The Song of the Nightingale Will Linger On.....

People love stories. Reading? Maybe not particularly so, but everyone loves a good story. What mother has never read to her children at night? Tucking their little bodies under the covers, giving their little minds a sweet blissful world, if only for a lingering moment, in the hopes that it can fend off all of those dreaded nightmares until the morning arrives…..

Watching everything from afar, you learn a few things. Every woman wants to find her prince, and these “fairy tales”, these “disney stories”-well, they do in fact appal me. They appal me because they always involve these stereotypically beautiful “princesses”, who have such horrible life experiences, and wind up, in the end, being saved by some man, a prince or the so called “knight in shining armor”. That, however, is not the true story of a princess, nor of a prince, not a queen or king. These stories insult me, although, being from a different realm, I suppose that would be rather obvious. I won’t fret much on details, or maybe I will, always was a flitty little woman, my husband always says….

Muortum is the realm of Night, of Death. It is the opposite of ‘Vietellam’, or the realm of Life, and Day. To put this in a simple way, since you who are reading are probably of the realm of Vietellam, Muortum is the place where everything that is not completely human is forced to stay. Some call it the “Land of Nightmares”, and to an extent, it is true. Light, in excess, burns and sears the flesh of it’s citizens, “day” is truly the pitch black of night. The things that go bump in the night, they belong in Muortum. Evil things lurk there, demons….monsters...the ‘dark things’....and sometimes? Well, sometimes those things slip out, into the world of Vietellam. But you good people have nothing to fear of course! We have loyal soldiers, Hunters, Slayers, that will pursue to the end of the earth those horrid, evil things. For you see, people are people anywhere you go, and just because the people of Muortum live in darkness, that does not make us evil. Darkness is not necessarily evil. I will teach my children that….I do believe….yes, yes I will…..Every day I will tell them “you are not evil…..you will never be evil...”.

But oh yes! I do beg you to pardon my flighty mind, I was going to tell you a story wasn’t I? Yes, that’s what It was. I was going to tell you the true story of a Queen, and her one true love, of her lovely little children….and of the true story of a princess, the story of a little girl who will one day change the world. That is what a princess is….a woman who, even without a man beside her, will change the world, will fight for what she believes….for what she loves….A young woman who, through a broken past and many crippling blows, will never back down, will never let go, will never lean on another to do what she can do herself….. “A princess is strong.” I remember telling her. “A princess is kind, and considerate, but she will never waver to fight for what it is that she believes…”

Now How is it that a story begins once again? How did it go, how did it go…..

Oh yes! Once upon a time…..

. . . . .

Once upon a time there was a grand King, in a land of immortals, in the land of darkness. He had reigned supreme for many years, and his people revered and respected him, perhaps even feared him. And his name, was Lord Death. Or at least, as it goes, that was his figurehead name.

HIs true name was Vincent Cromwell, and I know this for reasons you will soon find out. He was respected by people, and yet he never truly connected to them, he was never really surrounded by people. They were afraid of him after all, the most powerful man in all of Muortum, it is a bit daunting, isn’t it? They revered him as a god of sorts, and they would never dare approach him. But then, there were dark times when I first met Vincent Cromwell…..dark times indeed….and me? Well, I had nowhere else left to run…..

But right to Death’s door.

It was the dead of night, which is to say, the middle of the “day”, and the sky was raining down in thunderous sheets like the wrath of god himself, on the night I first met Vincent Cromwell. Even for us, a night like that was terrifying. One could hardly see the hand in front of their face, and the wind whipped ones clothes in such a way it felt as though they would be torn right from your back. I was….I was not like most citizens of Muortum. In fact….most of them despised me, despised my kind entirely….because my kind was of the sort that could freely pass between Muortum and Vietellam, and the mortals...they wouldn’t notice. And for the most part….they wouldn’t care either. Because my clan? We were a clan of healers, and for the longest time we, the Nightingales, had been an asset to both worlds. Nobody knows what anomalie first created the healers, be it a special mix of witch and mortal in our blood, or just a blessing from god? The mystery has never been unravelled.

Neither has the mystery of why the people of Muortum suddenly turned on the healers, on that dark and stormy night….

 Some will say it was jealousy, others say it was undeniable wrath, and yet still others   say that it was equal exchange, that the ones who had been “accepted” by both worlds would finally have to face a “well deserved” end.

But me? What do I think?

I think that there was only a seed of evil amid that mob...But that seed took charge….and it spread too far….too far to even pray to stop….

Running, and running far, as far away as I could ever hope to run. My heartbeat pounding in my ears and just praying, praying that it wouldn’t give out. Did I know where I was running? Absolutely not. How could I have when I could hardly see a foot in front of me? But I could still hear….I could hear the cackling of witches I had once called friends as they shrieked in malicious laughter….I could hear the werewolves howling as their red eyes and keen noses followed the trail of my blood, even through this accursed rain...I could hear the vampires flapping their wings against the rain as they tried to follow me through aerial pursuit, shrieking with those shrill echoing voices that seemed to oh-so-clearly portray that craving for blood….I could hear it all. Even above the sound of barraging rain and my own terrified heart pounding, with it’s own sort of loud death march, in my ears.

I was terrified. My clan, my family, all we had done was simply return from Vietellam and go into the old inn on Willowcreek Road to inquire about staying the night, it was not an odd occurrence for us, to do such a thing. We were nomads of sorts, moving between two worlds, we never really settled down. We went where we were needed. We were small in numbers, a clan of only sixteen women, four of them with small children, eight of them with husbands. We were not strong, nor threatening, nor did we ever go anywhere looking for a fight. But then...that was also what made us such easy targets. My mother, Ceres, had taken the lead, asking the kind old woman about rooms for the lot of us….none of us really noticed when they started to discreetly close in on us. The inn was already packed… we should have been suspicious but….that just wasn’t in our nature.

To make a grim scene short, they were slaughtered- the only way I managed to make it out was by crashing through one of the brittle windows- But I had cut the back of my ankle in the process. It was bleeding a worrisome amount, and it probably would have hurt, had I not been running for my life. I had hoped the torrents of rain would wash away the scent of my blood, the trail of it….but to no avail. Werewolves have impeccable noses….Vampires always know where to find blood…

My legs aching, my eyes straining to see a thing, I slam into a large black door. Everywhere I turn I can only hear catcalls and shrill laughter. My heart is beating so loudly, I feel that surely it would give out. ‘Any minute now...’ I told myself, ‘Any minute now...I will be no more...’. I had almost accepted that I was going to die that night, with my back pressed against that sturdily locked door that would not budge no matter how hard I yanked and shrieked…. I had given up hope on ever returning to a normal life, of ever seeing the light of day (or the moon) again….

And then….well….then a miracle happened. And I tell it had to be a miracle, to this very day I still believe that it was.

Because the door opened.

The locked door that my back had been so furiously pressed against, it opened. Light flooded the porch, or what I had stumbled upon that I now noticed was a porch, now that there was light to see by. A light that could at least filter through the heavy downpour. I did not know if the person behind me was one of them, and would simply drive a knife into my back, or whether they truly were friendly, but I figured facing one person was considerably better than facing a ravenous mob- wouldn’t you think? At least- in my deluded rat-trapped-in-a-corner state of mind….I certainly hoped so….

“What is going on here?” A low voice asks. It is not loud, not shrill, and yet, not mellow either. It was the sort of voice one could never truly describe. It had a sort of power that, try as one might, one could never quite determine what quality gave it such power. And that is the voice that silenced the bloodthirsty crowd. Silenced them like a kicked puppy, like a child that knew that they had earned themselves a rather severe scolding. Looking back, I smile at the memory of that blissful silence, it almost makes me want to laugh. But right then, in that moment?...I did just the opposite.

I started to cry.

I have no shame in admitting that I cried, who in their right mind wouldn’t? After seeing so much death and being chased blindly for god-knows-how-far…...I cried. I didn’t cry as much as I would have wanted to, because the adrenaline in my chest was screeching at me that I should be prepared to run at a second’s notice, but tears did fall from my face, and my lower lip trembled something awful. I felt so weak…..crying in front of those who wanted to kill me…..Mother hadn’t cried….Father hadn’t…...even my little brother, who wasn’t so little anymore…. Theo, who I always called “Teddy”....who I would always call “Teddy” from the day he was born….He hadn’t cried. True, he was nearly twenty years old, but in my mind he would always be my little brother...that little boy in our father’s coat that would hang off of him in folds as he ran around laughing…..he would always be “Teddy” to me, no matter how old he had gotten….And now Teddy was gone and...he hadn’t cried one single tear. So what gave me the right to cry now?

Next I knew strong arms were around me and I was pulled inside of the warmth of the stranger’s house.

“Return to your homes. This will be dealt with in turn.” The voice addressed the mob, and as the door closed, that same door that I had previously been trying to claw open in such desperation, as it closed I chanced a look up at my savior…

And my heart nearly stopped.

Everybody knew that face, that pale face that could only be described as ‘Pale as death’, dark sleek hair tickled his chin in a messy but somehow chivalrous and handsome fashion, and there were those eyes...those eyes that always seemed to be on every newspaper, on every paper the students of Muortum would turn in when they were assigned an essay on the history of this realm…..I was looking at the face of Lord Death himself. And I must admit, I was surprised that those brown eyes seemed to have a warm glint that photos just didn’t seem to capture. It comforted me, if only a slight amount, to know that there was some aspect of him that the cameras had not captured. Perhaps even, I prayed wishfully, another side to him that the world did not yet know.

“You are hurt.” he states this numbly, and yet with some underlying tone, if you dug deep enough, of compassion. (Later, I would come to summarize him as ‘A mess of jumbled up, gobbledy gook, make-no-sense contradictions’. ) That night he dressed the wound on my ankle and gave me clean, dry clothes to wear. I was a bit shocked to see that such a powerful man would dress the ankle of one of his subordinates himself, and even stoke the fire with his own hands. When I asked him why, his only reply was ‘I don’t have servants. I like to do things myself.’. After stoking the fire, he came to my side and looked me right in the eyes. And, try as I might not to, he coerced me into recounting exactly what had happened that night, from the massacre of my clan and my precious “Teddy”, right down to how I ended up on his doorstep with a hurt ankle.

“Your name?” He asks, using a soft voice with me, as though I may just fall apart if he spoke just a hair louder. I imagine I really must have looked something awful….

“S-Saphira Nightingale…” I sniff, biting down at my trembling lower lip. Even saying my own last name hurts more than words could ever describe. I break into wretched, ugly sobs- and I feel arms around me, awkward, inexperienced arms trying to give comfort when it is clear they have probably never even touched another living person in years.

“Well my name is Vincent Cromwell….” He pauses for a moment before he continues, “And I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you now…”

And the funny thing?.....I can still remember that voice as I cried myself to sleep….

. . .

And so, you people want a fairy tale? The sort unheard of before? The sort that has not yet been told? The sort with an end unlike any other? Well, just listen to me, and you will have your story.

So years passed, and Vincent and I married. A wedding truly worthy of royal status, and it was, of course, seeing as he was the Lord, and I was his Lady. He was my KIng, and I his Queen. We loved each other more than words could express, a true love that could only be expressed in the arms of one another. He had saved me...and later, he told me that I had also saved him...I had saved him from the man he used to be...the cold, frightening man that people would never dare approach. He had never thought himself capable of affection. He adored my flighty, clumsy ways, and I adored his awkward, yet strong persona….We made each other laugh….we complemented each other….could anything have been better…?

Well, as it turns out, yes. Because we had children. A son, whom we named Silas. A sweet and brave boy, always eager to help, always smiling….And when Silas was around four years of age, we had another child. A daughter this time, and she had eyes of the brightest blue...she had my eyes...her father’s pale skin, and her hair…...her hair was dark as a raven’s wing. She was a bubbly little thing. Inventive. Playful. Always looking for a way to make people smile. And her name? Her name is Aurora…..Aurora Nightingale….

Our children were the most precious things….they were perfect. Silas, always bragging and flaunting and saying he would never let anything happen to his little baby sister, and Aurora? She would just laugh, and laugh, and laugh…she was always smiling in those days…..

On the night that it happened, Vincent was out on business. He, of course, had duties to perform as the ruler of a realm. I was used to him being gone a few days out of the month. At the time, Silas was seven years of age, and Aurora had just turned three- and she was so proud of herself, she could hold up her little fingers and squeal “Three!” with the biggest smile on her face. Sometimes it wasn’t even three fingers she was holding up, but we didn’t tell her that. Even if she was wrong, she would argue with her limited vocabulary until you were just so fed up you admitted that she was. Silas often got the brunt of this, with her only defense being a repetitive “na-uh, na-uh, na-uh, na-uh, na-UH!”. It was so funny to watch them argue like that, Silas trying to use logic on a three year old…..just the thought of it makes me smile all over again….

That night Aurora had wanted to sleep in my bedroom, and since Vincent wasn’t there I had permitted it, In fact, I thought I would enjoy the company in the otherwise empty room. I had just finished reading her her bedtime story, (Silas was going through that phase where he was “too old” for bedtime stories) I can remember it, crystal clear. She wanted me to read her favorite story, “The Cat and the Doll”, A tale about a sad little porcelain doll and a cat that went on all sorts of adventures, often she was asleep by the time I had finished reading to her. That was the case on that night too, she had already fallen asleep…..

I closed the book softly and kissed her forehead, when the sound of shattering glass disturbed the peaceful silence. I jumped upright as Aurora opened her eyes, her little lips parting in a little yawn. I pushed a finger to my lips, and she seemed to understand. I crept out into the hallway, and what I saw disturbed me beyond belief….

There were crimson robed figures, entering through one of the large stained glass windows that they had obviously shattered to gain entry. But them? They didn’t disturb me nearly as much as the beings that accompanied them. Growling beasts of shadow that I had never seen before….they seemed to radiate an aura of evil….No, not darkness. I mean evil….Evil that sends such a terrible shiver up your spine….that leaves your blood running cold….I was so terrified….

But I snatched up my daughter before they would find her, and I pushed her face into my breast so she wouldn’t see. I would get my little girl to safety, and find Silas...Silas would be in his room….in the east wing...that was very far….I would have to drop off Aurora some place safe along the way...she would only slow me down….

I slipped out into the hallway quietly, and began to run. I had a destination in mind- Aurora’s room was in the tower, and the tower would be safer than any of the other wings. It was a blind hope, but maybe those creatures wouldn’t be able to fit up the stairwell, maybe the thick oak door would be solid enough to keep them out….

But as I started to run...those cursed beasts saw me...I heard them starting to pant and run...howling…...snarling….The sounds dragged me back to that day...that day that I ran fast and hard, to save my life…...But this time, there was a new sound, whining. Crying. I had something more to fight for this time….I had my little girl and my son to run for….This was no longer about me. This was about them. This was about making sure they would live to see the next day…

“Mom?” Silas stepped out into the hall, rubbing his eyes. What he had been doing in the west wing? I did not know, and I never found out, to be honest. “Mom, what’s going on?” He asked, his bright red sleeping pants dragging against the marble floor slightly as he shuffled sleepily. I wasted no time asking questions, I grabbed his little arm and shouted urgently.

“Silas, Mommy needs you to run as fast as you can! Run for the tower and we’ll all make it there together, alright!?” I must have sounded hysterical, I know I must have, but he too could hear the howling, the snarling, and he ran with me, hand in hand, my other arm supporting Aurora’s tiny form as she sniffled because of the frightening things she had not even seen yet.

I ran faster than I ever thought I could, So fast that Silas struggled and stumbled to keep up. But even with that pace, the horrible creatures were right on our heels. I could smell something wretched as they pursued us….like burning flesh and sulfur...a putrid smell that made my eyes water….And I knew...I knew in that instant that we were being chased by relentless demons….what else could pursue so relentlessly….give off such an evil air…..leave that scent that permeates the air like a shrill shriek in the dead silence of night….That breath on the back of my neck…..

“Mom! I can’t run anymore!” Silas calls, panting as he stumbled behind again. “I’m going to buy you time...I’m going to let go!”

“No!” I shriek at him, “Don’t you dare talk like that! Hold on and keep running! It’s only a little further!” Tears well up in my eyes as I drag him, his footsteps faltering.

“I’m sorry mom…..I’m going to protect you and Aura….Don’t hate me….” and I can feel his clammy fingers slip out of mine as he falls behind, I falter and look back with a shriek. The wretched creatures have already overwhelmed my poor boy’s form...and all I can hear is the screaming….the screaming that no mother should ever have to bear hearing….

And then a new sound snaps me out of my incredulous torment….my baby boy...my son….Silas…? How could they take my Silas from me with such greedy….such evil intent….

“Brother…?” I hear Aurora, and She looks up before I can push her head back down. I know she sees the blood, I know she hears the screams, I know she must be scared, no, terrified…..”Big Brother….come…..back?” She stretches out her tiny pale hand as I force myself to run again, for her sake. For Silas….So that my boy would not have given up for nothing…..Hearing Aurora calling her brother so hopefully, as only a young child could,....it makes me cry all the harder.

I stumble up the large spiraling staircase to the tower, Aurora peeking over my shoulder and gripping me as tight as she can with her little arms. I can no longer protect her from seeing those horrible creatures….

A blinding pain overwhelms me, exploding from the back of my head and torso as I fumble with the door, I tear it open and slam it shut as quickly as I can- bolting it shut and stumbling back.

But oh the red…..the red is everywhere….I collapse onto the floor….My head….my back…..I feel everything going dark as Aurora shrieks and drags herself from my arms- and then I see her face….and I want to vomit at the sight of it.

Her perfect little face is spattered with the horrible color, the left side of it mutilated beyond recognition, I can hardly even see her blue right eye through the gore...and I know that her left must be gone for good after sustaining such an injury. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I know I am dying, and I know that my little girl will never see the world the same way again...Not in actual sight, or in outlook…..

“Momma…? Don’t sleep….Don’t Sleep….I don’t want you to sleep…” I can see the tears bubbling up from her right eye as she attempts to drag me back into the closet, where we could hide. I don’t even have the strength to stand….

“Aurora…...No….baby, stop…..you need to hide…”

“I won’t hide if you don’t come with me…” She sniffles, still continuing to struggle and drag me. Eventually she grows too weak to continue, and she flops onto the ground. She pulls my head into her lap, an odd comfort- even as the demons howl and pound at her door. Even with my head in her lap, the ground pools red….blood seeping everywhere, bleeding through the white fabric and lace of her night clothes…..

“Momma…? Tell me a story…. don’t go to sleep yet…” She cries desperately. I can hardly hear her….I can hardly hear anything….I start to hum weakly, a tune my own mother used to sing to me...I cannot even tell if it is in tune, my ears are so deaf…….I know not the exact instant that I ceased to breathe….But I know that I died knowing that Vincent would take care of Aurora, even if it was too dangerous for him to do so himself. He would have someone else take care of her…..He would not let her die……

And that is indeed what he did. An odd thing….I have been watching them since that day from so far…..It hurt more than I can bear to watch him wipe away my little girl’s memory, humming to her that sweet tune that should linger on infinitely, It was excruciating to watch him give her away to one of his most trusted soldiers, who had been his guard for years (a certain “Kaylin Aviera”, or “Mistress Kay”) and have her take my daughter away to be trained as one of her kind...a Slayer…. And yet I know that it is better if she does not remember….It is better if she learns to fight…..It is better if she is never haunted by a life before her training….

Because through her- The Song of the Nightingale...It will continue to linger on.

It will not die….so long as she lives.

Is this where this fairy tale ends?...Yes….But at the same time...a different sort of tale is just beginning… And perhaps...at the end of that one....You will find that "Happily Ever After" that you seek....

Author's Note

If you like this, there is actually a story associated with it. It is a prequel of sorts to the novel/series "Eye of the Slayer", it was also written for a short story contest, so I encourage honest feedback ^ ^ Thank you for taking the time to read.

Reviews

[Mittens]

After having a read a number of your works, all from the first person perspective, I wanted to applaud something that you do extremely well that's a tough act for a lot of writers: the tone of first person. From Annalise, to V, to the mother here, you do an incredible job of portraying a completely different character with every story, which is an extremely difficult thing to do.

In regards to this story I think I made a mistake reading it before Eye of the Slayer; I think this would have been much more impactful if I already had a vested interest in Aurora. That's not to say that it doesn't illicit exactly what you were hoping though; it's still a fantastic piece. By the way, you know that advice I've been giving you on the other pieces about details? Things like "Teddy" or Aurora's "Nu uh" are exactly what I'm talking about. Little things like that give us a greater attachment to the characters. Major kudos to you for using little 'hooks' like that.

I know you expressed some concerns about length, but I really don't think you should be worried; this is a perfect size for a short story. Word counts mean nothing next to conveying a story; if you only need three words, only use three, if you need five thousand use five thousand. Your fans are reading your work because they like it, so do whatever you feel like and forget worrying about length.


Excellent work, Red. Looking forward to checking out Eye of the Slayer!

[RedRozeNinja13]

Thank you so much! I do take enjoyment in adding these little "gems and hooks" you've mentioned. I really believe that they help add a sort of sympathizable and relatable aspect to the characters, as well as help "flesh them out" along with the story. There's a running joke between my friends and I after this short story, that "Little Aura, was just as stubborn as grown up Aura", you'll see what I mean. I also appreciate that you've noticed how contrasting the characters all are. For example, Annalise vs Aurora, they are COMPLETELY different. Even I was surprised that I had the capacity to portray them each seperately, or even ALL of my characters seperately without making it seem like I have a "template" or "cookie cutter" aspect to them, as some writers do. They start with the sort of same base tone and personality for each character, and "decorate them" with the story. But I never wanted ANY of my stories to be like that. I wanted each character to have something special about them that the reader could decide if they liked, or despised. None of my characters are made of "the same stuff" or are just masked with a fun story or tragic events, would it surprise you if I said that until recently, I always wrote in third person? I switched to a first person view because I WANTED to show the persona of the character, I wanted to make the reader feel attached, I wanted to break the monotonous tone of third person writing. I'm very elated that you notice the details and contrasting personalities, because they each have their own. And some are VERY different.

I was also wondering what your opinion might be on this short story simply standing on it's own as a short story?

[Mittens]

You know what would be a fantastic test? You need to get some people to read this without them knowing that there's a relationship between it and Eye of the Slayer. I went in with a knowledge of the connection beforehand, so my point of view was a little compromised.

I'm not sure how well it would stand up on it's own. In terms of writing quality, it's strong enough that anyone reading it will find it both enjoyable, as well as enticing to read more works. The general rule for short stories like this is that they shouldn't contain contextual situations that directly impact the novel and this one certainly does. The most famous example of this I can think of is George R. R. Martin's "The Hedge Knight", which is a short story he wrote set in Westeros long before he wrote Game of Thrones, but the storylines never directly connect.

That being said, I really like this one and I think rules are meant to be broken. If you're looking to enter contests with this, I say do it and let the strength of the writing stand on its own. I really like trying to use shorter works like this to drive attention to my more extended ones because it gives people a chance to get to learn the quality of your writing first before investing the time in a book.

Hope this helps you out; I'll let you know as soon I've gotten to more.

[Kevin]

I wonder how many people don't get the Nosferatu picture XD

[EmaleighLynn]

Wow. This is so sad. I wanna cry. I love the perspective here, how we have Aura's mother talking. She's so lovely and sweet... And little Aura is adorable! So cute..... What happened?? Kidding. I'm glad we got to know Saphira a little bit. Another wonderful job, my friend!

[RedRozeNinja13]

How is it as a sort of separate-but-conjoined-short-story-prequel?

[EmaleighLynn]

It's fantastic. While reading it, I actually forgot that I knew the real story! I find myself wondering what happened to Silas, how they got in, why they did that. You are a better writer than I am....

[RedRozeNinja13]

I'm glad you forgot XD BUt is the ending ok, as a separate story of it's own? It is for a short story contest...

[EmaleighLynn]

I know.... I think the ending is great. It has finality, yet it makes you want to read the story that goes with it.

[Silent Wolf]

Holy... Sh*t. This is so sad, it almost made me cry. In some places, it seemed a tad bit fast, but in others, it seemed oh so perfect. I just cannot believe Silas sacrificed his life for his mom and sister, and his mom died anyways. Poor aurora...

[Catherine Frain]

This so sad, but it is wonderful. As I know the current story about Aura, I put myself in the mind-frame that i *didn't* so it carried a more powerful punch. It is sad, but I am glad that Aura had a loving family before this happened to her. And will Aura ever have this revealed to her?

What did happen to Silas?