This story was uploaded some time ago under a different alias, Blooregard Q. Kazoo. However, after several stagnant years of non-updating, I finally took a peak at my stories, and I was horribly disappointed in my writing. I've re-vamped my works, and created a new account as a "fresh start." This is based on a passage from "The Leper King" by Zofia Kossak. I placed it here because that book and "Kingdom of Heaven" are basically the same story. That, and I thought no one would read it if I placed it under "miscellaneous books."
SKIN
In the darkness of his chamber, for darkness was the only way he would receive people, he contemplated what had just entered his mind. Could he do it? Could he really bring himself to clutch the arm, to let his fingers encircle the flesh – pink, healthy, strong, unmarred by festering gaps and disease? He was surrounded by health. His four attendants, despite the constant care and vigilance, had not – and probably never will – contract the sickness that hungered for flesh.
He remembered having skin. It was a child's – soft and supple, easy to pierce, easy to bleed – but it was whole. Guy de Lusignan had strong skin. He was young, but he was not a child, and from what he had been told, the skin was beautiful. No flaws, no marks. It was a shame the King could not feel anymore. He would love to graze the arm of Lusignan with the tips of his fingers, to feel the unbroken and sun-worn skin so taut you could feel the muscles underneath. But his fingers could not feel. He was loosing his senses – sight and touch… were gone. Taste was still there – he still had a tongue – but he wondered if that would rot away, too.
To have the rotting in his own mouth?
He could still hear. Though at times he wished it were not so. He could smell – and it sickened him. He was the living dead, a corpse that still took in and exhaled breath. He was meat left in the sun to fester. He could smell his sickness! His flesh echoed of rot and it reached his nose – his nose? Ha! Instead of a nose was a gaping hole – larger than two nostrils, more space to take in the smell!
How dare Lusignan enter his chamber – despite the King's own request – and bring his whole, perfect body in a mockery of Baldwin's broken, empty shell. How dare the world be healthy when the King was not! He had thought, for a moment, of having Lusignan come forward, of pushing his mangled hand between the curtains of his bed and caressing the smooth skin. Lusignan would have the disease, too, and rot would speckle his body. His vain sister would forget about her love for this young, inexperienced knight.
But could he?
In the name of his Kingdom, and in the name of Peace….
Could he…?