After many decades, my friends, we have returned. The notorious writing
team, Katie and Lolly. Well, fairs fair, it's just Lolly here, because Kate
is soooooo lazy *Kate tugs Lolly's hair* but yeh. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Meg Cabot owns all the characters you recognize, and I own this plot and everything you don't recognize.
**************************************************************************** **********
Prologue:
~*~
Jesse's POV.
A month had crept by since the incident involving that pícaro, Paul Slater. No longer could I look at my Susannah and see her eyes blithe, joyful, smiling. There was a deadness in her emerald irises, a greyness that would never go away. No longer could she look at me with that chaste, innocent love; there was an element of fear whenever her eyes rested upon me. As if I had betrayed her in some immortal way. And judging by what she had said I'd done, she was perfectly right.
Moonlight shone through her open window, and a distorted square was cast across the room, landing on the sleeping from of my Querida. I watched over her from the window seat, my traditional placing, watching her silken curls flutter ever so gently with each breath that she relinquished her immaculate self. Her closed eyes were flickering slightly, but perceptibly enough for me to notice them from my position. I kept my distance from her as she slept. Never would I take advantage of her.
. . . Never again.
I felt tortured. Surely I was not being punished? I regarded myself as a good Christian, and always deemed myself worthy of heaven if it is not to bold as to say. Yet I had been trapped on this earth to pay for my misdeeds. What had I done wrong, so wrong to be condemned to this terrible fate? To have met the woman of my dreams, and to still be so far away from her. Never have I been one to doubt the Lord's ways, but I could never seem to find the logic behind this existence. It settled a profound, steady ache on my heart each time I looked into her eyes, and saw a thousand words in her silence.
Her hand curled a little as she shivered faintly, and I saw her forehead crease. Another nightmare. We were both tortured souls. Slowly, I closed her window and watched her face slacken to its calm, peaceful form. She sank back into her eiderdowns, warm. Yet I was still cold.
My heart had a deadly chill to it, ever since . . . I'd forfeited my life for Susannah. It had been the hardest thing I'd ever done in my whole being. But my love for Susannah had driven me to it. Well, I cannot say that is entirely true, I regret. My own guilt and pain has also contributed to my final decision. It is degrading to remember this, but these components were very real in the situation, shameful as they were. I could not bear to see my Querida in so much pain. For a century and a half, no blood did travel around my veins, not a breath did enter my lungs, and no psychical heartache had I suffered. Yet, the mere sight of Susannah, so woebegone and anguished, shattered my finally beating heart. Oh, the pain was astonishing, absurd. Never in my ghosthood had this affected me so. But the atrocity of this pain was not to be suffered. I could not stand it. I willingly surrendered my life to escape it.
I am a foolish man, do not show me mercy for my selfishness.
Perhaps my felonies were foreseen, and now I am being punished for them. The pain I feel has merely been numbed. It never abandoned me, always there, my past haunting me like no ghost.
The darkness was my only escape. I felt a dark presence stirring deep within me, one that also would never go away. I felt blackened, poisoned. My very heart was chilled. I did not understand why. Nothing physical revealed this. One still would look upon me as a perfect gentleman – if one still could look upon me – and no corrupt words slid from my tongue. Nevertheless, this pollution of my soul stayed, freezing me. Dark and cold . . .
I only saw flashes . . .
Flashes of the duration of this "curse" that I'd been under. I couldn't understand why, which was infuriating. I never was fond of not understanding. I was a curious man, always wishing to know how things were, if this was any justification to Susannah why I would brave "Critical Theory since Plato" – spellbinding book – and this ignorance pained me. Only flashes did I see, of how it had been to be cursed. My memory had been modified so I would not evoke on my actions. However, the heaviness I underwent led me to believe that I had not been in the least honourable, and certainly not if what Susannah told me was true.
And she would never lie about something like . . . that.
A brave man I am, and I still cannot utter that sinful word . . . Rrr . . . no. It is too unclean to say, save simply thinking it.
All I could see myself doing was seeing Susannah through furious, cold eyes. They were my eyes. How I could view her in such a way, it was unfathomable to me. The fact that I had hurt severely. My love . . . mi querida . . . I had loathed her . . .
Things like these destroyed me not to understand.
I wish that the past would return. Before all of this "curse" business, of course. Before Paul Slater, yet, no. I still wanted that kiss to happen between Susannah and I, the one in the graveyard, that seemed like so, so long ago. That had been the best thing that had ever happened to me, the enchantment, and the passion I felt was all that kept me sane now. It held me here, if only to love my Susannah.
The worst thing was that, I had had the chance also to rid this world of Paul Slater, that bastardo, yet it would have cost me Susannah's life to keep him away. How it would satisfy to leave him Eternal Damnation, where Susannah sent him . . . For him to pay for his sins against all. But Slater is nothing compared to my querida. I would live with a million Paul Slaters to keep Susannah in my tight embrace. Well, living seems to be an overstatement.
Again, I cast a downcast eye on my querida. Oh . . . at that very moment, a horrible, forceful urge came upon me, dragging me from my feet, shoving me over to her despite the vow I'd made. I couldn't defy the powerful force, the desire to play Prince Charming to her exquisite, pure Sleeping Beauty. Alas, I didn't want to defy the desire. I stopped above her bed, sinking by her side and stroking her face gently. I saw her shiver again.
My touch made her shiver.
It never did before, ghost or not.
I stopped, and withdrew my hand, staring at the perfection of her face, the flawlessly shadowed valleys across her skin, her long dark eyelashes, and those lips that called me to them . . .
I bent down slowly, carefully, kissing her softly.
She was so beautiful. Paul did not deserve her.
I did not deserve her.
I have sinned so horribly . . .
**************************************************************************** ********
*Winces*
How bad was it?
Regards, MystAngel (for the time being. Soon will fully be written by Devil at Heart.)
Disclaimer: Meg Cabot owns all the characters you recognize, and I own this plot and everything you don't recognize.
**************************************************************************** **********
Prologue:
~*~
Jesse's POV.
A month had crept by since the incident involving that pícaro, Paul Slater. No longer could I look at my Susannah and see her eyes blithe, joyful, smiling. There was a deadness in her emerald irises, a greyness that would never go away. No longer could she look at me with that chaste, innocent love; there was an element of fear whenever her eyes rested upon me. As if I had betrayed her in some immortal way. And judging by what she had said I'd done, she was perfectly right.
Moonlight shone through her open window, and a distorted square was cast across the room, landing on the sleeping from of my Querida. I watched over her from the window seat, my traditional placing, watching her silken curls flutter ever so gently with each breath that she relinquished her immaculate self. Her closed eyes were flickering slightly, but perceptibly enough for me to notice them from my position. I kept my distance from her as she slept. Never would I take advantage of her.
. . . Never again.
I felt tortured. Surely I was not being punished? I regarded myself as a good Christian, and always deemed myself worthy of heaven if it is not to bold as to say. Yet I had been trapped on this earth to pay for my misdeeds. What had I done wrong, so wrong to be condemned to this terrible fate? To have met the woman of my dreams, and to still be so far away from her. Never have I been one to doubt the Lord's ways, but I could never seem to find the logic behind this existence. It settled a profound, steady ache on my heart each time I looked into her eyes, and saw a thousand words in her silence.
Her hand curled a little as she shivered faintly, and I saw her forehead crease. Another nightmare. We were both tortured souls. Slowly, I closed her window and watched her face slacken to its calm, peaceful form. She sank back into her eiderdowns, warm. Yet I was still cold.
My heart had a deadly chill to it, ever since . . . I'd forfeited my life for Susannah. It had been the hardest thing I'd ever done in my whole being. But my love for Susannah had driven me to it. Well, I cannot say that is entirely true, I regret. My own guilt and pain has also contributed to my final decision. It is degrading to remember this, but these components were very real in the situation, shameful as they were. I could not bear to see my Querida in so much pain. For a century and a half, no blood did travel around my veins, not a breath did enter my lungs, and no psychical heartache had I suffered. Yet, the mere sight of Susannah, so woebegone and anguished, shattered my finally beating heart. Oh, the pain was astonishing, absurd. Never in my ghosthood had this affected me so. But the atrocity of this pain was not to be suffered. I could not stand it. I willingly surrendered my life to escape it.
I am a foolish man, do not show me mercy for my selfishness.
Perhaps my felonies were foreseen, and now I am being punished for them. The pain I feel has merely been numbed. It never abandoned me, always there, my past haunting me like no ghost.
The darkness was my only escape. I felt a dark presence stirring deep within me, one that also would never go away. I felt blackened, poisoned. My very heart was chilled. I did not understand why. Nothing physical revealed this. One still would look upon me as a perfect gentleman – if one still could look upon me – and no corrupt words slid from my tongue. Nevertheless, this pollution of my soul stayed, freezing me. Dark and cold . . .
I only saw flashes . . .
Flashes of the duration of this "curse" that I'd been under. I couldn't understand why, which was infuriating. I never was fond of not understanding. I was a curious man, always wishing to know how things were, if this was any justification to Susannah why I would brave "Critical Theory since Plato" – spellbinding book – and this ignorance pained me. Only flashes did I see, of how it had been to be cursed. My memory had been modified so I would not evoke on my actions. However, the heaviness I underwent led me to believe that I had not been in the least honourable, and certainly not if what Susannah told me was true.
And she would never lie about something like . . . that.
A brave man I am, and I still cannot utter that sinful word . . . Rrr . . . no. It is too unclean to say, save simply thinking it.
All I could see myself doing was seeing Susannah through furious, cold eyes. They were my eyes. How I could view her in such a way, it was unfathomable to me. The fact that I had hurt severely. My love . . . mi querida . . . I had loathed her . . .
Things like these destroyed me not to understand.
I wish that the past would return. Before all of this "curse" business, of course. Before Paul Slater, yet, no. I still wanted that kiss to happen between Susannah and I, the one in the graveyard, that seemed like so, so long ago. That had been the best thing that had ever happened to me, the enchantment, and the passion I felt was all that kept me sane now. It held me here, if only to love my Susannah.
The worst thing was that, I had had the chance also to rid this world of Paul Slater, that bastardo, yet it would have cost me Susannah's life to keep him away. How it would satisfy to leave him Eternal Damnation, where Susannah sent him . . . For him to pay for his sins against all. But Slater is nothing compared to my querida. I would live with a million Paul Slaters to keep Susannah in my tight embrace. Well, living seems to be an overstatement.
Again, I cast a downcast eye on my querida. Oh . . . at that very moment, a horrible, forceful urge came upon me, dragging me from my feet, shoving me over to her despite the vow I'd made. I couldn't defy the powerful force, the desire to play Prince Charming to her exquisite, pure Sleeping Beauty. Alas, I didn't want to defy the desire. I stopped above her bed, sinking by her side and stroking her face gently. I saw her shiver again.
My touch made her shiver.
It never did before, ghost or not.
I stopped, and withdrew my hand, staring at the perfection of her face, the flawlessly shadowed valleys across her skin, her long dark eyelashes, and those lips that called me to them . . .
I bent down slowly, carefully, kissing her softly.
She was so beautiful. Paul did not deserve her.
I did not deserve her.
I have sinned so horribly . . .
**************************************************************************** ********
*Winces*
How bad was it?
Regards, MystAngel (for the time being. Soon will fully be written by Devil at Heart.)