Ghost of a Rose (after the song by Blackmore's Night)
By Luc, July 14, 2003
Brabant, 1246
Finally. The heavy eyelids dropped and the fleshy head of Raymond rolled
sideways. She waited anxiously and only after his breath had become steady and
he was snoring softly, did she dare move from the bed.
She threw a heavy cloak over her linen shift and silently slipped outside.
She didn't need any light to find her way to her secret hideout among the trees
near the little stream. She went there almost every night, when her husband and
her little son were asleep, to gaze at the stars and to think back to another
starry night long ago.
She sat down on one of the large stones that were lining the banks and pulled
her feet up under her cloak. It was early June and the days were warm but the
night air was still quite chilly. She sat silently for a long time watching the
moonlight play on the water, only disturbed by hungry fish who broke the surface
to snap at flies.
Her own reflection in the water was nothing but a dark shadow. The only
discernable feature were strands of her honey-colored her blown about by the
gentle breeze.
Softly she began to hum one of her favorite songs. A song she had learned from
her mother when she had still been a little girl. It was a sad song about a love
that could never be and she had listened with rapt attention as her mother's
clear voice formed the words.
Her brothers had ridiculed her for dreaming about love and more than once her
father had told her that it was her duty to marry the man he would choose for
her. The only one who seemed to understand her had been Nicolas.
*The valley green was so serene*
*In the middle ran a stream so blue*
*A maiden fair*
*In despair*
*Once had met her true love there*
*And she told him, she would say:*
*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*
A twig snapped and she held her breath, listening intently for any other sound.
But there was nothing but the mournful hoot of an owl high up in the trees. She
turned her eyes back to the water and slowly tears started to roll down her
face.
***
He stood still, immovable like a statue, careful not to make another sound. He
silently cursed himself for becoming so reckless. She had almost seen him
lurking in the shadows of the woods.
For weeks he had waited here in the dark, waiting for her petite form to appear
at the water's edge.
They had returned to these parts of Flanders some months back because he had
some business to attend to. Nicholas had been reluctant at first and rightly so.
There were many in these parts of the country who had known Nicholas and who
would find it more than strange to see him unchanged after so long a time.
Nicholas only came out of their lodgings to hunt.
But he hadn't been able to resist the temptation. He knew from her letters to
her brother that she was married to a man of wealth and some nobility, but one
who didn't match her rank.
It hadn't been difficult to find the mansion where she lived with her little
family and since then he had come every night to watch her leave the house, walk
down to the stream and sit there for hours on end. She hadn't changed much. Her
hair shone a honey gold, even by the silvery light of the moon, and she radiated
the same light that had drawn him to her when he had first seen her almost two
decades ago. It was as if time had past by her, only brushing over her sweet
little face. He could see small lines around her eyes and around her mouth, but
her eyes were still full of life.
He would stand disguised behind some shrubbery and watch her as she sat there
humming quietly to herself.
He could hear that her voice had become shaky and he knew she was crying. It
took an iron will not to run to her, cradle her in his arms and take her away
with him. Something he had wanted to do from the moment her soft little hand had
touched his scorched face.
He sighed. Tomorrow night they would leave again and he wanted to stay here as
long as possible to drink in her image, to lock it away in his old heart
forever.
For he knew that he would never see her again. It was too dangerous to return to
Brabant again during her lifetime.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that Fleur was now
sobbing.
"Oh, Lucien, I love you still …"
He was taken aback. How could she remember him? He had seen the dazed look in
her eyes as Nicholas had ordered her to sleep and forget. It was impossible.
Yet she sat there crying, calling his name into the night.
Before he could think, he could hear his own voice reply, "And I love you, ma
petite Fleur."
With a sharp cry she rolled off the boulder and landed hard on her back. She
tried to scramble backwards but the earth was slick and her hands and feet
fought in vain for purchase.
He rushed over to her to make her stop screaming, to make her believe that it
was really him. She fought of his hands in panic, kicking at him, but he finally
caught her hand with his, shook her slightly and locked his gaze with hers.
"Fleur, please, calm down! It is me, Lucien, I'm here, I'm real."
His voice had the desired effect. Fleur stopped struggling and relaxed a bit.
He let go of her and she reached for his face with her fingers, a gesture so
very similar to the one of the night nearly twenty years before.
"Lucien? I … I can't believe it! It really is you. You've come back! You've come
back to me!"
Sobbing she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his cloak.
He stroked her hair and rocked her like a child.
Then he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes were the
same celestial blue he remembered. The same eyes as Nicholas'. Every time he had
looked into his eyes he had seen her and his heart had cramped in pain.
"Yes, my little Fleur, but I can't stay with you. I must leave tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! Lucien, no!"
"I must. And I will not come back again. It was unwise to come back at all but I
couldn't leave without seeing you once more."
She looked at him and nodded slightly.
"I understand, Lucien. It is your nature that makes it dangerous for you. People
might get suspicious."
He nodded and admired her silent strength. She was a strong, intelligent woman.
She snuggled against his chest and whispered, "Then let's make the most of the
time we have."
"Fleur, would you sing the song for me? The one you have been humming?"
And she sang. A tale of lovers who could not be together.
"There is still a chance for us, ma vie," Lacroix mumbled into her hair.
"You mean…?"
"Yes. I could make you what I am. We could be together forever."
She stroked his cheek gently, then leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips.
"I cannot be, Lucien. I have a child and a husband. I could never leave my
little André. And you promised Nicolas…"
"Yes, and damn him for it…," he snarled, but Fleur put her finger to his lips.
"No, don't blame him. He did what he thought was right. I don't blame him
either. If it hadn't been for his intervention, I wouldn't have my son now. And
he was worth all the pain."
"What about your husband?"
"He is a good man, Lucien."
"Do you love him?"
"No, I never stopped loving you. You were the first man I ever loved and you
will always be the only one." She kissed him again and this time passion
overcame them both.
"Make love to me, Lucien, just this once."
"I could hurt you, I would have to take your blood."
"I am not afraid of you, Lucien. I trust you."
She lay back on the leaves, her eyes shining with love. And he promised himself
that he would not betray that trust as he bent down to claim her mouth with his.
*Her eyes believed in mysteries*
*She would lay amongst the leaves of amber*
*Her spirit wild, heart of a child*
*Yet gentle still, quiet and mild and he loved her*
*When she would say...*
*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*
***
*When all was done*
*She turned to run*
*And danced into the setting sun as he watched her*
*And ever more *
*He thought he saw*
*A glimpse of her upon the moors forever -*
*He'd hear her say...*
*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*
They lay together, wrapped in their cloaks, watching the sky turn from black to
deep blue in silence. They both knew that the moment to say goodbye had come.
Fleur picked up her creased shift and put it on.
"I must leave, Lucien. Raymond and Andre will wake up soon."
He got up too.
"Yes, the sun is about to come up."
For another minute they stood together, arms wrapped around each other,
unwilling to let go. He kissed her gently, licking over the sore on the inside
of her lip where he had bitten her at the height of passion. She could always
tell her husband that she had bitten herself in her sleep. There were no other
marks to betray her.
Fleur returned his kiss and then she whispered into his ear what she had sung to
him only a few hours before.
"Promise me, when you see a white rose, you'll think of me. I love you so, never
let go. I will be - your ghost of a rose..."
Then she turned and ran away through the forest without looking back.
***
Scarcely a year later, while they were staying in Paris once again, Nicholas
had received a letter from his brother-in-law that a severe fever had killed
both Fleur and her husband and that his sister had left him in charge of the
boy.
Lacroix had kept a good distance from Nicholas for over a week, always on the
verge of wringing the young one's neck. He could have screamed his anguish to
the stars but he kept it inside of him. But he knew one thing – he would never
forgive Nicholas for it.
***
"Love exists, rages within. A silent scream of endless pain. Hellish alchemy
indeed, without equal. Not death, not Hell itself, but a precious, precious
flower long withered and gone."
He switched the microphone of and stared at the rose petals that lay on his
desk. He carefully scooped them up and put them in his pocket. Then he went to
the roof of the CERK building and stared at the glittering Toronto skyline.
He reached into his pocket, took out the petals and threw them into the biting
February wind.
"My ghost of a rose – always."
Then he took to the air.
-Fin-
By Luc, July 14, 2003
Brabant, 1246
Finally. The heavy eyelids dropped and the fleshy head of Raymond rolled
sideways. She waited anxiously and only after his breath had become steady and
he was snoring softly, did she dare move from the bed.
She threw a heavy cloak over her linen shift and silently slipped outside.
She didn't need any light to find her way to her secret hideout among the trees
near the little stream. She went there almost every night, when her husband and
her little son were asleep, to gaze at the stars and to think back to another
starry night long ago.
She sat down on one of the large stones that were lining the banks and pulled
her feet up under her cloak. It was early June and the days were warm but the
night air was still quite chilly. She sat silently for a long time watching the
moonlight play on the water, only disturbed by hungry fish who broke the surface
to snap at flies.
Her own reflection in the water was nothing but a dark shadow. The only
discernable feature were strands of her honey-colored her blown about by the
gentle breeze.
Softly she began to hum one of her favorite songs. A song she had learned from
her mother when she had still been a little girl. It was a sad song about a love
that could never be and she had listened with rapt attention as her mother's
clear voice formed the words.
Her brothers had ridiculed her for dreaming about love and more than once her
father had told her that it was her duty to marry the man he would choose for
her. The only one who seemed to understand her had been Nicolas.
*The valley green was so serene*
*In the middle ran a stream so blue*
*A maiden fair*
*In despair*
*Once had met her true love there*
*And she told him, she would say:*
*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*
A twig snapped and she held her breath, listening intently for any other sound.
But there was nothing but the mournful hoot of an owl high up in the trees. She
turned her eyes back to the water and slowly tears started to roll down her
face.
***
He stood still, immovable like a statue, careful not to make another sound. He
silently cursed himself for becoming so reckless. She had almost seen him
lurking in the shadows of the woods.
For weeks he had waited here in the dark, waiting for her petite form to appear
at the water's edge.
They had returned to these parts of Flanders some months back because he had
some business to attend to. Nicholas had been reluctant at first and rightly so.
There were many in these parts of the country who had known Nicholas and who
would find it more than strange to see him unchanged after so long a time.
Nicholas only came out of their lodgings to hunt.
But he hadn't been able to resist the temptation. He knew from her letters to
her brother that she was married to a man of wealth and some nobility, but one
who didn't match her rank.
It hadn't been difficult to find the mansion where she lived with her little
family and since then he had come every night to watch her leave the house, walk
down to the stream and sit there for hours on end. She hadn't changed much. Her
hair shone a honey gold, even by the silvery light of the moon, and she radiated
the same light that had drawn him to her when he had first seen her almost two
decades ago. It was as if time had past by her, only brushing over her sweet
little face. He could see small lines around her eyes and around her mouth, but
her eyes were still full of life.
He would stand disguised behind some shrubbery and watch her as she sat there
humming quietly to herself.
He could hear that her voice had become shaky and he knew she was crying. It
took an iron will not to run to her, cradle her in his arms and take her away
with him. Something he had wanted to do from the moment her soft little hand had
touched his scorched face.
He sighed. Tomorrow night they would leave again and he wanted to stay here as
long as possible to drink in her image, to lock it away in his old heart
forever.
For he knew that he would never see her again. It was too dangerous to return to
Brabant again during her lifetime.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that Fleur was now
sobbing.
"Oh, Lucien, I love you still …"
He was taken aback. How could she remember him? He had seen the dazed look in
her eyes as Nicholas had ordered her to sleep and forget. It was impossible.
Yet she sat there crying, calling his name into the night.
Before he could think, he could hear his own voice reply, "And I love you, ma
petite Fleur."
With a sharp cry she rolled off the boulder and landed hard on her back. She
tried to scramble backwards but the earth was slick and her hands and feet
fought in vain for purchase.
He rushed over to her to make her stop screaming, to make her believe that it
was really him. She fought of his hands in panic, kicking at him, but he finally
caught her hand with his, shook her slightly and locked his gaze with hers.
"Fleur, please, calm down! It is me, Lucien, I'm here, I'm real."
His voice had the desired effect. Fleur stopped struggling and relaxed a bit.
He let go of her and she reached for his face with her fingers, a gesture so
very similar to the one of the night nearly twenty years before.
"Lucien? I … I can't believe it! It really is you. You've come back! You've come
back to me!"
Sobbing she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his cloak.
He stroked her hair and rocked her like a child.
Then he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. Her eyes were the
same celestial blue he remembered. The same eyes as Nicholas'. Every time he had
looked into his eyes he had seen her and his heart had cramped in pain.
"Yes, my little Fleur, but I can't stay with you. I must leave tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! Lucien, no!"
"I must. And I will not come back again. It was unwise to come back at all but I
couldn't leave without seeing you once more."
She looked at him and nodded slightly.
"I understand, Lucien. It is your nature that makes it dangerous for you. People
might get suspicious."
He nodded and admired her silent strength. She was a strong, intelligent woman.
She snuggled against his chest and whispered, "Then let's make the most of the
time we have."
"Fleur, would you sing the song for me? The one you have been humming?"
And she sang. A tale of lovers who could not be together.
"There is still a chance for us, ma vie," Lacroix mumbled into her hair.
"You mean…?"
"Yes. I could make you what I am. We could be together forever."
She stroked his cheek gently, then leaned in to kiss him softly on the lips.
"I cannot be, Lucien. I have a child and a husband. I could never leave my
little André. And you promised Nicolas…"
"Yes, and damn him for it…," he snarled, but Fleur put her finger to his lips.
"No, don't blame him. He did what he thought was right. I don't blame him
either. If it hadn't been for his intervention, I wouldn't have my son now. And
he was worth all the pain."
"What about your husband?"
"He is a good man, Lucien."
"Do you love him?"
"No, I never stopped loving you. You were the first man I ever loved and you
will always be the only one." She kissed him again and this time passion
overcame them both.
"Make love to me, Lucien, just this once."
"I could hurt you, I would have to take your blood."
"I am not afraid of you, Lucien. I trust you."
She lay back on the leaves, her eyes shining with love. And he promised himself
that he would not betray that trust as he bent down to claim her mouth with his.
*Her eyes believed in mysteries*
*She would lay amongst the leaves of amber*
*Her spirit wild, heart of a child*
*Yet gentle still, quiet and mild and he loved her*
*When she would say...*
*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*
***
*When all was done*
*She turned to run*
*And danced into the setting sun as he watched her*
*And ever more *
*He thought he saw*
*A glimpse of her upon the moors forever -*
*He'd hear her say...*
*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*
They lay together, wrapped in their cloaks, watching the sky turn from black to
deep blue in silence. They both knew that the moment to say goodbye had come.
Fleur picked up her creased shift and put it on.
"I must leave, Lucien. Raymond and Andre will wake up soon."
He got up too.
"Yes, the sun is about to come up."
For another minute they stood together, arms wrapped around each other,
unwilling to let go. He kissed her gently, licking over the sore on the inside
of her lip where he had bitten her at the height of passion. She could always
tell her husband that she had bitten herself in her sleep. There were no other
marks to betray her.
Fleur returned his kiss and then she whispered into his ear what she had sung to
him only a few hours before.
"Promise me, when you see a white rose, you'll think of me. I love you so, never
let go. I will be - your ghost of a rose..."
Then she turned and ran away through the forest without looking back.
***
Scarcely a year later, while they were staying in Paris once again, Nicholas
had received a letter from his brother-in-law that a severe fever had killed
both Fleur and her husband and that his sister had left him in charge of the
boy.
Lacroix had kept a good distance from Nicholas for over a week, always on the
verge of wringing the young one's neck. He could have screamed his anguish to
the stars but he kept it inside of him. But he knew one thing – he would never
forgive Nicholas for it.
***
"Love exists, rages within. A silent scream of endless pain. Hellish alchemy
indeed, without equal. Not death, not Hell itself, but a precious, precious
flower long withered and gone."
He switched the microphone of and stared at the rose petals that lay on his
desk. He carefully scooped them up and put them in his pocket. Then he went to
the roof of the CERK building and stared at the glittering Toronto skyline.
He reached into his pocket, took out the petals and threw them into the biting
February wind.
"My ghost of a rose – always."
Then he took to the air.
-Fin-