The Black Rose

Flames shot up around Francesca as she swirled through the dark, heels hitting the floor, tapping out a rhythm of passion and darkness. Her dark skirt billowed out against the flames licking up around her as she gracefully arched her arms, framing her face. A smile crept across it. She was adding another player to this game.

Liam rolled over in his sleep. In his mind's eye the dark, intense lady danced with flames licking up all around her. Images began to form in the flame and smoke, and he cried out in his sleep as he watched his life's dreams smolder and burn around her. But this was all the past. It was the darkness he had grown accustomed to ever since she had left. And then the images rolled away with the smoke and new ones arose, and he saw her. Isabella, with her long hair flying out around her, coming to him. Rage and fire burned his heart. If he could only have her back, he could rebuild all that had been lost.

He woke with a start, the images of his dream burned in his mind. It was a sign that he must bring her back. He remembered well the day she had left. With her power vanished, the city had burned and so had many of the inhabitants. The land could not prosper without her power, so it had become a barren place of swamps and rot and death. And here he stayed in this charred and darkened city, never forsaking the duty commanded onto him. Protect it, and guard the people. And so he had. Faithfully, he had taken over command in her place, gathering the people and saving what he could. For years now, he had combated the darkness, protecting as well as he could in hope that she might return, and with her return, the city would thrive once more.

Yet he could hardly bear to see her. Rage filled him just at the thought of her. Faithless and disloyal. That's what she was he thought, feeling his chest squeeze with anger. He climbed out of his bed, his thick raven black locks falling around a pale, gaunt face. His eyes were deep and grim and his jaw was heavy set with determination.

He marched down to the palace keep, his authority clear in every stride he took.

“Darren,” he barked out, once he was at the doors of the keep, “Call the fire sprites out. Your fair lady Isabella approaches. I want her brought here immediately.”

The progression of the swamps had brought one useful creature. The fire sprites. They were ugly little flying creatures with bright red hair, who pulled up energy from the poisoned land around them, and breathed it out into flame. They were also highly intelligent, and early on, Liam had established communication with them. They helped to protect the city in return of his promise that they would not be harmed and they would be allowed to dwell in the land as they pleased.

The queen of the fire sprites approached him now, her wings, if you could call them that, nothing but a stream of fire, fanning her up into the air.

Aithne was her name.

“You called for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Liam. “I wish for you to command a part of your fiery legion to go out to the edges of this land and wait for a fair lady with long, blonde hair to arrive. I wish for them to take her, by force if necessary, but do not harm her. I need her brought back to here. Her name is Isabella.”

Aithne looked at him calmly: “Your wish is my command, Lord Liam. But may I ask who this lady is?”

“She is the true heir of this land,” said Liam curtly. “I won't have her run off again. She is needed here, and I know she approaches. I can feel it inside. Why I cannot say. But perhaps even she cannot ignore her pull. This is her land, the place where her spirit still lingers.”

Aithne's wings crackled as she shot up into the air, leaving a trail of dissipating flame: “I shall call out my most advanced legion. This is an operation that requires subtlety and intelligence. But do not fear. She shall be brought hither, no harm done to her.”

She shot off into the still dark night, leaving a trail of light and sparks in her wake.

Liam stared off into the night. Only her power was needed back in the land he thought. Who cared if she refused to rule the land. With her back, the land would bloom once more, and all would be as it should. He could not forsake his duty.

A snake slithered around his feet and he jerked away. They were everywhere now, infesting the place. He watched as it wrapped itself around a once beautiful rose bush. It was still alive, but the once white roses had turned black. He plucked one gently from the bush.

“A token of my gratitude for her,” he said sardonically. “I shall have it placed in her bedchambers. This rose bush may turn white again, but never this rose. A symbol it shall be of the death that came here, preserved forever.”

He turned and strode away into the darkness.

The Lake

Isabella stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind howling around her. Rain slashed against her face and a dense fog made it hard to see but a few paces in front of her. She had come to see her grandmother, who lived in a lone beach cottage up atop the cliff.

Her grandmother opened the door receptively to her granddaughter when she knocked. She was a tall lady with long, fine silver hair and clear, deep eyes.

“Hello, my dear,” she said warmly. “What brings you for a visit?”

Isabella pulled off her windbreaker and stepped into the spacious, immaculate kitchen: “I need help,” she said.

“Chai tea? Or espresso?” her grandmother asked calmly.

“Espresso,” replied Isabella and then continued, “Horace is back.”

“I always rather liked Horace, my dear. What's the problem?”

Isabella grumbled, “You know I like Horace. That's the problem. I am immortal. I cannot become attached to a world I am doomed to watch pass me by forever.”

She flicked out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Still smoking I see,” said her grandmother pointedly. “Horace is also immortal.”

“He wants kids,” she complained. “I'll only watch them die, and then my grand kids, and then their kids and on and on. It's an unbearable thought. To just watch it all forever.”

“You'll be watching it with him,” stated her grandmother, calmly laying an espresso before Isabella.

“But he'll tie me down to a reality,” she muttered, “And you know what happens if I give up my duties. I'll fade into a shadow.”

Her grandmother looked at her solemnly and patted her hand: “Well there must be a compromise somehow. Have you talked to him about this?”

“No,” Isabella scowled. “He does it unconsciously, the way he ties people down. I'm afraid he'll trap me. Or I'll trap him. Both equally bad. Love has only ever trapped me. I must be alone to survive. I won't be broken again.”

“You went under my dear,” was all she said, “But I do believe you never came up again.”

Her eyes pierced through Isabella: “Everyone must go under to see their demon. But you are still fleeing from him.”

“What in the world does that mean?” Isabella said exasperated. “Don't talk in riddles.”

Her grandmother pulled an elegant looking glass out from a drawer: “Look,” she said, “It's the only thing I can do to help you. See what you may see.”

Isabella stared into the looking glass until the surface rippled and showed an image.

“It's Horace,” she stated flatly, “And Aengus.”

Then she gasped: “Where are they going? No. They can't be. Not the lake.”

Her face went white: “They'll never make it. Why are they journeying there?”

Her grandmother looked at her calmly: “Only those with royal blood can make it through. You know this. You must go find them before it's too late.”

Isabella buried her face in her hands: “Not there. No, I can't go there. Never again.”

Her mind spun her back in time. She could see him with his raven black hair, towering tall above her. Liam, her betrothed. She had been heir to throne, but she had never been suitable. Everyone had always whispered that there was something off about her. She was too detached for one. As a child, she had disappeared for hours alone with her books. But she was still the heir. A suitable match had been found for her, arranged by her parents, and then she had refused to walk into the Lake of Immortality. It was tradition that at the age of eighteen all those with royal blood walked into the lake to become immortal.

Instead of arguing with her, her family and fiance had conspired against her, and Liam had dragged her under and betrayed her trust. The next day she had disappeared never to be seen again at that place. She could never trust again, only keep to herself and watch the world go by forever. How could she go back? Liam would still be there she was sure. And her family. She would be declared treasonous, and she never wanted to see them again.

Her grandmother broke the silence: “Go to him, child. Horace isn't Liam. He needs you now, and I daresay you need him more.”

Isabella clutched her cup, her knuckles whitening around it: “I don't need anyone. But for him, I'll go and bring him back, but I won't go there. It is all a dream to me that I have learned to forget.”

“Good,” replied her grandmother. “Stop running. In fact, if you'd ever take my advice you'd confront Liam and your family.”

“No, I don't think I can," she whispered, “But I will make sure Horace survives.”

“The opposite of fear is love,” said her grandmother, “But enough. I will pack you supplies to take.”

Isabella just nodded and stared off into space. She was back by the Lake in her mind. She had loved and trusted him too. But he had never loved her. She had been a pawn for all of them to play. And a wild, uncontrollable one at that. She was sure there had been relief at her disappearance. To go back, would only be to stir up a hornet's nest.

The Muse and Her Brother

Francesca, the muse, shook her long, cascading mane of dark hair in disgust, as she secretly watched the proceedings of her twin brother Aengus, the seducer. Or as he liked to say, with a sultry gaze towards the heavens above, the god of love.

Her brother Aengus was certainly a sight to behold with long dark hair; deep, mysterious eyes; a chiseled jaw; and a perfectly sculpted body like that of a Roman god, but alas that was not all. He also had a beautiful baritone voice and could woo any woman away with his songs. Or the graceful way he moved- it was disgustingly beautiful as well she thought.

Francesca considered herself to be the person who moved others towards fulfilling their aspirations. She came to them in dreams and filled their souls with indescribable emotions that moved their souls to new heights and towards amazing pursuits. On the other hand, she considered her brother to be nothing but a heart breaker. Her brother was not beyond the reach of her own skills however, and she had every intention of messing with him. She enjoyed messing with her brother. They had been playing each other ever since she could remember. He was not about to keep the upper hand with all of his tricks. Oh things were about to get amusing.

She would shake his soul and fill it with indescribable longing. But for who she thought? A playful, arrogant smile touched her lips. Isabella. Isabella, the key holder to the gates of reality, who was too far-seeing to fall for his advances, and who was too detached to love any. Yes, she was perfect.

Aengus was dreaming. He saw a girl with long blonde hair standing at the edge of a lake. Swans covered the surface of the dark, silent water. A tall man, standing by her side, reached out and grabbed her. She screamed and pulled against him, but to no avail. With his arms, tightly around her, he jumped into the lake pulling them both under. He awoke, his heart pounding with desire. That beautiful woman with long blonde hair he thought. Who was she? He must have her and save her, if only he could remember who she was. Ah, Isabella, he murmured. She must love him. And why not he thought? No woman had ever escaped his amorous advances. Yes, she was next on his list.

Within a week, he had found her, appearing at her mobile house, just as she was slamming the door and stomping away.

“Oh Isabella, fair lady,” he intoned.

Isabella stopped: “Huh?” she asked, raising her eye brow. “Oh it's you Aengus.”

As usual, he had an elegant black top hat perched atop his head and a walking stick in hand.

“For you my dear,” he said, gracefully pulling out a white rose from his pocket.

But before he could say anything else, she continued in a spaced-out, worried way, “Horace showed up last night, and he's asked me to marry him again. I simply do not know what I should do. I just have to get away right now. He's basically moved himself into my house.”

Aengus scowled to himself at this news, and then smiled in delight. Isabella would never accept Horace.

He smiled at her tenderly and leaned onto his walking stick, while casually pulling an ornate deck of cards out of his suit pocket and splaying them out: “I see great romance in your future, Isabella,” he said theatrically, “Someone shall come into your life and save you from such insolence. As it is such, I gallantly offer to challenge him to a duel to win your hand.”

Isabella, whose eyes had clouded over again, appeared not to have heard, but then she spoke: “What are you talking about, Aengus? Duel for my hand? Save me? I am perfectly capable of dealing with Horace and taking care of myself. Furthermore, I am not at all interested in your wooing of me.”

It was at this moment that Horace emerged from the house. The second he saw Aengus he scowled.

“What the hell is he doing here,” he thundered.

Horace hated Aengus, and the last thing he wanted was to see that player around Isabella.

Aengus replied smoothly, “I was just telling Isabella that I would nobly challenge you to a duel to save her from you and win her over to myself.”

“No. no. no,” said Isabella, “This is ridiculous. Aengus go find someone else.”

But Horace was already striding angrily towards him: “Oh yes, I'll teach him a lesson or two,” he muttered grimly.

He swung his fist out, hitting him along the jawline. Aengus immediately reacted uppercutting towards Horace's nose.

“Why, Isabella,” he cried, “This man has no honor.”

“Honor,” spat Horace as he raised his arms upward to halt his fist, “you are not worthy of any respect or honor.”

Aengus swept his cane out in an arc, catching him off balance, so that he almost fell. Even more infuriated now, Horace ran at him to tackle him towards the ground.

But before he had a chance, Aengus muttered, “Where did Isabella go?”

Horace stopped and turned to look around him. Isabella was nowhere to be seen. A moment later he felt the click of a pistol against his skull.

“Shall we call a truce now?” asked Aengus nobly. “It appears you have scared the poor girl away.”

Horace glared: “That was an underhanded, dirty attack while my attention was diverted, not to mention use of arms was not permitted. There shall be no truce. This fight is only postponed until I know where in the universe Isabella has run off to.”

Aengus looked thoughtful for a moment: “There is no way to know that. She could be anywhere.”

He stopped, an odd expression sliding over his face: “The Lake of Immortality,” he whispered, “That is where we must go.”

“We,” questioned Horace, raising an eyebrow in skepticism. “There is no we.”

“Do you know the way?” asked Aengus smugly.

“No,” stated Horace firmly, “And I don't see why it matters.”

“Well I do,” said Aengus, “And there is every reason to go there.”

“Oh?” questioned Horace. “Do tell.”

“That,” stated Aengus, “Is the place she went under water. And there she lingers still. I must save her.”

To be Alive

She stared at the patch of snow melting into the dark rich earth of the ground. The last rays of sun made it sparkle and glimmer. It was too beautiful and too fleeting she thought, but right now it is forever. I'm forever she thought dully, forever walking slowly into the golden rays of the sun. Forever walking, seeing everything. Not thinking. The cold wind bit into her legs and made her skirt flap.

“I'm walking in a dream,” she murmured, as she meandered through an arroyo. “An Elvish pathway full of dreams maybe.”

She glanced up at the horizon where the mountains made a ribbony, silken pattern. Over them the clouds created a misty, swirling haze. She wished to be on top of those mountains, just her and the keen wind which cut into her bare legs. Just her, staring over the rest of the world where time slowed down. Then she could detach and watch the world hurry by. Why did it all hurry so she wondered? What made people hurry thither and yon in such a frantic rush? Did they see something she didn't?

She'd rather fixate on the patterns before her eyes. How that rock was nestled all lonely in one slowly melting patch of snow. Feng shui she thought, as a ray of sun hit her warming her veins. Did anyone ever stop to feel that life around them? Or was that only her?

She wandered on. She was going to wander into forever until she forgot herself. She loved how the wind bit her legs and how the sun kissed her face. She loved to feel the hum of life.

Maybe I'm the last Elvish queen alive she thought. Beautiful and graceful and tinged with sorrow she thought.

Am I living or am I a ghost passing through mists of time she wondered?

“I must be a ghost,” she intoned softly to the sun. “It is as if I stare through a veil. A golden veil that separates me, but makes the passages of time look warm and gentle.”

Could a ghost come back to the living? If only she could tear through that veil and be alive. But she was, wasn't she? She could feel herself absorbing and becoming everything around her. Everything but herself. Is that what ghosts were? People who absorbed so much around them they begin to thin out and blur?

“But I don't want to forever walk the desert alone,” she cried. “To join La Llorona and the bean sidhe on their nightly wails.”

“Why can't I be alive like everyone else? Why must I be broken to be human?”

Pain stabbed her heart, and the golden veils lifted. Yes, that was the only thing stopping her from becoming a ghost. The last rays of sun slid behind the mountain and she was left with darkness and a bitter wind. She could feel herself, very cold, in the dusk.

“To be a human is a great sacrifice,” she cried to the wind.

It carried back to her the wails of La Llorona in reply.

“Do I want to be human?” she wavered, her voice sinking into obscurity.

There was no reply. The night was dead around her, and it would not communicate with the living.