Woman of Sorrows-The Black-Veiled Woman

Hope Rekindled

It had been twenty years since she died, to the day. Thane, having been so consumed by grief that he failed to so much as eat, lay on his bed, his hands tucked under his head as he looked up to the ceiling. His mind was filled with her image. If only she had not been slaughtered before her time. By now, they would have been married, living happily together in each other's company. He just needed her, more than anything else in the world. Without her, he was lost.

From where he lay, his mind lost in his dreams, he could not see the door. However, he heard it creak open, and the light footsteps of someone passing through. Behind them, he heard the door be closed, and locked. He barely moved, his mind still engulfed with thoughts of the woman he was robbed of. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Finally, taking a deep breath, be spoke to the intruder.

"If you are a common thief, come to rob me, I have nothing of value, but whatever you want, you may take, I will not stop you. If you have come to cut my throat whilst I sleep, I will not protest. There is nothing left for me in this world, so death would be a mercy. No one will mourn me, as I have no one to care for me or love me left."

The intruder was silent, save for the rustle of clothing as they presumably dropped a cloak on the floor.

"You are mistaken, surely, for I care for you," came a woman's voice as she stepped into the moonlight.

Forcing himself to look, though he knew it could not be true, he found himself looking into the emerald eyes of Chalandra. He jumped out of his bed, sitting on the edge.

"Surely this is a dream," he said with disbelief, fearing it was some illusion.

"No, this is no dream," she answered, smiling to him.

Instantly, she was in his arms. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, never to let her go. He could not ever let her go again. Not in his life. Burying his face in her hair, he sucked in her smell. The single tear was replaced by a multitude of joyful tears, from both. Chalandra wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. For a long moment, he simply held her, one arm around her neck, the other firmly around her waist. Slowly, careful not to release his hold on her, he moved his hands to her face, and held it safe in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She returned his kiss, closing her eyes and savoring every moment. Slowly, he moved her towards the bed. She lay back without hesitation, and as she did, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. And she was safe.

Thane kissed her, barely giving her time to gasp for breath. She did not protest, nor did she back away in an attempt to avoid him. She returned every kiss with equal and surpassing passion, having been deprived of his affection for far too long. His hands grabbed onto her sides, as though trying to ensure she was not some dream. It was hard to imagine that she was home, back in his arms. The inn, it may not have been their home, but wherever each other were, that was their home. And in this moment, it was very much their home.

Later in the evening, when the lull of sleep became too powerful, they lay side by side. Thane wrapped his arms around her, pulling her head against his chest, against his heart. There she was. After so many long, lonely, depressed, sorrow-filled years. He would never, never, let her go again. The woman who had died. She lay before him now. The sleeping body, filled with peace. The woman who filled him with peace. All the restless years, the years of searching for meaning and relief, they disappeared. At the very sight of her, his heart was healed. He needed no explanation, he needed no words. All he needed was her. And she was here again.

There she lay, on the sheets, against the wall of the small inn. Carefully, so not to wake her, he pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. The icy winter air could not harm her, but he nevertheless cared enough to keep her safe. Before he withdrew his hand, he placed his rough hand under her delicate chin, pressing his thumb to her chin. So beautiful. So perfect. Like the fallen angel that she was. Perfect, delicate, but sent back from the land of the dead. It was as though she was a shrine, something that it was wrong to touch.