Part XI

Upon her arrival, Mara knew it was too late. She has known it for a long time. She had deluded herself, lied to herself, made herself believe it wasn't so, that he was not beyond salvation. But he had gone too far down. It is time for her to face the inevitable, to face that which has already been happened, that which is already written. It cannot be changed.

She has come for closure, to put her doubts and feeble hopes to rest. She has come to a funeral for one who had been dying for too long. A funeral for their doomed love.

She can't feel him. She is hollow. Chill winds howl in her forsaken heart, and she wishes she could feel their frosty bite. She only feels the abyss inside her.

She walks alone on a deserted beach. White sand, slowly giving way to dark, spindly rocks, is grey under the somber sky. The water is alive. It is a sleeping dragon sprawled against the shore. She can hear its rushing, roaring breaths. She can hear its heartbeat.

She whispers a prayer. Let the waters engulf her and carry her away like a little speck of dust. Let the dragon devour her whole, and she will feel no pain. But what gods look down upon her are not feeling merciful. The dragon does not listen. It sleeps on the rocks, dead to the world.

She climbs down the dragon's spiny back. Still, the mighty creature will not harm her. She finds her way to the cove, made her lover's tomb. She finds a gaping wound, festering, blood seeping. The dragon's labored breathing does not cease, for it is a mighty beast. No weapon can slay it. But what gruesome weapon can wound it so?

The water is shallow here. Rocks pierce the surface like sinister spires of ebony, silhouetted in the quasi-darkness. The fence around the tomb. She walks in the water and wishes she could feel its fangs in her flesh. The flaring crimson of the water sears her eyes. She can feel them blister. Will it make her blind? Will it shield her from the sight of his empty shell?

The water has not blinded her. She sees him clearly, at her feet. She has never seen such beauty, floating on the water's level, unbroken surface, light as a ghost. She kneels in the dragon's blood, stroking deathly white skin. Cold, so cold under her touch, cold as the dragon's breath on her face…She strokes his still, still face, holds his limp, clammy hand, and whispers to him.

"Why don't you speak to me, love? Why don't you touch me like you did so long ago…Do you not love me anymore?"

He does not utter a single word. All he can do is stare through sad, lifeless eyes…So lonely, so broken, and he can never be heard…

"It's going to be alright, love…I'm here. You will not suffer anymore…"

She kisses silent, glacial lips. They fill her with frigid darkness. The wounded dragon's heart beats still. She will lie with him forever, and he will suffer no more.

oOo

The water is hot. She feels the dragon's fiery breaths, scorching her frozen skin, warming her cold soul… The dragon loves her. He will protect her from harm. The dragon guards her absently, even as she lies imbedded in his inflamed wound, for he has a giant heart. She hears it pounding in her head.

Now she can rest easy, safe in the embrace of his flesh as the rise and fall of his chest lulls her to sleep. If she were to close her eyes…

A phantom's touch jerks her from her near-slumber. It raises the little hairs on her back. She shivers in the water – the red is fading, now, the wound is healing, healing over her, holding her, trapping her, choking her…

Can whatever wraith stands behind her save her from the insidious dragon's claws? Or has it come to take her life?

"Do not be afraid, Child…I am here."

His voice is deep. Deep and sad. She knows that voice. She doesn't know that voice. It puts her heart to rest. She will not look at it – will its gaze turn her to stone? Is it death that's visiting her?

"Have you come to kill me?" She breathes the question into the water, now a clear grey, but still tainted with pain and blood.

"Never." She feels the pensive gloom wafting from him. How can a wraith be sad?

Weakly, wearily, she rises to her feet and turns to face him. He is a dark, armour-clad form. Is he..? She knows him…She knows that she knows him…

The world is shaking, shifting. The dragon is moving, it's rising from its sleep – will it see her? Will it trap her in its claws again? Will it throw her off its back and leave her to die?

The world is moving too fast – she falls, and the water strikes her face. She falls again. She can never…

And then she is no longer wallowing in the tainted liquid. The wraith is strong. He scoops her up in his arms. He's warm. Not ardent and feverish, like the dragon, but gentle. The wind tries to sink its teeth into her, just as she desired, but it can't reach her. It screeches as it realizes its failure. It can't bite the wraith.

She presses her face against him and watches the violent, angry sea – just the sea, no dragon, no claws, no fierce, pounding heart…

He's warm, but he quietly bleeds inside. It doesn't matter. It's her pain he feels. It's his pain she feels.


Epilogue

-six years later-

"It's about Daddy, isn't it?"

What do you know of your father, child? What do you know of his infinite beauty? What do you know of his slow, quiet death? What do you know of the dying light in his eyes? What do you know of his cold flesh against your own?

She wanted to strangle her, to choke the life out of that wretched child, that thrice-damned reminder of a life lost…She wanted to stab her, to slit her throat…Anything to make her disappear.

Her eyes squeezed shut, so tightly…If she forgot, if she remembered, she could feel his frigid, bloodless kiss. If she listened hard enough, she could still hear his drifting voice…

Why do I feel so dead inside?

Her pale, bony fist pierced the window, breaking skin, shattering glass, freeing blood, letting in the rain. The grim, unfeeling wind laid a hand on her gaunt, weary face, tossing her limp faded hair.

I know that. I couldn't let you die.

Couldn't let you die…Let you die…Die…DIE!

Collapsing among the shards, breaking again, dissolving into ragged, despairing sobs. Frightened blue eyes fixed upon her, questioning.

"Mara?"

Aileen had never called her by name. And before she knew it, she held the little girl in her arms. She could feel her hot breath on her cheek, her eyes weeping fear.

"I don't like it when you're dark."

"It's okay, sweetie…"

And she can feel the darkness retreat from her mother's aura, leaving just a grey frailty. She whispers a tentative question.

"Where is he now?"

"He's nowhere…You have no father."

Finis