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The Darkness Entire Kelantha
It
trailed like a dancing shadow through the arches and into the bleak
stretch of alley that progressed beyond the river, a flame of light
flickering in a hand that held a single candle upright. Bravely it cast
feeble orange tongues into the lingering darkness, sliding up the cold
stone walls on either side and basking the feminine features into a hollow
glow. Her eyes were widened, her step tentative, as she made her way
forward, jumping at every light skitter on the cobbles. Her breath came in
feeble gasps, short pleas for air that constricted in her throat and
threatened to choke her. The candle began to tremble violently as from the
shadows unfurled a creature dominated in a long black cloak. Fingers
appeared at the garment�s edges, causing it to ripple in the wake of the
figure that approached her. The woman backed up, a scream ready upon her
lips but unable to burst forth for the constraints of her mind. The
candle fell into the street, bouncing off the cobbles and going out with a
hiss of steam in a puddle that reflected only the violence of the assault,
before the street melted into darkness entire. �. I
awoke trembling, with clammy sweat gathered upon my milky skin. It
remained night and the moon was glistening through the draperies as they
moved beneath the cool air fluttering across the city. Dracula had not
returned. I drew trembling hands to my head, moving them beneath the waves
of tangled dark hair, licking the blood from my lips. I had bitten myself
in my sleep. It was not the menacing of that moment that replayed in my
darkest dreams, but the realism of them. I could feel every gust of wind
that fluttered down the lonely alley, smell the rank stench of the street
beyond the butcher�s shop, the fresh scent of meat wafting to me across
the way, see the increasing shadows as they followed her. Each time, my
voice called out a warning, but I was ghost or nothing at all, for I could
not prevent the inevitable. The
house was quiet, sleeping beneath the bliss of a long summer�s night. It
was growing hot in the daylight hours. I could remember the sunlight on my
skin, the years I spent in the garden as a child, the monstrous headaches
that soon prevailed, sending me indoors to have my head wrapped in a
dampened handkerchief to listen to the soothing words of the priest. For
some inexplicable reason, I wanted him now, to tell him of my dream, to be
patted on the head and told that it was all right. But I was a woman
grown, and a child of darkness. It caused me to push aside the blankets in
frustration and rise, my figure silhouetted against the open window. Why
did not my husband return home? He rarely was out this late, unless it
dictated some greater ambition than merely to feed his immortal desires. Dangers
prevailed for a woman alone on the streets, but none might touch me if I
did not allow them to. I was stronger than any of them, more brutally
vicious than any thief or murderer could appraise. These thoughts raced
through my mind, desperately attempting to quell the tremor that still
lingered in my limbs, as I drew a cloak over my nightly attire and slipped
out into the corridor. I did not know where I was being lead, only that it
was in me to flee, to seek the solace of utter tranquility that only the
earliest hours of the morning can provide. I was pale in the moonlight,
only a feeble illusion against the rising houses, most of them utterly
dark. There were not even any constables out. Beyond
the church lay the graveyard, hallowed ground that I was able to approach.
Sinners were buried with the holy, staining the earth with the foulness of
their thoughts and deeds. I dared not enter the church itself, that
beloved enclave where once as a child I had found acceptance and freedom.
Dracula could enter such places, for his piety was such that it emboldened
him, but I was young yet and inexperienced. Instead, I found solace among
the dead, for only they knew the true nature of my soul. I walked among
the crypts, staring at names that had frightened me as a child. Death then
had been abominable, something to be terrified of, a promise of pain
followed by the flames of hell whilst I languished in Purgatory. Now they
appeared as winsome markers of those who have passed before us, lonely
writings to souls that might have dwelled on, or never left this mortal
realm at all. I
paused over the headstone of a child, and my fingers reached out to feel
the cold stone of the angel lurking over her grave. It
was here that he found me. I do not know why he was about and listless at
neither that hour, nor what drew him beyond the four walls of his beloved
church, only that he touched my shoulder and I turned, feeling the bitter
sting of his reckless hand. �You should not be alone,� he said,
mysteriously, his eyes haunted by something I could not ever understand.
�There are perils in this city just as evil to a woman grown as to a
child.� His eyes then softened, his voice taking on an affectionate
lilt. �Do you remember?� he asked. I stared at him, stared at the
silver cross hanging amongst the fullness of his black robes, at the
clerical collar, at the wings of gray framing a face that I had grown to
love as a child, and still loved now. I
could have never forgotten. I had been angry and upset, chastised unfairly
for something that my brothers had blamed on me, and slipped out into the
night to run away. He had found me, carried me trembling the length of the
street, placed me in a chair in his office, and gave me a cup of tea and
biscuits whilst sending word to my parents that I was all right. I was
allowed to stay in the church that night, with one of the sisters. The
memory brought a faint, embarrassed smile to my lips, and I ducked my head
the same way that I�d done as a child. �You have changed in many
ways,� said the Archbishop, �and yet you are the same: an idle
wanderer searching for the right road into eternity. Have you found it, my
child?� �I
hope that I have.� �Then
that is all you can do.� He moved around me, appraising the grave with a
slightly mournful countenance, no doubt remembering when he had laid the
girl to rest. �You are troubled,� he said presently, �and your
husband as well. I can sense it in him, a listlessness that goes beyond
sleepless nights. Is there anything I might do, to ease your troubles?� �Troubles
come to the virtuous as well as the wicked, Your Grace. We must forge them
without complaint.� I leaned against the near crypt, watching as the
moon slid behind the clouds, caught up in its insatiable lure. It seemed
to speak to me, whispers filling my head that sounded vaguely like his
voice. Dracula had returned to the house and found me gone out. I knew
this without seeing it, for our connection remained strong. He was able to
provoke my whims, my rage, my feelings of affection and empathy, and I
allowed him to. I listened. I obeyed. He was calling me to return, but I
would not leave my safe haven just yet. Memories clouded with dreams were
filling my head, causing me to reach up and attempt to blot them out. I
felt his strong hands on my arms, attempting to prevent me from scratching
my temples raw. My knees buckled beneath me, depositing me in a heap on
the cold ground. The Archbishop knelt with me, his eyes filled with
concern. �Please,� he pleaded, and in that moment sounded very old and
weak, �please tell me what is wrong.� My
skin felt on fire beneath his touch, the warmth of a man close to God, who
followed His every instruction, who never lingered over an evil thought or
deed, who was willing to forgive and grant acceptance to all, even those
that society shunned. For one wild instant, I wanted to tell him. But I
knew that even he could not understand, that his goodness wouldn�t
extend to the salvation of blood that I had been bathed in, to eternal
separation from everything holy and pious. Anguish must have shown in my
face, for he knew that I would not tell him, and dropped his head slightly
in mourning. �The child has indeed grown up,� he said softly. I
went home, but every step of the way became more difficult. It was not
hard to imagine that I was ill, for it flooded through every fiber of my
being. I felt strangely heavy as I climbed the stairs, fighting off the
nightmare that replayed over and over again in my mind. The doorknob
turned beneath my hand, opening into a room bathed in a gentle white
light. Dracula stood on the verandah, and turned as I entered, his hand
leaving the railing. He beheld me, and I felt him curiously probing my
mind. I had not the strength to conceal my dream from him, and he came
hastily to my side as I fell. �My darling,� he whispered, as he tucked
me into bed and plumped the pillows beneath my head, �why does it bother
you so?� Whether or not I spoke aloud, I do not know. But my heart cried out, �Because it was me.�
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