CHAPTER 1- A touch of familiarity

As of yet, she had not noticed him. He took a moment to allow his gaze to linger over her small, strong frame. A breeze drifted through, causing the yellow flowers and grass around her to sway as if to a melody only they could hear. The flowers were startlingly bright compared to the girl who sat among them, garbed in her favorite hue of purple. Always, she wore purple. Her dark locks were draped over her shoulder, small pieces caught in the midafternoon breeze. He found himself lingering on her back and quickly turned his attention, as if by habit, towards his feet. His feet were bare but clean. He found himself garbed in a tanned tunic, much different from the shining vivacity of the red he usually donned upon his body. Then something else caught his attention; the grass around him stood undisturbed. He looked to the woman in the grass and noticed the case was the same around her. If we did not walk, how did we get here? He wondered. He took a tentative step towards the waiting woman and glanced back over his shoulder to see the matted patch of grass in which he had just been standing. When the grass remained unchanged, he turned his sights ahead again, perturbed by the thoughts that were running through his head. This time when he looked at her, she was turned to face him, still sitting in the grass. Their eyes met. His breath was stolen from him. He could not fathom the beauty that she was. Yet he knew she was real. He knew her. She got to her feet then, mirroring his stance, never once did she break eye contact with him. As he stared at her, his eyes began to water. He realized he was not blinking, as if he was subconsciously afraid that if he did, she would disappear forever. That was not something he wanted to cope with again. The breeze picked up again, pulling strands of hair into her eyes, though she made no move to remedy the situation. Her eyes glimmered, from what he could not tell. Longing? Resentment? Then the tears spilled from her eyes, coating her face and hair with moisture. Before he even realized he had moved, he was inches from her. He hesitated a moment before he delicately pushed the strands from her face and back over the tops of her curved ears. Still unable to break his eye contact, he gently rubbed his thumbs across her strong cheek bones where the majority of her tears had caught. Moisture clung to his skin but he did not care. His heart skipped a beat and he pulled the woman into his arms. A feeling of wholeness settled on his very soul. Only then did he allow himself to mutter the name that hung from his lips and his heart, "Nasuada."

It felt right. A sense of peace overcame him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, taking in all that she was. He wanted nothing more than to be frozen this way forever. With her. The wind shifted direction, bringing with it unbearable heat that forced him to loosen his grip on Nasuada. His head began to throb as a dark cloud overtook the sky. An undeniable sense of foreboding chased away the peace within the valley. As he disentangled himself from Nasuada, the heat subsided but the pulsing in his head became so overwhelming, he was forced to his knees. He looked to Nasuada, every fiber of his being shouting at him to protect her. From what, he knew not. He could not move. She stood there, face still shining as she looked to the sky. Now the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, hard. The hair she had draped over her shoulder blew back behind her all the while her dress billowed violently. The sky was black; so deep was the black that it appeared to be swallowing the world around them. He could see no more than 10 feet to either side of him as the dark cloud engulfed the valley surrounding them. The howling of the wind was so loud, he wanted nothing more than to cover his ears. Still he could not move. He tried to shout her name, calling for her attention, but she did not notice him. Her eyes stayed focused on a point well above him that he could not see in his immobile position. He thought she saw a tremor run through Nasuada's body. He called again only to realize no words were coming out of his mouth. He could do nothing more than kneel there and stare at the scene playing out in front of him. No matter how he longed to go to her, he could not move. When he tried, the throbbing pain in his head got worse, as if something was burrowing deep inside his mind and into his very identity, the fiber of who he was. He closed his eyes and screamed in pain even as the howling of the wind subsided. This time, his voice came through. He opened his eyes again. A dark, massive shadow surrounded them. If he could reach out, he would be able to touch the blackness that made a perfect circle around the two of them. The shadow then began to seep. It seeped into the area that held them and which was previously untouched. The shadow seemed to have a mind of its own. It twined around his arms and torso, finding the crevices in this tunic in which it could hide. It seemed to caress Nasuada's legs as her dress still trailed behind her as if in a frozen, silent wind. Silence… No sound existed in this wicked place. He could not hear the intake and outtake of breath that he knew both he and Nasuada were practicing. Nor could he hear the beating of his own heart… The silence around them was so deep it was frightening.

The shadows that had been playing with them suddenly stopped. It settled; lingering in the air like morning fog. Nasuada finally looked at him; her eyes were startling for he could no longer find her in them. It was as if the shadow had stolen her soul and left nothing but a hallow shell behind. Her lip trembled as she whispered, "Help me, Murtagh… I need you."

Before he could say anything, from the shadows emerged the figure of a man. He was transparent with no details: as if he was the embodiment of the shadow itself. The figure put a hand on Nasuada's shoulder. Her face contorted in a grimace, but otherwise she moved not an inch. "You cannot hide your desires from me, Murtagh," it said in the shadow of a voice. The voice was eerily similar to… he could not remember.

As quickly as the figure appeared, it vanished; taking with it the surrounding darkness. However the foreboding still stayed and valley seemed disturbed as if the plants themselves had been ripped out of the ground. As the figures hand had left Nasuada, she collapsed. This time when he went to move, he was successful. He managed to catch her inches before she hit the hard ground. Her eyes were closed and her faced covered in hair. Quickly, he pushed her hair from her face and gently shook her. He called her name softly and she began to stir.

As she opened her eyes, Murtagh cried out in horror. As startled as he was, however, he did not allow his grip on her to diminish. Gaping black holes were in place of her eyes. Even as he watched the skin of her eyelids disintegrated to ash that then fell into the voids that were her eye sockets. His mouth gaped in silent horror as he watched the rest of her body do the same. It was as if she were aging faster than he ever thought possible and withering into herself. Before a minute had passed, the whole of her body was dark grey and shriveled. The breeze picked up then. At first he paid it no mind: he was still captivated by the change he had just witnessed. Then her body broke. The breeze carried away the dust that was her body, leaving nothing of her behind but a skeleton garbed in the violet dress.

Murtagh was dumbfounded and was at a loss as to what he should do. He looked at the gaping eye sockets and thought of the life he would never see again. Then he did the only thing he could possibly do: he screamed. He screamed at the top of his lungs for all to hear the anguish he felt. He wanted nothing more than to pursue the shadow figure into the void that he came from and kill it. But he could not leave her here; even if she was gone to the world. He would not leave. So he screamed despite the growing rawness of his throat.

Then he felt a pressure on his mind. He did not care to whom the presence belonged; he let down his guard. In his despair, his own life no longer mattered. He would willingly let the shadows take him. The mind pushed against his again and said, "Wake up, Murtagh."

He awoke, but as he did, he heard the voice of the shadow man echoing in his head, "You cannot hide your desires from me…"