Tales

Sunlight

Lupin awoke with a start at the graying light of first dawn, and noted with the faintest astonishment that for the first time in their long acquaintanceship, Lord Grefham slept in her presence. In the half light he appeared eminently calm, but a small furrow still drew between his brows. Lupin reached to touch it, but drew back her hand at the last moment. She gazed at him intently for some time, her expression faintly uncertain, and then moved to peer from the windows.
The carriage was damnably cold and damp, but Lupin remained resolutely alone rather than move towards Lord Grefham’s warmth. He looked so entirely exhausted – so very, very tired. She drew her knees up under her billowing skirts, wrapped the material about her shoulders and contented herself to watch, in a half daze, the burning orb of the sun rise from the East.
It was half an hour or so before Lord Grefham awoke, and reached immediately for her. Her chin rested in the cradle of her crossed arms, and her eyes had half shut; she was startled by his warm touch upon her shoulders, and raised eyes made big with sleeplessness to his. His gray gaze reassured her that he desired her close, however; that it was no trial – and she moved to settle loosely in his embrace. Thus they offered one another comfort in the damp and cold.
When the sun began to light the scrub pines, Lupin gasped inadvertently at the tableau about the swiftly moving car. Everywhere mist wove and sprung, playing with and being turned to a shining curtain by the golden rays of the newly risen sun. Ferns and foliage glistened, sparkling with dew drops, as the herbiage and smallish trees ran past.
A quirk of a smile lit Lord Grefham’s grim mouth. “Like it?”
Lupin turned quickly to face him. “Why?” she asked cautiously.
“For all this is yours – or it will be in but a few hours yet.”
Lord Grefham’s land spanned the Normandy coast from Brest Southward, and some miles inland as well. His chateau lay on a rocky outjutting of land into the sleeve – La Manche – the Channel. His chapel, more importantly, lay just Northward of the estate, cozened on both sides by beautiful granite boulders. The church was made entirely of stone and so ancient as to seem part of the landscape itself.
Lord Grefham, prepared for any contingency, produced from his capacious pocket a special license upon their arrival at the stony path to the chapel.
“You will marry me now, Lupin, will you not?” He asked, very grave.
“You ask this time for love- not duty or pity, my lord?” She returned, not meeting his eyes, her whole being still. She waited patiently for the answer, her spine very straight. He reached for her and enfolding her inexorably, kissed her with a passion, a fervor and tenderness that could not lie. “My clear, “ he addressed her, and her eyes widened a little at this new appellation, “I never knew it possible, this love I feel for you. You have made of me – a soul.”
Lupin looked up at him, startled for a moment. “and you have given me my life, a life I never thought possible.” She replied. “but you know this; if it were a choice between us, I should always choose your life over mine.”
He looked down at her, his eyes cold suddenly. “That is not the wisest choice. But I know it to be true.”
“Yes.” Said Lupin simply, looking at him with a very ancient sadness, but a soft joy, as well – as if she saw farther than he did, somehow.
A swift flew overhead – a gull cried down the waves, and the wind swept Lupin’s skirts into wild, silken, glinting clouds, catching the bright, liquid morning sun.
“I am yours.” Lupin said again quieter, and was swept up once more in Lord Grefham’s embrace.
They entered the dark, cool church slowly, holding to each other’s arms.
Within, all was still, quiet, sanctuary. They trod the uneven stones worn by the passage of time; the ancient bones of the earth polished by the souls spassing over them. Lupin and Lord Grefham moved to the altar, and Lupin knelt quietly for a moment, letting her eyes sweep closed, gently. Without, the sound of the waves crashing to shore pounded, muted by the stones, time, and stillness. But she could feel the reverberations, the heartbeat of the ocean and the world all around her. Lord Grefham watched her gravely, his gray eyes quiet and warm. When she rose, he took her in his arms once more.
“What did you pray for?”
“I did not pray – I hoped,” answered she. “I hoped in my right to live, to fill my life with joy. My right to love you, and to – to…” She looked up at him. He was watching her, as if enrapt, “to spread that joy to all who are within our sphere.” She reached up to touch the crease that had grown between his brows over the past month, and this time her hand did not pull back, though it faltered for a moment.
“There has been too much unhappiness. Too very much.” His arms were encircling her, and she rested back into their cradle as she gazed up at him.
“I do not want to share you,” he said, half smiling – but his eyes were in earnest.
“You will not have to,” she replied, her eyes lighting with joy and laughter at the surprise of it. “You are my lord – my lord Grefham.”
And so they were married. In the presence of three witnesses of the estate, and before the rather wild-looking priest, in a dim, ancient stone church, lighted by the flames of two enormous wax candles set upon the altar. The sun lit the stained glass, almost pagan in its design, like great lanterns, and Lupin watched with wonder and awe as Lord Grefham added the ruby ring once more to her hand. She would not give it up so easily this time.
There were no bells to toll when the master of the estate and his young bride exited the scarred oak doors of the church; the crashing of the waves and the singing of the wind rang through Lupin as bells never could.
Lord Grefham held her close and would not let her stray from his side. The estate men, unsure of their place, congratulated Lord Grefham gruffly, abased themselves to the mistress and ran to the house to spread the news. Lupin looked up at Lord Grefham as if she were seeing him for the first time – she studied every feature of his face, as if to fix it in her memory completely. The sunlight lit the scape with gold, but cast each shadow into high relief.

She suddenly went white. “Let me sit for a moment,” she managed, and drifted towards the ground. He caught her and lowered her surely to the dry sea-coast grass, warmed by the morning sun.

Lightning Bug

When the dark storm clouds roll
on the far waters of the night
Ocean waves
And the gulls flee
Overhead - white - to left and right

Streaming crashes on the iron sands
Deep winds from the other land
Rush on to the shore where I stand.

The hot rain pours down
Like a torrent from the far
Side of the horizon,
Where death stands, and life, and
Possibility for you and for me.
But not here.

The hot, damp night heat
Covers us when the storm
Sounds ominously far off
And we know its due

The sudden rush will
Break us - yet still I
Wait and breath - heart deep.
Looking into you. I see you look too.

In the night the lightning bug
Flashes and glimmers - a pearl
Caught in the light between
The seams, seeping from the other
Side of reality , where the hope
Of love may lie.

It gleams and flies - hovering
The memory of a ghost discovering
Love
And torrents of rain wash
Down.

In the storm of lost reality
Drowns the hope -
In the caught
Horizon between what is and
What could be
Between us - you and me.

It Could Be Worse

After deciding today that I am, actually, The Ugliest Person On Earth (which means that I judge beauty relatively, and believe that there is actually an ugliest person on earth? Very BAD), I decided an emergency photo shoot was in order. Some relaxed posing under the warm and lovely light of the bathroom bulbs persuaded me that my awkwardness has a sort of ghoulish charm about it.

I suppose I'd be a good match for someone of a similarly awkward countenance. If only Alan Rickman were in an identical state of mind...

Note to self, though: don't decipher hieroglyphs on first dates. Not attractive while doing so.

No Matter

Lord Grefham took her face between his hands. "You are no danger to me," he commented, almost bemused, as he held her eyes with his own. Then his mouth twisted grimly, and his hands seemed to harden, "only when I am without you."
Lupin swallowed, but did not break their gaze. Her eyes were not fully credulous, and a wariness burnt quietly in their depths, but she looked back nonetheless. His hands moved to her shoulders, where he gripped her more strongly. His eyes narrowed. "If you were to be the death of me," he said coldly, almost drawling, "it would be no matter."
Lupin's eyes widened suddenly at that and she drew back. She turned to sit squarely against the squabs and crossed her arms. Her chin rose. "I very well may be," she replied, tightly.
He reached for her again and brought her close, moving her to sit across his lap. His movements were strong, as if he reigned in an urging anger. He stilled, holding her to him for a moment, and then slowly drew back. He looked at her, his eyes heavy lidded, and a small, lopsided smile played about his mouth. It could have been called mocking if it was not strangely sweet. "Would you not do the same for me?" he asked. Lupin took a deep breath, looking at him determinedly, seeming to plunge the depths of his words. He only looked back, questioning, his brows raised faintly in polite question. She took in and let out a breath quickly, and her eyes lowered to look down at her left hand, laying quietly on his silk-covered knee. "Yes," she said flatly, as if in defeat, "I would. So I cannot expect more than that of you."
He laughed, a small laugh, but a true one, and bent to kiss her ear. "Quite so, my dear," he remarked, "No, you cannot expect more than that of me - perhaps even less. For 'tis true, what's been said of me - I'm the very devil."

Washing Up

It is an odd phenomenon, my habit of letting the dishes get so very dirty. They do get so disgustingly rotten; the very smell can be overwhelming. And then, painfully, stiffly, I wash them one by one, looking over each growth and studying each color of the mold unwillingly. I am deeply interested, deeply repulsed, by their wounds of old food playing along the edges of their whiteness. Their very misery seems to both disturb and obsess me. I cry for them as I wash, they seem starved of attention, starved of rights, abandoned and alone.

And then I clean them, wash them, shine them, one by one until they are right again. Until they are just dishes once more. They aren't suffering beings - just things to eat off of. I lose them as friends, and gain utensils.

They were my companions, for while in my state of misery and pain. They were there with me, keeping me company, crying too. But I could save them, and eventually I had to. I had to lift them above myself into a world I cannot reach. I couldn't let them go on and disintegrate in a mess of destructive and living bacteria. I had the power to save them as I cannot save myself. I'm starving, too. Choking on my abandoned, messy self. But there is noone with a helpful sponge and towel.

Presence

Lupin’s pewter silks pooled around her, alight here and there with orange flames from the lantern. She looked down at them oddly for a moment, noting the color very clearly. Then she glanced up at Lord Grefham honestly. His eyes held such bleak desire she blinked and then, placing her arms around his neck deliberately, she leaned towards him swiftly. He caught her mouth halfway, holding her so tightly in his embrace she gasped, but would not let him go. She was blankly honest in her hold of him. She wanted to be near him, to be with him, more than anything in life. Her mind, her soul, always entangling with the shadows that seemed to surround her became her own, and alight when she was with him. It seemed to glow. She knew in the instant her breath touched his that she would protect him. She must. And she would.
They had embraced while at Greye – they had cuddled and kissed and talked for hours, but she had never experienced anything like the embrace in which he now enthralled her. He seemed to possess her every fibre, and she possessed him in return. His hands held her tight against him, his large, warm, graceful hands holding her to him. She could feel their power through her layers of silk and corseting. He pulled her as closely to him as could be managed, but it did not seem to satisfy him. He carefully reached up and easily pulled the ribbons and pins from her hair, so it came down to frame her face in waves and curls. His hands ran through it over and over as if to convince himself she was real. His hand came to the nape of her neck, and then he fit her head more securely to his and kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging, caressing, mastering her, leading her to respond. His finesse was tinged by the strongest of desire, yet he invited her to participate in the dance of lips and tongues and teeth and she was an avid learner.
More than anything she desired to be near him, to be with him as long as she could. And if she could not be with him for as long as she would like, she would be as close to him in the time they had as she could manage. Her passion was clear and true. She wrapped her arms closer around him, when he broke the kiss, she began to kiss his neck, his ear, whatever she could touch. She held her hands on both sides of his face and tried to kiss his forehead, she tried to nuzzle against his breast. He took her hands in a strong, gentle grip, and a faint smile touched his lips. It seemed to be an effort, as if he had not smiled in a long, long time. But a faint humor lit his eyes, as well as something stark and deep, and he took her mouth again in a long, slow kiss. He molded her to him. He would not allow her to lead, and her faint endeavors to do so seemed only to enliven his own fire for her. His hands smoothed around her waist and up, and she drew a breath, but he did not halt. She did not want him to. Her heart beat so fast she was sure she would faint, but she would drown in a delirium of satisfaction. He took her mouth in one more deep, penetrating kiss, then broke away to look at her. His eyes were a little cloudy, heavy-lidded, but something sparkled within them. They darkened for a moment “I would protect you, Lupin,” he said, quite low, but his hands could not seem to resist the need to hold her still tight to him. He held her waist in an iron grip. “Not ruin you.”
Lupin looked back at him. Her mouth was bruised, but she awoke herself sternly from her sensual state, and looked back at him with all the exhaustion and love for him she had felt over the past month of fleeing and travel. “You are protecting me,” she replied simply. And she laid her head against his shoulder for a moment. Then her slim hands dropped to his chest, where they came together quietly. “I am yours, to do with what you like.” She dropped her eyes, and pulled slightly away. He let her go but a short distance, but loosened her enough for that. She glanced back up at him, her eyes a little sad, and then she began to raise her skirts, and quietly removed one shoe. “Please, Alistair,” she asked, in a small voice, “I have missed you such a great deal. Let me have you for a little while.”
He seemed to draw his breath in swiftly at that, and stopped her hands from continuing her undressing. “Lupin,” he said and in that one word she was stretched along the squabs, his mouth above hers. “Alistair,” she said, and it was a word of fierce protection. He raised one brow, then his eyes grew dark, and he looked deep within her. “You are safe,” he told her, and bent to kiss her once more. She grasped his shoulders, but shivered slightly. He drew quickly away, a dark frown disdainfully held between his brows. "Yes, milord, but are you?" She asked, her voice shaking but a little. Her brows drawn together in anguish, her pupils were large, but her gaze was steady. She blinked once, slowly, and then raised her palm to his cheek. "I can not bear the pain of your death." She told him. He looked at her, his eyes tender, a slight, slight smile on his lips. "You think I have not seen worse than this, my dear? You have a high opinion of my soul."
She frowned, and her mouth tightened. "It is not your soul about which I am concerned, mi-" His mouth covered hers efficiently. When he raised his head again: "I asked you quite pointedly to call me by my name." Her eyes flashed for a moment. "You will not have a name to be called by if we continue on this way," she growled, but she could not keep her hands from moving over his shoulders in wonder at their presence so near her once more. "I will not leave you, but you are in danger by the very presence of -- " She waved one hand to contemptuously indicate her form, and looked away. "Me." this last was said very quiet, indeed.