Broken Light

Dracula

I could not believe what I heard.  Words poured out in a torrent, words that burned all the more for the once gentle voice that pronounced them.  I stared at her where she stood across the room, the coffin between us, her hands curled into fists by her sides, fire in her eyes that fueled every searing word.  There was something deeper than the fire and rage, something I turned away from.  It made me govern my own emotion, made my voice sound calm and contained.

�Do not speak that way to me, Kelantha.�  It was concise; it was impassive.  We might have been discussing economics, or the dismissal of a servant.  Surreal, certainly, yet not unwelcomed.  I could not block her words from my mind, where they echoed soundlessly.  He had told her!  It was incomprehensible why He would do such a thing, or what He thought would come of it.  She was nearly drowning in it, in the knowledge that haunted her completely, leaving a desolate vacancy in her aspect.  I would not reach for her again; I knew she would not wish it.  Yet as little could I let her go under.  She was slipping away; I could feel it.  The sound of her dry, ironic laugh made me visibly recoil.

�Of course; I had forgotten. It must ruin your little fantasy dreadfully when I refuse to play along.�

�How can you say such things?�  My voice was thick with emotion; I paused as I struggled to speak guardedly.  �How can you speak that way to me? To me! I have only ever � �

�Loved me kindly and with devotion?�  She made to attempt her hide her scorn, but fastened her eyes on me coldly.  �Is that how how you loved our son? Rather generous, I should think, extending such cordiality when he was merely a business arrangement.�

�I loved Mihail!� I cried, conscious that my voice shook, that my hands were shaking still.  �I do not expect you to understand, if indeed you are capable of any one emotion in its entirety.�

She squared her shoulders.  �No sense in dragging it out; say what you mean directly.�  Her voice was husky, defiant.  I flexed my left hand before I spoke again.

�Did you ever make yourself vulnerable long enough to love anyone? In all my years with you, I have never been certain you cared about anything.�

She shrugged impassively.  �Yes, that must be very hard for you. You should have made certain your companion of eternal darkness would not have the spirit or will to resist or fight back. How strange you are, my darling! You go on pretending as though none of this is happening, as though you will see that perfect ending after all.�

I was not hearing this.  I would not listen.  I had to get out, I could not see or hear her any longer.  I started toward the door, away from her sneers.

�Are you leaving while I am speaking to you? What is the matter, love, does my voice displease you?�

�Kelantha, if you are somehow, strangely comforted by hurling every insult possible at my feet, then I should think you are vastly contented by now and may leave me in some shattered sense of peace.�

She rushed after me, arresting my arm and making me look at her.  �What am I supposed to think?�  Her voice trembled slightly.  �I am a part of something in which I have no say! Do you derive pleasure from it, like watching one of your great experiments?�  She released me suddenly, stepping back.  �I am glad Mihail is not here to see this. I am glad he will never know. Nothing can save him now. There is nothing that can give him back to me.�

I had nothing left, nothing whatsoever within me.  I watched her lean against the wall and sink to the floor, like a child, and could do nothing.  The grief I had been choking on was left strangled.  I had no more anger, no suppressed tears.  There was nothing worth saying, nothing worth feeling.  None of it could be changed.  I stood in the doorway and watched her, detached from myself.

�There was no perfect ending,� I told her.  She did not look up at me, nor did I expect her to.  My voice did not seem like my own, but I continued.  �I loved you, and I love you still. You are my reality. Our love was never a victory march.�

Kelantha would not face me, but I knew the ire in her voice was etched on her face.  �Why are you saying this now? Mihail is dead!�

�I would have given my last breath in exchange for his.�

�I do not wish to know what you would have done.�

�You must see, do you not, how much deeper it is than this? It is not about Mihail; it is the fact that even a tragedy like this can become an argument. There is a part of us that has died, that barely even drew breath, in all our time together. There is not one smile you have bestowed that has not haunted me; no amount of silence that can cover the words never said. All the nights spent in conversation, in the hunt, lovemaking by candlelight, I never knew you. I have lost you and I never had you. Every single hour between us. All the years.�

It was not the space that distances us, it was the look, the unconcealed aversion on her face as she slowly turned to look at me.

�I hate you,� she said softly, simply.  �I hate you.�  She averted her gaze once more, drawing into her own self. 

It was the expression I had seen in her eyes and would not name.  I left the room, left her entirely, choosing instead one of the many vacant chambers, closing the door behind me, longing to close my eyes to all of it.  But when I did, all I could see and hear was Mihail, his pained features, his voice pleading.

It is not beautiful here, Father, and I thought we were divine!

My eyes opened upon the empty room long enough to find my way out of it.  I could not hope to rest in it, not while Mihail remained unburied.  Kelantha was still mourning, still bidding him farewell.

Still hating you.

I pushed open the the thick doors and left the castle behind me.  The river lay before me, tripping and falling over the stones smoothed by the water.  At its banks stood one solitary figure I instantly recognized.  Mireille.  I had forgotten her in the eruption, but now she moved instinctively toward me, falling into an embrace I did not offer, hiding from me and in me.  She, too, had suffered.  He was all I had, she said without speaking, and you.  Always you.  Never you.  All that was beautiful, all that was true was in him and in you: always before me and always out of my reach.  It has died, but all things must die, all things of beauty must end.  Must they?

For the first time I spoke.  Yes.

She breathed softly.  She is content.  I understood.  I titled her back gently until she was lying beneath me, compliant and unquestioning, her trust silencing all the questions clamoring in her mind.  She was not dreaming, she was sure of it.  I spoke audibly then, words that did not resurrect the dream.

�Yes, it has died. As all must die��

My fingers brushed the line of her jaw, but it did not soothe her.  The green eyes were flooded with understanding.  Betrayal.  She made no movement to free herself, and I took no pains to deny it.  Her eyes were facing mine and we were locked, in betrayal and in punishment, in a moment and in eternity.  Not once did the silently broken eyes look away.  The rock found my hand and was enclosed within the cold grasp.

I took the rock and blotted out her face forever.

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