Prologue: Love Story

My hand hovers above the paper with my quill unsteadily. Old age—and only old age—is what's making my hand tremble, because every other fiber of my being is filled with certainty that I want to record this. A love story—if I may call it that…no matter how full of sins it may be—such as this is too great to keep to oneself. That might be a sin in itself.

Why have I only decided to write it now? I smile quietly to myself as I look out the window right above my desk. The sun is bright out and I can clearly see the headstone only a few paces away. I can't quite see the name engraved upon it—even with my glasses—but I know that name better than mayhap my own. 'Tis probably that that has made me decide once and for all to do this.

I am in considerable shape, but my body is weary and I'm eager to join him—heaven or hell or wherever the Lord wishes to send us—although I'll join him when the Lord thinks I am good and ready to. But until then, I hope that I may be able to finish writing this—perhaps in future generations love no matter gender or race or age will be permitted.

But now that I've made this clear to myself…where shall I begin? I suppose that the best place to start…would be at the very beginning. The first time I ever saw him. It happened so long ago, but I can remember it as if it had just happened yesterday. We were both so young. We were both at the prime of our youth—at the peak of our virility and health.

I can see my reflection in the glass of the window. I don't need to close my eyes to be able to imagine the wrinkles fading into flawless silken skin…the chapped lips are slender and pink…the bright, blue eyes are brighter than the sky…the white hair falls back into pale spun gold too beautiful to cover with a powered wig…

And I can see him. I can see his inky hair—shorn like men of this time nearly never cut their hair to—his red eyes…red like blood. I can see the Floridian sun-bronzed skin…feel the Spanish fire course through his veins…

'Tis as easy as taking a breath of air to remember. And now I know it will be just that easy to write it. As I smile to myself once more, I fix my glasses upon age-crinkled nose and begin to write.

A/N: I know, I know. I said I'd finish Secrets first, but when a song inspires a scene in my head, that song is forever stuck until the scene is written out. Therefore, I cheated and started this. Starting a story when I haven't finished another is one of my many bad writer's habits that I must someday break. But until then, I'm sure some of you are enjoying my bad habits. And the song that's been stuck and persistingly annoying with insisting that I write this scene is Love Story by Taylor Swift. Not only that, I also am in love with this song. This song is the reason Rule and Enslaved even exist, so if you're really looking forward to these two fics, you should mentally thank Taylor Swift--whom I love.

I've just finished wrapping my gifts, so I'm in a rather Christmas-y mood and I really don't know why I'm even telling you all this. Anyhoo. Review Button.