September 27th was my ninth year anniversary. Plus I was juggling edits, other projects, and playing catch up with Paula's Prompts after the Monster Post.
Here at long last in a response. It's a Tale of the Navel/The Shadow Forest which takes place after the three preludes I'm posting at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com (Waiting for Rebirth, Unwilling to Be Yours, and Be My Valentine...Snack) and in the middle of my first novel in the series, Stealing Myself From Shadows.
I've tried not to spoiler too much. :)
It had looked like a pond in the distance.
Now that I’d gotten closer to the gate, I could see all the inlets and rivulets hidden within the trees on all sides, spreading out in every direction
The pond was in truth a lake.
“Not just any lake.” A young man stared at me through the black iron rungs of the gate. Rose purple eyes, shadowed by dark circle after dark circle fixed themselves upon me with dull exhaustion. “It’s the lake. Every you’ve ever lost dissolves with its depths.”
“Dissolves?” I studied the surface of the water.
Ripple after ripple glided across the surface, splattering red across the tiny wavelets, turning it bloody.
“Fresh pain.” The young man nodded his shaggy head. Each ebon lock was matted and unkept. “Someone has spilled theirs into the lake, unable to take it anymore.” He raised a hand from the bar to rub his chin. “Eventually the water will have to absorb it the way it absorbs anything.”
I stared at the cleft in his pale, hairless chin. This was all wrong. A man as ill-kept as him should have stubble. It made no sense for him to have no trace of a beard.
No trace of a beard. No sign that he’d ever used a razor. This shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his age. Not unless…
“You’re an arachnocrat.” I glanced at his graceful, slender fingers kissed with dust and paint. “How have you managed to live to manhood? I thought the ladies devoured their boys in marriage feasts before they could grow up.”
“Well, well, you know something of arachnocrats.” He blinked at me, attempting to smile. A hint of a once powerful charisma peeked out of his matted eyelashes and parted lips. “What you may not know is even arachnocrats have their deviants.”
“Damian.” Memories of a painting I’d detested at first sight coming with life, filled with vibrant malice quivered through me. “You’re Damian Ashelocke.”
“Am I? Is this Damian Ashelocke famous?” His smile grew a little. “Disappearing and losing yourself must do wonders for an artist’s career.”
“You prick.” Anger, long simmering in my belly started to spit and hiss. “You think your disappearance is some kind of joke? You broke Christopher’s heart!”
Damian stiffened, his smile disappearing. He fixed his gaze upon me.
“Christopher.” He breathed the name almost like a prayer. “He’s still safe, isn’t he? At the Navel, under ‘Brie’s protection?”
A lump formed in my throat as I recalled recent events, the pressure my little cabal had put upon Christopher to open a Door. Yearning for Damian was what had persuaded him. This and fear of losing me the same way he’d lost his moody artist.
I wondered exactly who was the true prick, Damian or myself.
“No.” I dropped my gaze down to the purple grass at my toes. “Christopher is beyond the Door somewhere.”
“What?” Anger brightened Damian’s rose purple gaze. “Why would he do that?” He seized the bar once more, tightening his fingers around. “Christopher knew better than to open a Door! He tried to stop me when I created one!”
“Yes, well, when it comes to you, wisdom and Christopher have a way of parting company.” I raised my head to meet his angry stare. “More than anything he wants to find you.”
“I see.” Damian raised a hand to run through his hair. With a single gesture, the matted condition of his ebon locks smoothed and separated.
One truly could do anything in the Shadow Forest if one willed it. This small act of vanity gave me hope.
“If Christopher is trying to find me, we’d better find him first.” Damian took a step away from the gate and jerked his head towards the right. “You coming?”
I lifted my hands to touch the gate. “How do I get past this?”
“Nothing is real beyond the Door unless you allow it to be.” Damian’s lower lip curled slightly. “Surely you’re not going to let a little thing like a gate stand between you and Christopher.”
“Prick,” I growled. I closed my eyes.
I thought of Christopher, staring at me, lower lip trembling.
He hadn’t wanted to return to the Shadow Forest. He’d been terrified of this place. Now he was lost in the woods, losing himself once more.
It was Damian’s fault, but it was mine as well. I’d threatened to come here. I’d stumbled on the Doorway, causing Christopher to come after me.
I took a couple of steps forwards and opened my eyes.
The gate was gone. I stood at Damian’s side.
“Don’t just stand here.” He didn’t even acknowledge my success at reshaping the landscape. “Come on.”
He started walking, not bothering to see if I was following.
“Prick,” I muttered again. I still started walking after him.
Very good. The repeated slanderous muttering was an excellent touch. Well done!
ReplyDeleteThank you! Long before Peter met him, Damian had acquired the nickname of 'Prick' and 'The Perfect Prick'. Christopher worshipped him entirely too much (see inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com for Unwilling to Be Yours and the details :))
DeleteThank you so much for stopping by!