounded him for her, shutting him up and reminding her that she had friends supporting her.

This was the home that bound her within a prison filled with dark oppressors and enemies who smiled sweetly with deceit. How could she ever be free of this hell disguised be walls of marble and luxury? How could she ever escape them, the ones who killed her slowly and sweetly? How could she ever escape the one that turned on her and forgot her? Why couldn’t he suffer too? Or was it that she just didn’t see it?

 

They knew now, the one who was killing her, from the inside as he had shattered her heart and now kills her with his words. He was once her one escape, her one friend, her one ally. Why didn’t he figure it out? That man and her both lived in the same world, under the same circumstances, so why didn’t he figure it out. She was cold because they molded her that way. She had to enter the court and live under the unspoken laws of court women because her father would accept her no other way. His family was of the court, he was under the same circumstances…and he wonders why she turned out the way she did, why she changed. Was it not the same for him? Was he forced to stop being her friend? Did he have to change too and become a true man of the court? Every word, she heard every word that he answered to her friends and every word caused fissures in the dam that held her tears. Then he broke the dam with one final word and she ran. Their screams behind her would not call her back, not him and not her friends. That was the last she could handle. His words, the court, her loneliness, her emptiness, the weak support of her friends, they couldn’t call her back, they couldn’t heal her…they couldn’t save her.

 

I-I remember…I remember that whenever I cried and ran away, he took me away from here, from my prison, from it all. When I was sad, he gave me a white rose and told me tears of crystal should fall on a rose, not from the real one. When I was angry, he made me angrier and angrier until I would burst out laughing. When I was happy, he would listen and make me laugh to keep me happy. He always told me that I was his girl, that I was his love, that I…was the only one he saw…

 

She watched as he flirted with all of the woman, a crowd flocking around him, in the streets, in the palace, anywhere. Tears threatened her eyes and she crept back further into the shadows. He said he cared for her, that he only loved her, so what was with all the women? Why did he leave her behind? It’s true, they had changed, but did he have to abandon her as well? It couldn’t be that his father forced him, his father did not believe in restraining or binding his son. It couldn’t be etiquette, his mother had taught him basics and said to be free as long as he judged right. So what was it? This is how he is…she had to accept that, like her friends said, like he had said. When he changed, did he have to forget her? When he changed…did he have to leave her too?

 

She stared at the sheathe, black engraved with gold, a wonderful gift from her father…to her older brother. He was dead now, killed by a sorcerer. Just another one to leave her behind. Drawing out the dagger, she stared at the sharpened blade, black and never tainted with the red of blood. That would change.

Cold hollow eyes matched the black meaning of the dagger as she retreated into the shadows, into the night that would welcome her. There was no hesitance in her steps, no fear or anger or sadness in her eyes. She stood proud like the princess she was, hiding the calling dagger within the folds of her dress and walking down the halls with an intense  certainty that no one could question her of.

Cloaked, she had sheathed the dagger and mounted her brother’s black war stallion. She rode out into the night, bypassing the guards who thought her a simple messenger and being ignored by the citizens of the city who dared not to think twice that she was the princess. As she rode by though, whomever did catch sight of her eyes, she saw them shiver and that confirmed what she had known for too long. Her eyes were empty, hollow and cold. And beside her, Death rode on his great black steed, smiling at her and waiting to take her with him. He would have the pleasure of that journey soon enough.

Stopping by a large lake just outside the city walls, she slowed the horse to a stop. Her brother’s horse must’ve figured that either Death had been riding beside them or of her intention, making a sad whine as he nudged her, urging her to mount him once more and return to the palace. For the first time that night, she looked up into the eyes of the stallion and the beast silenced itself. All around her, the night was calm with anticipation. And beside her, Death was smiling with the same emptiness that she had.

As silent as the night, she pulled out the dagger and let it gleam in the moonlight. Holding the damned blade  at her side, she dropped the sheath, freeing her hand to pull off her shoes and throw them aside. With one last glance at the stallion that was pleading with her to live, she smiled with sympathy at the beast and turned back, untying her cloak and leaving it on the forest floor. Her dress rustled with the sorrowful breeze as she waded two steps into the lake, feeling its cold waters bite at her and then calm around her ankles. It welcomed her and waited with the rest of the forest. She smiled, but no tears were to sully her eyes.

One glance at the moon, she raised the dagger, fixing its position in her hand, and held it to her bosom. Death embraced her, supporting her and placing his hand over hers on the dagger. Silence and a true understanding passed between them. She needed him to drive her hand, to bury the dark blade into her bosom. Following his lead, she took two steady steps forward, feeling the water sway her dress as it rose only a bit more above her ankles, cool against the flesh of her lower calf. Smiling peacefully, she eased back and Death complied. With a smile and a tear, he plunged the dark blade into her crying heart and ended the emptiness that haunted her.

 

Thank you…

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[Ruby Moon]

somehow i am smiling as i read the ending...