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.