The Heart In Stone

Part 1: The Man From The House On The Hill

When Romulus opened his eyes the hooded figure was standing over him. Its left foot lodged in between Romulus's thighs and the other pressed firmly just below his heart. The long scythe on its right hand had a silvery-grey blade that was long, sharp and winked as it caught the moonlight.

The stranger's face was lost beneath the large hood of his flowing dark-grey robes which were embellished with silvery runes along the edges that glistined as they caught the moon's light, giving them a glowing quality.

The large room was dark and silent. It's two windows were wide open, allowing the night's full moon to illuminate what it could of the dim room. Not that there was much to illuminate; for a large room it was almost empty. The room's only furnishings were the dark silhouette of a small armchair that stood by itself on the dark left corner; a small round table and it's lone chair that were close to the window on the right, on which there was a pile of something that Romulus couldn't quite identify on the table, and lastly the seemingly large bed that he was lying on.

The figure pressed his leathery boot firmly into Romulus's bare chest before prodding the place lightly with the pointy blade of the scythe, he then swung the large axe until it seemed to hover above him.

"Please..." Romulus heard himself utter in a voice of pure desperation. He saw the figure pause, the dark blade mere millimetres from his bare chest. He tried to move but his body seemed to be pinned down by invisible harnesses that were fastened tightly around his arms and legs, holding him firmly in place.

"Alabaster ... please ... there has to be another way" Romulus heard himself say, his voice strained and pleading, tears threatening to escape his watery eyes.

There was a moment's pause. A distant voice called out a name but otherwise the city was as silent as the grave. The air inside the room seemed frozen, cold and still. And then Romulus watched as the figure swung his scythe once more, it's blade winking in salutations.

The pain that followed was pain like Romulus had never known before. It flowed through every limb in his body and went as deep as his bones, he felt his toes give a spasm and twitch uncontrollably. His hands clenched tightly into fists and his chest felt like it was ready to explode. He must have woken up half the city as he screamed.

Romulus had closed his eyes seconds before the blade had pierced his chest and when he opened them again a blindingly fiery red light seemed to be issuing from the place where the scepter's blade still remained lodged deep into his chest.

Romulus stared at the queer light confunded, noting the absense of blood. An odd sense of relief came upon him suddenly as silent tears spilled from his eyes. He should sleep now, he thought. His body felt tired and heavy, the intense pain of a few seconds before quickly receding. Above him, familiar grey eyes watched him slip merciful into oblivion.

******

The old man woke up with a start, his right hand clutching at the place where the blade had been lodged. A very distant pain ached for a few seconds before it completely went away, leaving the old man with a sudden itch in the same place.

It had all been a dream.

And indeed the dream had started to fade as soon as the old man sat on his bed trying to remember. It quickly got to the point where he couldn't remember the name of the young man, or the name of the figure in the dream and a minute later he had forgotten the dream in it's entirety.

He was not surprised of course. This always happened every night and every morning; plagued by the same dream for as long as he could remember and doomed to forget it as soon as he woke up.