Chap. 22
Note: There are many transitions between the present and the distant past. Make sure you pay careful attention to these transitions; please don't skip some parts because they seem long. It was hard work and it is important in the later chapters, though you may be puzzled. Getting more and more complicated here. It starts with the past.
Ah, an old, gnarled man-creature says, you're back. I suppose you've come for another piece of knowledge, yes? No, really? You haven't? Well then? Are you going to tell me what you've come for?
Ah, I see. You want to know about the dark story of the Hiragizawa line. But first—the creature stretches out a smooth, webbed hand—do you have what I asked for in our little bargain for this tale?
A lean, wizened hand hastily puts his secret pay away in his cloak's inner pocket. My thanks for your efforts, he says. Now I shall reward you as you rightfully deserve. I'm a bit too suspicious you say? Well, you have to consider the fact that human beings are deceitful creatures. What's that? I might be deceitful too? Nonsense. I'm bound by oath to tell the truth and only the truth; do you not trust me? You don't? I'm hurt.
Bored, are you? I must start my tale, no?
In a land of where, in the times of when, Hiragizawa (not Eriol, you know which one), a great prince—and sorcerer—lived in a castle of icy, black crystal in the sky. Eli Moon, the common folk fearfully called him in their foreign tongue as a title of fear…and of a curse. It was a title that would pass down to his descendents and to his descendents' descendents in generations upon generations to pass.
A curse of a people became the emblem of highest honor among their dark, shadowy line. A funny name that…to be named after the luminous celestial body in the shadows of the night sky. Moon…so beautiful, but deadly; hidebound in its constant movement, but waxing and waning in an endless cycle of fickleness; trusting for the moment, but doubting the next; fiercely loving in one instant, but insanely jealous and seeking revenge as soon as the seedlings of distrust start to unfurl their leaves; such was the moon's nature and the unfortunate birth of a heart-rending tragedy, continuing forever, locked in a permanent cycle of spilled blood, love, and utter devastation.
Now that you know…let's return to the first of all the Hiragizawas. From his seamless, cold refuge one dismal, winter evening, he looked down on his people with brooding eyes. It was but a moment in time, perhaps fate, before his sapphire orbs were caught by a young woman, with intriguing violet eyes and waist-length black hair, dancing lightly to the soft strains of a blond man's golden lyre. His heart jumped in fascination and a kind of excitement as he watched her, successfully managing to throw off its worn, rusty chains. This surprised him greatly; he had rid himself emotions long since, for he had viewed it as a terrible flaw and an unforgivable weakness.
He shut himself within his gates of ice for several days in his desolate abode, trying to rid his head of her intoxicating smile and her musical laughter in futility. In his rage and unforgiving wrath, many of his subjects perished within the blistering breaths and gruesome maws of his night dragons—it was for his amusement, he said with a cruel little smile. But all that did was to bring her more painfully into focus: her disappointed eyes gazing at him mournfully, pleading to him, arms spread out in appeal; she refused to leave, it seemed.
He spent long nights poring over spell books to rid himself of this plague, this pestilence that thwarted all his evil plans with just one teasing glance. He thought of destroying the girl, wiping her off the face of the earth, but his treacherous heart betrayed him and forbade him to do so. This thing called "love", he reflected to himself, was a terrible thing; it stripped its host of all apathy—the only defense—and made one feel severe pain. Not physical pain. That he could endure without complaint, with nonchalance. It was mental pain that he could not endure; it was this he could not comprehend because of his apparent inexperience. Lust, he had experience with, but not the purity of love, and he wished he had never encountered it.
Without any kind of magical solution, he finally decided that the only way to cure himself was to indulge in love. If he was hungry, he ate, and hunger abated. If he was lustful, he satisfied himself with his whores to such an extent that he rid himself of such trivial, primitive instincts. It was all for power and wealth; anything that did not further that need, that desire, was worthless. Surely love, once he fed it to overfilling, could be satisfied and, after that, he could return to his original state of indifference and nonchalance.
Satisfied with his reasoning, he enquired after the young lady and made her his wife, and the queen of his territories, determined to end his problems once and for all time. Unbeknownst to him, however, he had made a massive miscalculation, for love cannot be sated; it is an ever-enduring thing, a need and a desire that grows greater as it is constantly fed that demands eternity and the complete possession of its subject.
***
The blasted door was locked. Of course, it always was. Why did she even bother to TRY to turn the bloody handle? A trifle exasperated, she let her hand trace the carvings on the massive, forbidding double doors; these doors that had once guarded her memories now locked them away from her reach. She knocked softly on the door. "Eriol…I know you're there. Please open the door; we need to talk now."
No one answered and she wasn't surprised. She hadn't really expected him to, but she was determined to make him open this godforsaken door even if she had to kill herself to do it. "Eriol…please…"she pleaded in a soft voice. "Please." Still, no one answered, but she could feel his presence near the door; he was probably listening to her with grim amusement, devoid of any intention to acquiesce to her request.
Seeds of rage took root and unfurled their venomous leaves within the weary ground of Tomoyo's heart. She could understand, perhaps, his anger, but to deny her a chance to explain the misunderstanding was downright unforgivable. "Your Grace!" she said loudly, her tone belying the usually solemn nature of the title. "We need to talk, you hear me?! Now!"
There was no response; the silence seemed to weigh heavily upon her. Rather than subdue her, this infuriated her further. "Fine! If you don't want to talk, why should I?! I hope it grows stuffy in there and you eventually die of suffocation! You can roast for all you want! See if I care!"
For an indistinguishable moment, she thought she heard muffled laughter coming from inside, but when she could hear nothing more, she credited it to her vivid imagination. Irritated, she was making her way to her room when a manservant stopped her. "Yer Grace," he said, "You mustn't worry 'bout 'is grace 'roastin' in 'is room"—apparently the servant misunderstood the situation—"'is grace's windows are open. I saw zthem from ze gardens on my way in…"
It took a brief moment for Tomoyo to process this unlooked for information, then, suddenly, her purple eyes sparkled with mischief. "Charles, ask one of the maidservants—Emma probably has one—for a 5-inch hook. Oh, and I require several feet of sheets, tied together…you know what I mean?"
A slow grin made its way across Charles's face. "Aye commander," he said smartly, and walked away with a sharp salute.
Tomoyo's eyes gleamed. She and Eriol were going to have their little talk.
***
The sinister sorcerer found, to his amazement, that he craved her more each time; and there was a foreign kind of warmth that seemed to permeate his being whenever he was within her vicinity or when he was thinking of her. She had brought joy, laughter, and candor into his forbidding dwelling, and he knew not what to do with it; he was not experienced in such openness and love, and he had a feeling that he was becoming more vulnerable than being strengthened by his desperate plan. He had begun to change, under her gentle, passionate assurances of her love, into a better man; his former plans of evil triumph began to fade into insignificance. All that mattered was her and the fact that she was with him and loved him with all her heart…
This perfect sort of love could not last forever; most seldom do, for love attracts jealousy and trouble in its wake. A sorceress from a distant land, hearing of the sorcerer, summoned his image in her scrying pool and immediately fell in love with him. The fact that he was married did not hinder her at all, for she believed that an evil wizard like Hiragizawa would not—could not—truly love a normal, powerless woman. This sorceress took it within herself to become his lover, his partner to power, and to, eventually, get rid of the nameless woman who had stolen him from her by means of a temporary physical need.
She sent him a message to arrange a meeting in the gloomy, tangled forest near his home to be made after a fortnight from the date from which she sent it. No reply came back, and she assumed the answer to be positive, for even a great enchanter like him could not ignore a message from so great an enchantress.
He was already there by the time she arrived. "What do you want?" he asked her brusquely, clearly irritated about something. His cerulean eyes flashed in annoyance. "Be quick about it."
"What makes you think I want something?" she retorted softly with a coy lowering of her long eyelashes. She pursed her red lips. "I only came to ask you a question and make you an offer of mutual benefit."
"Whatever it is, I'm not interested. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to my wife." Ah. That explained his irked expression.
"Are you satisfied with your wife? I could offer you what she gives you and more," she softly cajoled him. "Isn't that what you want? Absolute Power? I could give it to you. With both our Gifts, it is nothing."
He was silent for a long moment, and then he spoke. "Your offer is a tempting one, and I'll admit that if you had given me this choice several months ago, I would have accepted your proposition without hesitation. But now, I have discovered greater things—things more meaningful and unable to be gotten by power alone; I would have thrown it all to the wind for something so unworthy by comparison."
"And what is that which is greater?" she asked, amused and curious.
"Love."
"Love? What has become of the great sorcerer I sought?" she reiterated mockingly. "What is love? I doubt you even know what it is."
To her surprise, he smiled. "That is its beauty. It cannot be explained; it can only be felt." He said to her, a kind of pity entering his eyes. "I suppose you have never felt it.
"Would you like to hear of the world that I wanted to create with my power before I found this new knowledge? I wanted to create a dystopia, a nightmare world," he continued on in an almost dreamy manner, "A dark world where all men would bow to me in submission. A world where they are tortured and destroyed, but they will love me for it. Because it is all for their own good.
"Power is power over human beings. Over the body—but, above all, over the mind. Power over matter—external reality, as you would call it—is not important; we control matter because we control the mind. Reality is inside the skull. We make the laws of nature. I could make the world disappear with a snap of my fingers; what care I for what is, when I could control what seems? What is truth when it is not realized as truth?
"But I realized…that to do so would be to exterminate the need to feel, the need to love; it did not bother me at the time, for I saw emotions as a weakness and a curse—to destroy that need would be to purify the essence of what is the community. Humans are swayed by their emotions, their feelings; without them, they cannot be as easily corrupted. They will be stronger than ever before, but pitiful in their lack of knowledge. But I discovered that these emotions are not a part of the human race, they are the human race. Without them, human beings are no different from beasts—no, lower than beasts, for beasts could still feel the rudiments of emotion, such as primal instincts. To obliterate these would be to destroy humanity—as one or as a community, it matters not—and to be glorified by a bunch of robots who do whatever they are told. Where is the glory? How can I have power over humans when they are no longer humans? It is a fruitless quest.
"But to love and to know that you are cherished...To feel that warmth inside—that is a fulfillment, no power could ever bring. Perhaps you would say that I could make one feel toward me by controlling them. But that is not true emotion, not true love, not true feelings; it is but a shadow of what was and what could be. To love is to sacrifice oneself—one's desires—for humanity because without humanity, there is nothing…not even the person who loves you."
The sorceress said nothing for a long moment as if she, too, were thinking about giving up what she had secretly yearned for. "Your plan was extraordinary, but you lie. Your reasons for 'giving up' may be logical, but they are not the reason why you did," she finally said, "You love her, don't you? You would give up all for her, and she would do the same for you."
"She is my life," he said softly. "She showed me the truth and the beauty of that truth. I love her."
"But I love you more than she could ever love you"—she looked up into his eyes—"and what have I received in return?
"I offered you the world, and what have I earned? Heartbreak? Loss? Is this what I am worthy of? Is this my reward?"
"I must get back to my wife."
"I offered you much," she hissed at him.
"She has given me something of greater value" was his reply.
"You would walk away from your dreams? From me?"
"Yes. For her."
The sorceress's eyes turned hard as flints of ice, and she spoke, half-turned away from him. "Then you are fool, the greatest of all fools, and you will pay for your mistake. I curse you: Death will visit your wife from your own hands, dogs will gnaw at her bones, and you will live, until your death, in your hatred of her, while love chokes your heart in its strangling knots. And you will never know the truth; your love will destroy her. I will bring misfortune on you like a plague, like a disease upon you and your descendants and their descendants. Their blood is upon your head."
She turned to assess his reaction, and stopped in fury. He was already gone.
"O, beware, my lord, of Jealousy; it is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds upon," she whispered to the empty air, not as a gentle precaution, but of a premonition. "Your doubt will consume you."
She smiled. Despite his newly-found affections, she knew that he was yet a stranger to love. He was insecure in such an intense emotion; he could not completely believe the fact, in his heart, that a woman such as his wife could love a cold, jaded man such as him. And she planned to exploit his weakness.
***
Eriol was partially amused and partially shocked when a hook attached itself to the rim of his window. But he was angry when he discovered that his adventurous wife had taken it upon herself to climb the rope of sheets. Damn the bloody woman! Didn't she know that she could fall and get seriously injured? Considering how well he knew his wife, he doubted that any kind of persuasion could convince her to get down.
Below, Tomoyo was enjoying her brilliant plan. Climbing was a piece of cake, she thought, when one had had plenty of practice during one's childhood years. In fact, a few more feet and she would get to the window and—
She cried out as a knot worked free—surely, she was going to break her neck—and a masculine hand roughly caught her by the man's shirt she was prone to wearing at home and dragged her through the opening of the window.
"Congratulations, my lady, on your glorious feat," her husband said acidly, while looking down at her disapprovingly. "You have almost managed to break your spine."
She grinned up at him comfortably. "I thought 'neck', but spine is close enough, I guess." His face was impassive as cold marble, and he did not smile back. "We have to talk," she said finally.
"So you've said. What is there to talk about between us?" he said quite forbiddingly. "But since you've insisted upon talking…Talk."
"I found out from Jon…I know what you might have thought all that time—"
"Oh, did you? I'm sure it was such a surprise for you. It's very difficult, to be sure, to keep track of what one did," he interrupted her grimly. "Next thing I know, you'll tell me that all this is a lie and that proof just appeared from you-know-not-where."
"It's true!" she protested vehemently. "It's the damned truth I'm telling you. Why can't you believe—"
"Oh, is it? Is it really true? I must have been hallucinating," he said sardonically. "Perhaps I should have my head checked."
"Perhaps you should!" she retorted viciously. She sighed, exasperated, and desperately struggled to regain her composure. "You love me," she said. It wasn't a question, but a statement of what she believed was the truth.
"I loved an image. Not you. Never you" was the cruel reply.
Disregarding how that answer tore at her heart, she valiantly continued. "Then tell me why you didn't hit me even when you believed me to be a harlot; you certainly would have wanted to, and it is not uncommon for noblemen to hit their wives."
He smiled, and she wanted to slap him for being so composed in such a serious discussion. "Hit you? And prove to you that I'm the bastard you painted me to be? I'm probably regarded as a cuckold, a person who can't even control his wife's behavior. I prefer to save what's left of my pride, thank you. And I believed you to be a harlot? You are one," he nonchalantly insulted her, "Now, now. I wouldn't want to dirty my hands further by touching you, would I?"
Tears filled her eyes. "You saved me, just now," she began falteringly. His indifference was ten times as horrible as his hatred and she did not know what to do. He was tossing her aside like some dirty sheet and there was nothing she could do, or was there?
He shrugged in a non-committal manner. "You could have been carrying my child, for all I know. Considering what I've learned of you in the past couple of weeks, you probably didn't tell me as is a wife's duty. God knows, I've bedded you enough."
He watched, satisfied, as she clenched her fists. "Is that," she asked him a tight voice, a tear sliding down her face, "all I meant to you?"
"More or less," he good-naturedly averred. "You really didn't expect me to tell you otherwise? We promised to be absolutely honest with each other, did we not?"
Frustrated, Tomoyo dug her fingernails in the soft flesh of her palm. She wasn't sure how much longer she could stand this mockery. "Did you not trust me? How could you so easily believe that I did those things you say I did?"
Something in his deep blue eyes flickered and she saw uncertainty etched in his face before his mask covered his emotions once again. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and kissed him, clasping his neck with her arms; and his body grew rigid. He pulled away, his breathing hoarse.
"Tell me with your own lips that you don't love me. Tell me that you didn't trust me. Tell me that I was nothing to you. Say it with your own lips, and I'll believe you. I don't want to make the same mistake that I made when I saw you with Katherine. Tell me what you feel."
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come. His heart was tearing in half…He just couldn't do it…He couldn't… "I don't love you," he said, in a painfully clear voice, "I loved another woman who happens to look like you. She's dead. I'll love no one else, especially a whore like you in her place. I never trusted you because I never knew you. The scheming actress that you are can't be someone I could have possibly loved."
Crystal tears cascaded down her face. She was absolutely silent and looked lost.
He gritted his teeth; he couldn't give into her. He would rather kill himself than allow himself to be a slave to her deceit." You killed her. You murdered the wife I cared for in front of my eyes. You deceived me with your lies and dashed my dreams to pieces. For that, I will never forgive you.
"Never."
***
Hiragizawa thought that his wife was acting very strangely lately. She had been so secretive of late and, though perhaps she thought she was doing a good job of it, he saw right through her. She was a terrible liar; and when she lied, her hands would move in a frenzy of excessive moment, giving her away. She was definitely hiding something, and it troubled him greatly; she had never kept anything from him before. When he had asked her about it, she had shaken her head and had said, "It's nothing. You worry too much."
He didn't want to pry. His heart told his brain that she wasn't a promiscuous woman and that all he'd seen of her was good and pure; it told him that she had a right to a bit of her own privacy. His brain, however, told him that people changed and that some were not all they seemed to be. There's no harm in being sure, it said to the heart, just in case. Unable to put up with all the suspense, he finally created a listening spell to follow his wife around…Only for a day, he thought to himself, just a short time. He was unaware of the fact that his spell had been tampered with by a sorceress of great power.
***
She ran into her room, hastily wiping off her tears. Don't cry, she said to herself, it's all right. Everything will be all right. Who was she fooling? Herself? She wasn't really doing a novel job of it, was she? A shattered breath went through her as she attempted to calm herself. Don't cry, don't cry, she chanted to herself mentally as her personal mantra as she went about gathering up her things. He didn't want to talk to her? He never wanted to see her face again? She'll give him his last wish. She would leave…for him. She would destroy her heart permanently in the process, but she would do it. Because…because she still loved him with all her heart; and if her love was torturing him, she would do anything to take that pain away, even if she had to bear it upon her own shoulders.
"Maria," Tomoyo called softly. "Ask the earl of Clarence to come by as soon as possible, with discretion; I must ask a favor of him. Tell him"—she paused, then continued—"to bring the papers. He'll know which ones I mean."
The maidservant bobbed down in a small curtsy and went to do her mistress's bidding without question. "Of course," she simply said.
"Louisa…could you help me pack? I'm"—Tomoyo's voice broke—"going on a long trip. Do ask one of the menservants to call a carriage to come at midnight." Upon the serving woman's advice and question—"Why does the mistress not take one of his grace's private carriages?"—she merely replied, a hand on the servant's shoulder, "I'm going away for a long time, mind. His grace might have some other important use for them. I might not be able to return them to him for a long time.
"Now, Louisa, if you don't mind, I would like to have some time alone. Show the earl in when he gets here, but without his grace's knowledge, if you please."
In the privacy and the scarce light of her gloomy room—she had not tied back the drapes to allow sunlight in—she began to compose a last letter to her husband, the last words she would ever speak—write—to him. This was her farewell; she was determined to let him go on with his life. From the drastic turn of events, she was convinced that they weren't meant to be.
***
The sorcerer couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't stand another minute of it; if he did, he was sure he turn the entire castle into shambles. But he couldn't stop listening—he refused to believe—
"O Eric, my only true love!" he heard her voice emerge from the listening spell "Let us be wary, let us hide our loves."
A deeper, masculine voice whispered to her tenderly. "O, sweet creature! Cursed fate that gave thee to the demon sorcerer. Alas, 'tis our fate to be so close, but separated by the evils of fate. My sweet! Until we meet again! It pains me that you must give your body to that deathly vampire. He devours your youth, and your beauty is wasted for naught!"
"Hush, darling"—Hiragizawa clenched his teeth at her use of her nickname for him as a word of love to another man—"I must get back, soon. He will suspect! If he finds out, it will be the death of us!"
"Wait. Leave me, but a kiss to remember to by, my sweet, forbidden lady," Eric said. Eriol ground his teeth together and hurriedly threw together a seeing charm. "We'll see the truth of the matter," he muttered under his breath, "Damned spell must be malfunctioning…"
A stream of blue fire appeared in his hands and swirled into a view of his wife…in the blond lyrist's arms…laughing. That confirmed everything. Viciously, he ended the spell with a jerk of his hands, then closed his eyes in pain. Did he not suspect that everything was too perfect to be true? Ah, such was his punishment for denying his own instincts, his suspicions.
"That witch!" he cried vehemently as his fist came crashing down on his elaborate desk. "I'll tear her all to pieces!"
"All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven: 'Tis gone!—Arise, black Vengeance, from the hollow hell! Yield up, O, Love, thy crown and hearted throne, to tyrannous Hate!"
His windowpanes cracked and shattered into sharp, jagged pieces under his anger. "That scheming actress will regret her sweet, lying words, for I shall make force them—every one of them—down her despicable throat. I shall destroy her with my own hands and her lover before her terrified eyes!"
***
His wife was gone, or so the servants said, surprised that he'd asked. Didn't she tell him that she was going away on a long trip? they questioned him curiously. She had told them she would.
He swore. His severe expletives left the servants cringing in the hallways in fear. The little, lying bitch! She was probably still in her room; he'd teach her a thing or two! He tore open the double doors and stopped in amazement. She was…gone. Her bed was neatly made up, and her jewelry and dresses were still in their closets and cases, but all that was left of here were some papers, waiting for him on her desk.
With nothing else to vent his anger on, he walked over to the mahogany desk and read the first one on top. He was curious to find out what plan his conniving wife had woven this time, angry as he was, but, instead, found himself to be quite uneasy and in pain as the open wounds of his heart ripped open and bled freely once again. In her fluid, graceful script, she had written on her personal stationery:
25th of April, 1831
If you are reading this, as I have meant for you to do, I have gone on a prolonged trip—a trip to a place of no return—a place where I cannot run to you when I lie awake, yearning for you whilst you haunt my dreams of sorrow and regret. I suppose you are thinking to yourself, now, about how I was—and how I am—the blackest schemer who you've ever known; and I won't attempt to convince you otherwise—I've tried. And I can imagine you reading this and thinking that this was another one of my ploys to bring you to heel… to bring you begging back to me. To you, I can never be more than a despicable person who would use all things you hold hear to you—such as love, friendship, and trust—and any tactic, however despicable and vile, to satisfy my desires and my avarice. Truly, I wish I were the dreadful monster you have painted me to be; perhaps, then, I wouldn't feel this terrible wrench in my heart as I think of you…perhaps, then, I wouldn't have a wound made fiery with the salts of my tears and the aches of my heart that is gruesome enough to make your precious England bleed and cry tears of blood.
If you believe me to be of such repulsive character, if you cannot think otherwise, if you have never truly loved me as you say, it does not matter anymore, because, despite what you might think—and believe you know—I wanted to tell you, one final time…if you doubt me and slander my name…if you despise me…even if you believe every word out of my mouth is false…I tell you now, do not deny my love. If you curse me and call me a scheming liar, I shall believe it also, for I trust you and have always trusted you; but do not forget, then, that I have loved you from the depths of my scheming heart. That is all I ask of you…it is my last request, if you have ever truly loved an "image" of me, as you say.
I go to take away your burdens, so you may continue with your life with happiness and renewed vigor. I hope, with my absence, you would think no more of your heavy heart and your sorrows and your weary mind. Say "that sinner has taken away my misery; it is upon her soul as she rightly deserved" and move on with your life, I pray. I have taken upon myself the liberty of consulting a solicitor to annul or, if necessary, divorce us, so you may find another deserving woman; surely I do not wish to permanently chain you to me, and, seeing that this is inevitable, I deemed it necessary to do so as quickly as time allows. An annulment, I hear, is not possible, for what reason was there between us that our marriage was illegal by the laws of England and of God? Thus, I have had the solicitor draw up divorce papers on the grounds of irreconcilable differences—I thought it tactful—and on my adultery—as you have accused me. My reputation is of no import where I go…worry not about me…I have already affixed my signature to the document; it only requires yours to make the separation official.
Well then, my love, I believe this is a last farewell. I apologize for such a long letter from so unworthy a person, and I bid you adieu with wishes of future health and happiness and no regret.
With good wishes,
Tomoyo
He shoved the letter aside and picked up the next sheet of paper, scrawled with a solicitor's smooth writing. It was, as she described, a divorce statement, and he knew why she was able to have it drawn up so quickly without having to first go to court. She had wanted no financial settlement from him, and she had admitted, of her own free will, that she was an adulteress. What argument was there to present before the House of Lords? None. Absolutely nothing. All it needed was his signature…to end his memories of such incredible joy and happiness and of such devastating heartaches. All it need was a black scribble upon the crisp, whiteness of the paper, waiting for his final act…
He took up her quill, which had been resting in the same position it always had been when she had been present, in trembling hands…
***
The sorcerer's wife hugged her friend, the lyrist, fiercely in an embrace she did not know her husband was watching. "Thank you, Eric, for your help. I've been trying to plan a secret celebration for my husband's birthday in a fortnight, and it's been very trying. More so, when I must deny everything while he looks at me levelly with his beautiful eyes; they make me feel like a naughty child. I sincerely hope I can hold out a couple more days…"
"He makes you happy, it seems," Eric said quietly.
She sobered as she looked up at him. "He does make me happy. I love him."
"You will make him happier once you tell him you carry his child."
She brightened. "He will be happy, no?"
"Of course, he will, mon amie…of course, "he chuckled as he patted her hand in reassurance. "Now off you go, my dear. You are in a delicate condition, after all."
She grinned. "Already starting to pamper me, hm?"
He smiled back. "In your dreams. I bet—I know—your 'wonderful, lovely, handsome' husband is already spoiling you enough."
"Jealous?"
"Yes."
She put an expression of fake shock on her face. "Seriously, you're gay? How come you never told me? We were supposed to be chums, you know…honest to the end?"
He tweaked her nose, amused. "I wasn't gay the last time I checked. I'm jealous of your husband, silly."
"Too bad," she said flippantly, knowing he was teasing her. "I'm going back home, Eric. I'll see you tomorrow."
***
It seemed to her that her husband, the sorcerer, wasn't at all thrilled when he heard of her pregnancy. Instead, his visage grew grim and became as hard as a chip of granite stone. "Are you unwell, my lord?" she finally asked him. "Is there something you require?
He waved her cool hands away. "'Tis nothing of your concern," he told her, pulling away from her touch. "Say, answer a question for me. What would you do if you found that a person who you most trusted betrayed you?"
She was silent. "I don't know," she replied, finally. "I have never been in such a situation before."
"Then I shall judge as I see fit." His savage expression frightened her. His face was like a sheet of ice, imperturbable and smooth, but his eyes…she shuddered and looked away. "I won't see you for a while, wife," he told her nonchalantly as if it were a daily occurrence, "due to some serious responsibilities I must attend to…nine months to be exact."
When she opened her mouth to protest—his surprise party was in two weeks—he held up his held in a gesture of silence. "It is my final decision, and my wish that you reflect upon the wrongs you have committed during this time I am absent from you." And with that he left as abruptly as he had appeared.
Never did it occur to him to check his spells, the man-creature said. Never did he find the need to use his other workings to discover or confirm the truth. As far as he was concerned, his wife was responsible for what he thought to be a heinous crime. And the penalty was death.
Only the thought of his child stopped him from murdering his wife in cold blood. No, don't be silly. He didn't love his son like that. It was not a love between a father and his unborn child that thwarted the cold-hearted sorcerer from his killing. It was the knowledge that something of his—his blood—was in his child. It was his sense of possession that checked him from destroying his wife that night. So quickly did his love turn into black hatred; so fickle and unsure he was, like the pale moon, which waxes and wanes as it pleases.
Days grew into weeks; weeks grew into months; and these months became nine in number. The sorcerer's faithful wife gave birth to a healthy boy with cerulean eyes, so like his father's; and his mother hoped that her husband would come to see her and tell her, in his own gentle way, how proud he was of her and their child.
He came, for the first time in months, only to examine his child with grim satisfaction. He carelessly handed him to a woman who was to take care of him, ignoring his wife's protesting cries, and he said only two words to the midwives and servants: "Leave us."
They left without question, for they feared him with all their hearts; he was a changed man, once again a sinister sorcerer who oppressed his people. "You have been unfaithful to me," he stated in a deadly, quiet voice. "You have been having affairs with your precious lyrist."
His wife looked up at him in shock and confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't lie to me, darling," he said, his vicious tone clashing with the gentle endearment. "I swear to you, if you lie to me, your fate will be worse than what I have decided it to be."
"I tell you the truth. I—"
A garrote—a slim, cutting piece of string—found its way around her throat and closed tightly. She tried to scream, but it was slowly crushing her windpipe; she clawed at her neck until the skin peeled and her fingers slipped in her own blood, but he only pulled it tighter. "O treacherous, treacherous wife!" he cried. "So unfaithful…so full of deceptions and lies!
Her struggle grew more desperate as her lungs began to protest her lack of air. Her hands grew slick with red liquid and, with every attempt to save herself, she only managed to rip her own flesh. "Did you think you can make a fool out of me and escape with your life? I do hope you've made your peace with whomever your God is, dear one."
With one swift jerk, he broke her neck and let her drop to her bed. "You die in your tainted bed, wife, to join your lover who has already passed to the realms of the dead. Such is the penalty I exact from you. So it has been written in my books. So it has been done. Now, you are merely a name, my dear, nothing more." He summoned the nurse in—she gave a small scream at the horribly twisted corpse—and took his son in his arms. "Look upon your mother as faithless as the wind," he said. "Look upon her fate and learn, my son. Never love anyone, especially a woman. To be loved is to destroy and to love is to be the one destroyed. Remember that."
Was that a bit too cruel? Is that a tear that glimmers in the corners of your eyes? Human love always ends in tragedy. Is this a love story, you ask? Of course it is. Is it always necessary for it to end happy for the love to have been real?
There's love that always forgives, trusts, and sacrifices for its object. Then there's love that abandons, destroys, and works in the blood like poison.
***
Credits:
--"O, beware, my lord, of Jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock…"
"I'll tear her all to pieces."
"All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven: 'Tis gone!..."
From Shakespeare's Othello
--Alternating between past and present, though probably used by many authors (and though I planned months before to use it) I give credit to Cassandra Claire for her brilliant use of it. I might have used a similar approach. The quote about love at the very end "To be loved is to destroy and to love is to be the one destroyed" is hers. Couple of other of her ideas are floating around.
--The idea about dytopia, nightmare world, is from George Orwell's 1984. Some are quotes. Some are my words.
Next Chapter:
1) Is Eriol's ancestor a clue to what will happen to Tomoyo and Eriol or just a story to spook you out? (Forshadowing or not?) 2) Will Eriol divorce Tomoyo once and for all? 3) Where does Tomoyo go? 4) What's this favor Tomoyo asks of Jon? 5) Is Eriol as monstrous as his ancestor? 6) Will Eriol find Tomoyo? 7) The sorceress cursed Eriol's ancestor. Guess who's the sorceress incarnate in the present time? No, she's not aware of her family line; it almost seems as though it was determined by fate.
Find out next chapter. ^_^…Ja ne.
AN: Eriol does not have magical powers. As will be explained later, his ancestor was the first Hiragizawa; his line, through breeding with non-magical humans, loses its magic by the time Eriol is born. This is also the case with all formerly magical families.