The Curse of Eternity

Death Seven

The sight of the Immortal Lord traversing the hallways to his drawing room is not an unusual one, and any other night wouldn't have warranted a bat of an eyelash.

On this night, he strides the corridors in nothing but a towel, and like flowers drawn to the moon, eyes appreciate his form from beneath lowered lashes.

"Shall I conjure a robe, my Lord?" asks Gregoire.

"No need to use lousrife when the doors are ahead," he responds. Centuries of life have taught him to school his mien as if he were playing a particularly nasty game of Spit Into The Wind.

Never reveal your tiles.

Reaching the doors, the Immortal Lord makes a W with his fingers and using a downward motion, draws a circle in the air. Crimson lousrife traces the movement in the likeness of a waterspout and rushes towards the doors, splits into five separate spirals before inserting into corresponding locks. The doors ripple like heat in the desert and vanish. In its place stands a T'lorapt, a rare and mysterious doorway that leads to different worlds.

When Lord Jerrath was banished to the land of eternal darkness, Mother Ira allowed him to take a pocket of his home. It is impossible to transport a room across the great mother Ira, but it is possible to exist in the void between Ira and Ryun, where earth kisses the sky.

Grey mist twirls and twines around the men's legs reaching for their brow. Dead grass and dry bone whisper against the skin before the T'lorpt yawns a throat of firmament before engulfing them in Freewill and Lousrife.

With a flash of crimson, Lord Jerrath conjures a small, yellow light globe where it hovers like a fly above his left shoulder.

"I meant what I said Gregoire, Desolation will survive."

"Well, my Lord, your confidence confirms the rumors I heard circulating the village. I've been meaning to speak to you on the subject but haven't managed a single candle until now."

"What does this village whisper about my Bride?"

The word slithered from his tongue like a perenkas and Lord Jerrath pauses waiting for the impending pain, then shoulders slump in relief when he remains unaffected.

"Desolation confirmed one of the rumors," Gregoire continues in his unmoveable way. The villagers say her eyes bring death."

"I have felt Hedia's pull," the Immortal Lord confirms.

When she was seven or eight Turns, she killed eleven people in the span of eight nights."

"A child murdered eleven in the span of a quarter moon!"

"I wouldn't say murdered, my Lord, it is more like terrible accidents. According to the rumors, a group of people wanting to see if her curse was true, bullied her to take down her hood and gaze into the eyes of envied neighbors."

"So if her curse was true, she could be exploited."

exactly, except it was the exploiters who died."

The Immortal Lord couldn't help but admire Destruction's consistency.

"One man fell off his roof breaking his neck. A bonded coupled died when the woman stepped too close to the fire pit catching her skirts aflame and their entire homestead was engulfed in fire in a matter of flickers."

"Desolation didn't kill anyone directly. They accused her with no solid proof."

"Her skin is enough."

"You saw? Talk in the village and I've seen her hands."

The Immortal Lord tilts his chin and eyes narrow.

"I spent three nights with her, my lord, she must remove her gloves to eat. " Gregoire continues, "Desolation wasn't required to go cloaked and hooded until after they hanged her."

"O'fin's Balls, they hanged a child?"

"Yes, though I do find it hard to believe that she is alive."

"I am living proof somethings do not die."

"My Lord, are you saying the girl. . ." Gregoire spasms like a drowning peratc. Moments pass before he's able to gurgle, "Desolation."

"Entirely unpleasant," Lord Jerrath comments dryly, "and I wouldn't say she's immortal, not from our understanding. She self-resurrects." He holds his hand out for silence, "She died in the grand hall. I felt the moment she ceased to live and I felt the moment she returned to life; even her blood ran in reverse.

"To satisfy my curiosity, I placed Arantyna's Sleep into the Sleeping Cup, enough that she will probably within a few nights and I drowned her in the bathing pool."

Gregoire's eyes mimic those of a Leu, a wide-eyed, agile creature that lives in the tropical region of Tiygur. Due to the serious nature of the conversation, the Immortal Lord refrained from laughing, but it lurked like a perenkas at the top of his stomach biding its time to break free.

"With the cloud of power surrounding her, I was not sure if the magic of the Sleeping Cup would affect her, so I poisoned her. She did not instantly fall asleep as regular mortals but when she did, I held her underwater. I took no joy in partaking in her death, yet, she survived."

Destruction isn't a secret to speak of lightly and not a secret to give. Desolation knew not of her second side, and it's a secret to give.

Better to hold on to her.

He didn't want to share Destruction with the world, but her power can only be hidden for a few moons.

"My Lord, I understand your choices in this matter and it's not my place to say. . . but you owe this. . . Desolation a great debt. You have killed her twice and only the Dyu's know if she'll survive from Arantyna's Sleep. She may have the power of self resurrection, but I think you should not take her life so lightly."

Lord Jerrath's corner, left lip, curls; yes, he knew Gregoire would say as much.

"I understand this, Gregoire. Leave me to care for my lovely Bride and you rest, the night will bring Ryun."

"The night will bring Ryun, my Lord. And also, I hope Desolation will survive."

Lord Jerrath and his man-servant trace the walls back to the castle.

"May the Night guide you." Gregoire intones, bending at the waist like a reed in the breeze.

A stick of incense burns between the doorways and fills the room "with Dragon's blood. A newly placed tray glints off the time candles glints beside Desolation's head with tea and honey.

"I'm sorry," he speaks and cradling his hand behind Desolation's neck, lifts her lips to water.

"Drink," he commands.

Her lips and tongue move like well-known partners sipping water.

"Mupu," her tongue sliders, "I attte ttthhoose berrryieesss. Heh Heh Heh. "

She curls like a snail on her left side and he replaces the comforter she kicked to her chin. The blanket wriggles over her head while Lord Jerrath cut's a blank page.

"Shall I draw your spell?"he asks, "I'll start at your fingertips. "