The Willow Tree
A/N: I'd Appreciate some reviews, suggestions, or even flames. This is my first story and I would like some feed back.
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The Willow Tree
He often sat beneath the willow tree. The leaves always seemed to dance in the summer wind. Not today. Today the serenity of the tree, the forest, and even the pond, where the kelpies often play in Spring, was gone; the full sounds usually resonating throughout the clearing, where he now sat, was now hallow and empty. One might wonder how such a joyous glade, basked in sunlight and with the faint scent of crisp honey-apple wine, could not bring him joy.
He knew. He, Rath Roibin Rye, knew. He thought of it now, the memory of it still a fresh wound to his mind. He had killed today; the blood, still crimson and warm against the delicate skin of his hands, mocking him.
"Murderer," it whispered to him. "
"Murderer, you are not fit to have me spilt upon your hands. You are naught but a coward, Murderer."
He sobbed; just once, and only for the briefest of moments. A dry hallow sound, much like the way he felt. No tears were spilt, though his whole body shook with his uneven breathing. Murderer. The word echoed through his mind.
Her face flashed before his eyes. She, the willow woman of the very tree he now sat under, stared into his mind's eye. She was not angry. How he wished she had at least been angry. She just kept staring at him with the same sympathetic and motherly look she had always given him. It was as if she had already forgiven him long before he had been ordered to take her life.
His eyes flickered to the ever dimming light of the crimson afternoon sky. "How fitting," He whispered hoarsely into the air. He stood, a stone look plastered upon his face. The Queen of the Night Court would be calling him to her chamber soon; eager to see the broken look upon his face.
She would never see it. He would never let that vile snake see the anguish that he felt. It would only serve to give her pleasure. He had already been broken anyway, by her far fairer sister, no less. Silarial had deserved his tears. She was the only one that ever would. He headed for the Night Court, his steps deliberately smooth and commanding. His face has hard and cold and unfeeling as stone.
She would never see it.