Memories flit through Jaenelle's consciousness, unbidden, unwanted. They bring ghosts of smiles to her pinched face, or drag quiet tears from closed eyes, her decrepit body shaking with relentless torment. Time goes by, the sun sets, the stillness grows, and she is alone with only her memories to keep the madness away.
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Softly singing a lament filled with cold regret, the words roll from her tongue with grace and ease. Rain falls against her face, but she doesn't feel it. All she knows is who has gone. She collapses to her knees. Mud seeps in to stain her torn nightgown, already plastered to her frail frame. But she doesn't notice. Shattered sapphire eyes overflow with bitter tears, her broken heart leeks blood into the freshly dug earth. A whispered name echoes on every strand, plucking the cords of every Jewel. ..'Rose'.. Her back bows. Dripping ribbons of dull, lifeless hair spill over hunched shoulders. The sodden tendrils trail across her face and neck, twisting and snapping in the rush of frozen wind. With a wild, kneening note that rises into the darkened skies, her witchsong ends. Her head lifts. Barren pools of hollow pain stare out across the insipid garden. A feral emptiness replaces the agony, the last flicker of intelligence departed. There was only rage in her eyes. A rage so cold it burnt the air, frosted the ground. A thin sheen of ice coats the leaves of her enmity. Witchblood.
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Her cheeks hurt. And her sides ached. But still she laughed. Leaves fall, giving the lush green grass spots of autumn colour. Her hair streamed out behind her in long wisps, strands of golden sunshine. Eye's bright, she galloped on. Dark Dancer's strong, black coat shone as his lean muscles vaulted them across the long drainage ditch. Jaenelle's loud, happy whooping echoed through the trees, as she was finally free. Free to feel her friend's joyful elation at being with her, to feel the glorious warmth of the day, and the sweet wind against her face.
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Spinning her web of twisted dreams in a blackened landscape, where gray ghosts of shapes seem to be the only things of existence,Witch pulls one long strand to place behind another, attached to the frame by a small drop of blood filled with her ebony strength. The powerful blood sings along the wispy thread. It shrivels and turns dark, causing her fair lips to frown softly. Confusion fills her enchanting sapphire eyes as she studies her creation. Yet another solution fails. She feels frustration building inside of her, her chest constricted painfully. With a heavy sigh, she plucks her ring from the third strand of her web, casually brushing her fingers against the fragile dreamscape. Unable to start again, she lifts herself from her cocoon of darkness, brushing back her golden waves of hair, and finds comfort in her lover's arms.
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Jaenelle's eyes widen, big, frightened orbs of shinning hope. Her hand stretches out, pale and small. Without hesitation she offers herself to the most beautiful creature of life she has ever seen. Desire and passion, love and trust, swirling mists of the blackest of places. Safety. How she wanted to run her fingers over his shinning white coat, nuzzle her tear-ridden cheeks against his warm neck. With a soft cry, Jaenelle seeks his sweet acceptance. He lowers his piercing horn, his jewel glowing softly with his surrender to her. His voice fills her mind, tender and kind as she cries into his shoulder. "My Queen. Dreams Made Flesh. Witch. You've come."
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A low moan escapes her chapped lips. Her eyes roll behind fluttering eyelashes, and all Daemon can do is hold herhealing body gentlyand whisper his love in her ear.
AN: It's getting late, so I decided to stop for now. More to come.
Disclaimer: I do not own Jaenelle or anything to do with the Black Jewel's Trilogy, that's Anne Bishop's beautiful creation. Simply toying with the thoughts she gave me, and her characters. Please review and tell me what you think?