Whispered Kiss

A Lifetime Promise

The promise of love laid on the horizon and the dazed smile on Arel face could not be dispelled. The villagers uncovered a book of the mechanisms of the Blood Witches and Arel snuck a peek at it during the wee hours. In it, he discovered a means to break his curse. It was an obvious solution he once pondered on but never thought possible. His Amelia was not strong enough or in tune with her powers but if Amelia could continue to grow until her powers manifested and strengthen, perhaps it could become a possibility. In the meantime, while her powers simmered into being, he could help the Zeroed side of herself who suffered from skin allergies and weakened her. He knew where to gain the herbs she required.

At the town border he saw his destination. Endless fields laid beyond the town with wildflowers and long luscious grass. The rain transformed the fields into a wondrous world. He couldn't smell the world around him but he appreciated it nonetheless.

He bent down to pick some Lillymerth, a flower which crushed with apple seeds bettered the immune system and with the flower in hand he maneuvered through the town. None saw him. Upon moving past the tavern, he noticed a new carriage, and a half a dozen horses. With his curiosity peaked, he slipped into the tavern. A woman, all too familiar to him, stood drumming her red nails against a table. A barmaid set down a cup of ale, but the woman did not touch it. Instead she motioned for the girl to lean in closer.

"Tell me, love, I am a healer. There is said to be a sick child in the village? Where might I find her?"

Arel turned on his heels before he got recognized by the person who cursed him and the only one, apart from Amelia, able to see him as the man he used to be. He stopped short of the group of men waiting by the horses. One, still but a boy of twelve summers, toyed with the silver tip of a bloodied whip. The boy looked uninterested in his surroundings but when the conversation of the older men turned to more sinister means, his face perked up.

"Aye, I heard it as well. The witch is ill. How strange, I tell you. She'll be an easy hunt." A stocky bald man said.

"Aye. We hav'a seen one in a while." Another man with greasy hair and a wild beard noted, his hands motioning as he spoke.

"Yeah. It will lift da miss's mood to capture her and feed off her." A long, straight-backed man contributed with a nod.

A burly man slapped his hand down on the boy's head and ruffled the boy's golden locks as he noticed the kid listening in on their conversation. "It outa be good practice for ya."

The boy's lips curved and with a voice not yet broken-in, he shot the whip out across the street, giggling when a woman yelped from fright.

"I shall make her bleed for momma." The boy said with pride and adulation.

Arel's veins grew cold as he dashed away from the men's banter. They talked about killing as if it was none other than a minuscule daily chore. It was the boy's vindictive nature which bothered him the most. What instilled such a love of suffering into a boy his age?

More importantly, how would Arel save Amelia? He could touch her but none other. He could escape with her but by foot and pursued by horses he would simply encourage them to be thrilled by the hunt.

Grass stirred in the wind beyond and laughing in innocence Amelia danced among the butterflies. Her hair loose and swaying around her hips. She was as carefree as the butterflies around her. Despite her age, Amelia was intellectual and mature. He did not find shame in the nights they shared. She was a woman already. And he was a man who, when alive focused on succession and becoming the best at his craft. He believed love was not yet destined for him and neither did he imagine a cursed faith. The meeting with Amelia shooed the hollowness inside him. She saved him from desolation. They were matching hearts, thumping to the same beat. Age could not stop their connection, their laughter and their sense of belonging.