Last Encounter

            Etched upon the dusky skyline was the faint silhouette of a grand carriage, headed by two dark, magnificent beasts. The carriage was darker still than the sky it was set upon, emblazoned with veins of scarlet and gold on the flanks in tight loops and flourishes. So pristine was the stagecoach that the polished roof reflected even the tiny speckles of light that hung in the heavens above. Beast and carriage traveled along the gravel path so, set apart from the world as a raven amongst crows. It was not such a difference to the eye but one of heart, for one passing such a carriage might feel a tight quickening of the pulse, not unlike fear, as the creatures and stagecoach passed by. The eyes of the forest were upon them as they rode through the woods, catching the way the wheels seemed to hover before settling upon the ground, an unearthly feel to the silence that it gave as it passed by.

            The carriage itself, intricately designed and carved as it were, only accentuated the real marvel of the two, the coaches. Inside of the hollowed pits where the eyes of the creatures should generally have been located, one could have seen the fleshy pink of raw muscle as it expanded and contracted with each heaving breath drawn by the horse-creatures. Streaming from their nostrils were great clouds of soot and steam as they bit onto the tangy iron bits clamped firmly in their mouths, which jerked this way and that, grinding against their teeth as they tore through the dense forest without heed to where each pull of the reigns might lead them, whether it be heaven or hell.  The chests of the great beasts were like barrels, taught muscle enclosing the heart and lungs that hammered within like echoing thunder. Their hooves sliced through the cold air like a knife, so quickly that only the closest of observers could notice the fact that they were not of a dull iron like most such hooves, but made of the darkest garnet, the same color as the outlines of the ancient symbols etched upon the black leather of the creature’s blinds and reigns.

            All at once, it seemed, the beasts had come to a halt, and though the average stagecoach would have crashed into the creatures at the sudden stop, this particular carriage had merely rolled into a quiet standstill. The horse-creatures had shivered at attention, a hushed ticking echoing inside their streamlined bodies. The carriage doors were opened by a henchman, melting out of the dark. The door opened, he disappeared once more, just as he had appeared. Pale hands steadied themselves on the sides and a pale leg extended out of the stagecoach. There was a loud clap as crimson heels met earth, like some distant roll of thunder. Out stepped a most beautiful lady, garbed in a dress of black silk, a thread of cut garnet strung across her throat.  Her coal black tresses were piled atop her head, curls laced through with streams of silver. Deep, soulful black eyes were fringed with long lashes. Petit coral lips curved into a signature smile as she walked up the stone steps and into the ancient mansion that had appeared before her.

            Where once a mountain would have dominated your view then stood a manor of such proportions it seemed to carry the moon upon its highest tower. Its windows had cast a warm glow about the place, and its gleaming front doors were of a rich mahogany, throwing about it an aura of royalty and pomp that would have been true if it were located anywhere but such a desolate forest as this. A step away from the front door, the lady suddenly hesitated, and turned back around. She gave a loud, distinct clap, and stagecoach and beasts dissipated into the night. Her business concluded, she rapped smartly on the door.

            The doors opened just wide enough for her to pass through into the warm entrance hall. She thanked the servant that had opened the doors for her, nervously entwining her fingers through the silky fabric of her dress. She was offered a seat in the adjacent room and complied, sitting herself at the very edge of the cushioned chair, as if in great anticipation. The hearth threw shadows about the room, giving the dusty wooden furniture and sculptures a life and movement of its own. The servant melted away into the crevice of the room, calculating eyes scanning his guest from head to toe, analyzing his master’s guest and determining whether or not he should place an extra order to the chef, or if the lady would like tea from after her strenuous ride, and other such matters significant only to a servant. The lady watched as the clock ticked away the last minutes until twelve. 57. 58. 59. As the grandfather clock tolled, she stood from her seat, and left without so much as a backwards glance or a single word and disappeared into the still night.

            A man scurried down the steps as the last of the carriage melted into the horizon, and sauntered over to a table she did not pass, taking up in his hands a letter sealed with melted wax and stamped with the insignia of a deer. He sliced the latter open with an ornate letter opener and took out sheets of parchment, scribbled over with ruby ink. He read through the lady’s letter quickly, and smiled. The servant came to his side, and his master asked if he had treated the lady with respect and had catered to her wishes. The servant had given a stiff nod. He was wise enough not to ask of his master why he did not greet the lady nor leave a message for her.

            The man took the letter and stepped outside, into the woodland where the wolves cry to the moon and the symphony of bugs play in reckless abandon. Taking each sheet he neatly folded them into cranes, which he blew off of his hand. The cranes flew off into the night, with every flap of the wing climbing higher and higher until they were indistinguishable from the stars that shone above.