When I die, let someone discover my memory someday and love me like I love him.

     My fingertips glide over the old parchment again, lightly so as not to crumble this treasure before me.  Many hours have I sat here wondering, my eyes scanning the words of a woman whose identity is unknown to me.  Letters, stories, poems to a man who is just as much a stranger as the author.   I am moved and I am saddened to the depth of my soul.  I drown in the words, and I fall in love…  I cry and smile.. and at moments sink down in such darkness that I forget they are just words penned before I was even born.  I piece together what I know of the writer and her beloved… I pick up my own quill and begin to write… yet as the quill moves across the page, I am no longer myself….

     I sit here in the silent shadows of my room, darkness near.  Alone.  A swirling cloud of wanting, desire,  needing.   Reaching out to emptiness.  So very near, a glimpse of hope, a love so deep it haunts me.  I yearn for your touch, your life, your presence.

     Alana set down her quill and looked over the page, sighing with displeasure at her own words.  Mere words that could not convey her true thoughts.   If only she had the courage to confront him, perhaps he could read the emotion set deeply within her eyes.. the love that was written on her soul as surely as the words now smeared on the page from her tears.

     “Blood and ashes,” she swore, dabbing at the droplets on the sheet, only causing them to become unreadable and blackening her white lace handkerchief.

     Crumpling the parchment, she tossed it across the room and stared at the blank sheet before her, accusingly, her brow furrowed as she thought of him.  So wrapped up was she in her daydream that she nearly forgot the time.  With a small gasp she scrambled up and raced to the window, looking down into the street.  She was not too late.  With a sigh of relief, she sat in her chair, placed strategically here for this very purpose.  A moment later she caught sight of him, riding at his usual breakneck pace and reigning his horse to a halt before Cora’s door.

     Cora.  Dear, enchanting, beautiful, intelligent and rich, Cora.  There was no way anyone could despise Cora, despite the desire to.  Alana wanted to hate her for taking Jander away.  Because he loved her, because of how he looked at her.  That way that was reserved for a perfect love just bloomed.

     But Cora would not answer the door this day.  That was a secret even Alana was not party to.  How she had missed Cora’s departure, or the rumour of her trip to visit her mother in Cairhien was beyond her.  For a moment, she was absorbed with the surprise that anything had gotten past her network of friends who knew all.  From her place at the window, Alana heard the first of the news, her ears straining to hear the servant’s voice as she explained to the crestfallen suitor.  No, Cora would not be returning.

     If vindictiveness was is her nature, Alana would be exhilarated.   But to see him in this state, still standing proud yet bearing a anguish in his voice so deep….  Alana turned from the window and sat back in her chair, her eyes closing to shut out the thought of her love in pain.

     It would be many weeks until she saw him again, by accident on the street.  And there would be a darkness in him, a secret held inside that he would take to his grave.  He was pleasant enough, speaking to her of the weather as usual, offering to carry her parcels and escort her home.   She accepted warmly but could not help but be deeply disturbed by his eyes.  He is a shadow of the man he once was… courting darkness for his future bride.  In a way he is already dead.  He offered her a smile before departing and wished her well.

     Alana’s mind reeled.  Where she should have been excited at his touch, she felt a chill.  She stared at the words on the page before her.  Living without you, my love, is too painful.  I am becoming weary, worn, tired of breathing, awaking, seeing, hearing.   Thinking of it causes even more hurt.  Her own existence became darker as Jander slipped farther into himself.  Her eyes moved to the letter, an outpouring of heart and soul to his beloved Cora.  It was a violation, she knew… come upon accidentally when walking.  It sat folded, held in place between tree branches, tied with a red satin ribbon.  It was a dark gift indeed.  There was more at stake here then unrequited love.  Beloved Cora had done so much more than escape his love when she fled to Cairhien.

     She looked up from her place near the window and he was there.  Just watching her.  For a moment, she simply stared at him, waiting for him to say something or give a short bow and continue down the street.  Hours could have passed in that single moment that her green eyes met his blue, then the moment passed and he was at her door knocking.  She could hear her mother’s warm greeting, inviting him in… the sound of the servants footfalls on the stair, surely to summon her down to welcome her guest.. and she could hear her own heart pounding an unsteady beat as she wondered what he would say.  The months she had longed for the day he would call were behind her, leaving only this moment of dread and nausea.

     Rising from her chair, she was opening the door before the servant knocked, smoothing her skirt and preparing to face the tempest.  Placing a forced smile upon her lips she descended the stairs, walking with deliberate slowness to gather her thoughts.  He surely was here for politeness sake, they had after all, exchanged greetings in the street, at the festival this past week…. Yes, that must have been the reason for his visit.  Politeness.

     She entered the parlour and looked to where she knew he would be standing, never seated.. as if always prepared to attack or flee.  He was standing, as she suspected, at the mantle of the fireplace, watching the flame intently as if it held answers to whatever haunted him.  She approached slowly, and studied his profile while his attention was distracted.  Handsome and charming… yet dark…so very dark.  Without drawing his eyes from the flickering light he began to speak.

     “You’ve read the letter.”  It was a statement, spoken in smooth, simple tones.. his voice sending a chill through her.

     “Yes.”  She replied.  The planned explanation and lies were far behind her.  She found she could only speak truth to him as color rose to her cheeks.

     “Then you know….”  He turned to face her and she pushed down the rising fear, to look him in the eyes.  The darkness had become something else.

     “Yes.”  Again she answered truthfully, remaining statue still as she watched the flicker of relief pass over his features, “But how..?” she asked.  How had he possibly known she found that letter of confession.

     A smile formed on his lips, and not a pleasant one, “I placed it there for you.  I wanted you to read it.”

     Another moment of silence as she gathered her thoughts, attempting to keep her composure as the questions formed in her mind.  She opened her mouth to speak and he made a gesture to silence her.

     “Because you watched me, followed me, asked about me.  You were sneaky, secretive and manipulative in your own harmless little way.”  He took a step closer to her and she had to fight from backing away, “Because of your stories, your letters, your sweet poems… the way you would look away when I caught you staring at the festival…  And because as much as you felt for me, you never stood in the way between Cora and I.”

     Alana stared.  Jander continued, “Those and other reasons that are my own.  The fact remains now, that you know.  What will you do with your knowledge, little one?”

     Alana closed her eyes a moment.  Yes, she still loved him… despite this madness growing within him… despite the way his stare made her want to run.  Run like Cora had.

     “Nothing,” she responded after a moment of deathly silence, “I will do nothing.”

     Emotions crossed his face so quickly it was difficult to place them… relief, anger, frustration, sadness….  “Why?”

     “Because I….”

     A wine glass shattered on the table behind him and the air around her began to heat as though the flames from the fireplace surrounded her, lighting her skirts ablaze.   She had the urge to look, but his eyes held her transfixed, “Because you love me?” his voice rose with anger and disbelief, blue eyes wild and blazing.

     “I…,” she began, then tore her eyes from his, looking toward the fireplace.

     “Love.   That is a Gleeman’s tale, my dear.   Your concept of ‘love’.” He began to circle her as if she were his prey, “If you knew what I could do… what I would become…”  he stopped standing behind her, close enough that she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck.

     She turned and looked up at him, forcing herself to face his impending insanity, “You could destroy me… and most likely will, if you do not destroy yourself first.  You will slowly begin to go insane, your mind rotting along with your body.  In your madness you will forget those you claim to love, forget every hope and dream you once had, listening to the voices in your head as they tell you to destroy them.  That is your fate.  And mine, if I chose to love you.”

     He looked at her silently a moment, neither denying or confirming her words.  Then she was in his arms, and he was kissing her, holding her to him so tightly she felt that her bones would break at the pressure.  But the parlour swirled away, the house, the street… the curse that would soon steal him from her.  There was just the moment and she clung to it, though it slid through her fingers.

 Just as quickly he was a step away from her, though still looking down at her from his considerable height, “Alana… what will you do?”

     “Meet me near the tree, late tonight.”  There was no need to explain which tree or what her plans were… he nodded as though he understood her unspoken thoughts and left her standing in the parlour, preparing to face the consequences of her choice.

     I set down my quill with a cursory glance over my own words and I am satisfied that Alana’s story has been told.  Within my soul I wonder if somehow I knew her…. Or was her.  With some investigation over the years I have discovered the fate of Jander and Alana… stories passed down over the centuries, that somehow hold true from teller to teller.

     Jander met Alana under the tree that same night, bringing with him a change a clothes and a weeks rations, so the story goes.  The travelled a few miles outside of town, taking shelter in an abandoned cabin they found.  None of the stories confirm how long they spent there together before Jander’s madness destroyed them both in a bonfire that destroyed their little cabin and miles of forest surrounding it.  Though, one of those I spoke to directed me to the place that Alana and Jander loved.   No remnant of the cabin remained and I felt a loss.  I wanted to know more… I wanted to experience them.

     I sat beneath a tree at the place near where the cabin once stood, not wanting to leave.  After an hour of contemplation, I decided to return before it became dark.  It was then that a slight chill passed through me and I felt a presence flowing through me.  I looked near my hand on the ground and found the corner of a smooth stone.   I began to dig around it, first with my fingers, then using my knife.   I soon revealed a stone marker, the words upon it fading, but still faintly legible, Know that even in Madness, I loved you..  I traced a finger over these words and felt my eyes fill with tears.

     “I know you did…” I whisper, and the presence departs from me, leaving only the sound of crickets chirping as the sky begins to darken.  I remember the book and continue to dig.  He must have saved it… he must have known I would return.   I find the box buried deep and the book  intact, though brittle with age.  I hold the box close to my heart, knowing I will discover Alana, myself… the documentation of our last days together.

     I recall Alana’s words -  When I die, let someone discover my memory someday and love me like I love him.   “I will not let that love die….” I whisper, clutching the box.

     “I had hoped that is what you would feel..” the masculine voice behind me replies… and I close my eyes and begin to cry.