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IndigoEve
Member
since 2003-01-10
Posts 279
Etched in the illusion of time

0 posted 2004-03-08 04:16 PM


Long ago, before time could be measured by neither hours nor days, there was a whisper of one who dwelled within eternity itself. She was an ever-present shadow, lingering aside the ash-stained walls of her towery prison. Indeed, the people of the dell knew, and all through the night, they shivered in harmony with her archaic voice as it carried a haunting song 'twixt the meadows. All through the night they whispered a name too ethereal for their mortal words. "God save her, the Lady Amiè Delicâte!"

~

She stood alone, listening only faintly to the drums that cadenced in the mountainous expanse, rising ghostly and pale amid the fog of twilight. The way they echoed was a lullaby to the ache of museful solitude she harbored like a silent plague. Alas, in this world all she had was melodies of old, and so she sang a requiem for each day as it faded to the next. Seasons blended feverishly together, and sorrow was born anew. Sometimes, in the very depth of the eventide, she could hear the people?' sighs as they were sleeping. Insomnia passed like a dream..  

As sunrise often bled slowly into sunset's peak, she saw the west swell with colors Aurora hung in threnody to the morn. The waning light poured itself softly upon her room, and her eyes followed where it slanted. Lines of radiance betrayed a mirror draped in tapestry on the far side, half-hidden still in spindly shadow. Always, it had remained covered; she could not remember why. It was she who had spun the silken threads from borrowed miseries of the moon, a silver uncast by its gentle paradox with the sea-strained shores. And yet...they shared an aura, the mirror and her, though she dare not feel it 'til now.

Vaguely, she recalled, the murmurs of the village nigh which foretold of a curse. She knew not of its consequence, lest she look upon the crystal face, bathed in the night's iniquities. This reality of damnation, however tempting it might be to her, produced a morbid esotericism that shrouded her lips in a disquieted sigh. Beneath her, the people stirred all through the restless night, whispering, "Humanity is weak, but the attraction strong."

A curiosity grew from her insatiable hunger for cure of isolation's affliction, and she let her eyes trace the tapestry thrown o'er the mirror's forbidden surface with methodical ease. It was like a splinter in her mind, driven deeper with each passing hour..she was compelled to know what secrets lie buried under the fringes of gold and blue. She could barely discern her desolation from the insanity that ruled her consciousness, and in a mad frenzy of destruction, she tore the fabric away...

The gathering of hours into days had begun.

Forever, she sat, gazing thoughtfully at her own face, enrapt by its flawlessness. She outlined the contours with her fingers on the glass, lovingly humming her lifespan away. As time slipped by, her hands trailed delicately through mahogany hair. She spent eternities admiring how it spilled to the floor, with such elegance that even the butterflies quivered invidiously. Shadows shifted gradually with a rarefied purpose, exposing her skin to its first shades of dusk.

She owned the sin of vanity with a dangerous delight.  

~

Long ago, the people moved in anxious droves, talking amongst themselves of a curse that had befallen the Lady Amiè. Many rumors betrayed what was to come, and they stared mournfully ahead, crossing themselves for fear if the voices held any truth. None could conceive such a horrible demise.

It was said that narcissism overtook her senses, and she remained captive to her own reflection. Some breathed quietly, whispering that she was stricken immortal, her soul bound to its mysterious lucidity for all time. Never again was she to look upon the world outside the turret walls, but only within the mirror's deceptive glance. Endure she would, youthful and bright, lest she break her trance to see the sky in its true form.

The people moved uneasily, as some dared to speak of her fate..

~

Steadily, her song persisted through winter's frost, and melted with the spring. Unwavering notes divided moments of delirium, and she mouthed soundless expressions of ardor to her delicate image, glimmering and unbroken before her. It was strangely tranquil, and yet, she could feel a change in the movement of time. Somewhere, she was dimly aware of a shift in her imbalanced state. A variation that slowly formed itself into..

A man. He strayed into her mirror and surpassed the visage she exalted night and day. Slipping past her widened eyes, she could distinguish his face amidst the hardened sunlight. How could it be, that a thing more beautiful than she alone existed? An obsession was born as her sight penetrated the opaque glass. She followed him motionlessly for a day, worshipped the circles he trod into the soft, clay ground. At the burial of the sun beneath the horizon line, he ultimately paused from his travels and poised his feet upon the water's edge. She was transfixed upon the way he hesitated, ever lightly, before plunging into the river below.

Unconsciously, she turned her eyes toward the window and watched him fall, the haze enveloping his body with an effortless grace. She could not hear the mirror shatter upon the cold stone tiles, nor could she feel the shards bite through her bare skin over the unearthly elegy she clung to with shame. She was still sleeping as she drifted toward the stairwell in descent to the thicket below..still dreaming a fancied reverie as she pursued his lengthy shadow in vain.

She followed him all the way into the river, to a slumber cursed with song. And the people bowed their heads in woe, as the last note was drawn from beneath the waterside.

~

Long ago, there was a place where hours lasted longer than the span of each solemn day. The concept of time to the people of the dell was foreign, as they only knew how to speak through immortality, carved from the blackness of a funeral hymn. They could remember faintly what it was to be human, but the notion was so weak that it withered afterall. Years were simply an illusion; death, a fleeting sough. None other than the old could fully tell of how they obtained this gift of divinity, and even then, there was but one thing left that could be said of its fatal price.
"Let me tell you the story of a faraway past, the tale of Amiè Delicâte..."


If I were to touch you, would you bleed a velvet river, running miracles through the sodden ground? --Moi

© Copyright 2004 Imbued - All Rights Reserved
merlynh
Member
since 1999-09-26
Posts 411
deer park, wa
1 posted 2004-04-12 09:25 PM


This was wonderful!  I often wonder why I am reading three novels at the same time, which are written so poorly only to realize their worth. Sadly enough I will have to stop for I can not bear them anymore.

You have great promise as a writer.  
You honor me as being the first to reply.

Jeffrey Carter
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Member Elite
since 2000-04-08
Posts 2367
State of constant confusion!
2 posted 2004-04-16 04:03 PM


I can't figure out why more people haven't replied to this. This piece shows excellent penmanship. Don't let the lack of replies keep you from writing and posting. PLEASE!!!
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
3 posted 2004-04-27 11:56 PM


You have the gift of a storyteller...
tell us another, please.

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