Pure - A Tragic Tale of Romeo & Juliet

Prologue

How can she lie so still?

How can those wonderful eyes not dart back and forth beneath bruised lids? How can her pale, slender fingers not twitch helplessly towards mine as they always do? How can the corners of her scarlet lips not pull upwards?

How can her chest not rise, not fall?

I stare and stare and stare at her and my heart aches in my chest. I can see no cause for her stillness. There is no blood, no mortal wound that I can see. Her white cotton shift is white still. Her long blonde hair tumbles freely, interrupted only by the cold stone of the table she rests upon. Her face is expressionless, soft by the dim and flickering light of the candle behind me. There is no sound in the room but the dripping of wax and my own breathing.

Behind me, I am aware of a young woman in the corridor, her feet shifting and scuffling uncomfortably. I know she watches the tears fall from my cheeks. I am certain she sees my form lean forward to press my warm lips upon my love's cold ones. The lady's white dress and golden hair rustle behind me. I glance at where I sense she stands, and yet there is no one there. I am mistaken, I muse. Her name is fresh upon my lips and I release it into the air. I cherish the sound it makes, rolling my tongue over the three glorious symbols.

Where is she?

I need her presence, but there is so little of her in the flesh before me. I pull at her hands, but to no avail, for one cannot wake those who do not sleep.

I murmur the words of her song beneath my breath, but it is not as it was upon her tongue, so I stop part-way through a line and lower my head so it rests on the cold stone beside our laced fingers. I inhale her sweet scent, and savour it, sure that I will not smell it again. I stay there for a time, then raise my entire body to stand.

I kiss the back of her limp hand tenderly then place it gently back upon her stomach. I gaze at her for a while more, then acknowledge what must be done. My hands itch to play along the hilt of the dagger at my waist, to feel each mark and jewel upon it, but I force them to remain at my sides.

Slowly, preciously, I crawl atop the table with my love. She stays still and silent, and the tears of mine fall no more. I am a hollow husk without her light to banish my shadows and fill me. I welcome the cold of the table as it steels into me, leeching all semblance of warmth from my bones. I turn my head to face her, and bring my lips to her as...

I do...

the...

deed.