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.