1"If you love her, you cannot see her . . . because love is blind."
*William Shakespeare
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There were so many walls. It was so quiet. The only sound is my foot steps tapping on the old stone floor. I can only see ahead of me. Where I came, I do not know. But I know where I'm walking. I know where my feet are taking me.
My white nightgown flows around my feet. The hair flows down to my breast. I should be cold; it is cold as night. But I am not cold. My pale fingers do not shake. My face is softly flushed with pink as my heart races faster and faster in my chest. I know what I will see, but I do not.
No candle's light the hall in which I walk. The courtyard, which I can see from below the open medieval arched windows is empty. Many flowers bloom. Each inner hall is open like this one, I know. Open as the villa's and home's that use to be in Rome. Open. . .flower pots and vines crawl and rest on every window arch, but as I walk, they disappear. Behind me they die. Have I brought them death?
I turn a corner. To the right, is another open hall as I have just passed. Rooms. Safe.
To my left, the hall is closed. There are no windows. It is dark.
I want to walk right. I want to walk right! But I do not. My hands trace the large stone wall as I walk down the left hall. Still no candle. Darkness immerse around the sole being. The only noise is the tap tap tap of my bare feet on the cobble. The perfectly shaped stone of the castle.
As I reach the end, my eyes strain to see. There is a door. A large wood door that is a the top of three small steps. They are wide steps, not really needed. They are small steps that I walk slowly up to the big, wood door with a metal handle.
The door is partly open already. Gently, cautiously, I inch the door farther open. My heart beats faster faster faster. I know this room, but I do not. Inside, at the far end, are two open, curtain-draped, double doors that open to a solid stone balcony. Bleached white, and shining pale in the moonlight. The curtains blow gently in the wind that comes through. Scarcely furnished but a rug in front of a blazing fire. At one end, a full bookcase. But my eyes do not care.
They stare, agape at her. But who is 'Her'?
She stands, her sleeves long and wide as a renaissance gown. Wide ribbons enlace her stomach to define her perfect features. Her long black hair, like mine, runs past her breasts down her to where her mid-belly. Her gown flowed like water down to the smooth floor. Her back to me.
I entered fully into the room and stood opposite from the beautiful creature. Lento, by the light of the glowing fire, she turned in all her grace to face me. We saw eye to eye.
Her pale skin was no comparison to mine. Her features held a similar make, but she surpassed me in all ways. Her eyes meet mine, red, crimson. Blood. Her lips held a drop of thick, angry blood. Her eyes; taunting. I gasped.
No, I screamed. I screamed as she laughed.
This was no women. This was me. This damn room! That damn fire!
This was no women. This was a memory.
My memory. I began to cry and feel to my knees in sobs as the wind blew harder. As she disappeared into the fire. Her pretty dress in flames. She left me. I screamed and sobbed.
"MARCUS!" a voice, my voice maybe, yelled. It screamed the name over and over. I covered my ears.
"Stop!" I begged.
Just stop.
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I woke with a start. My breath was labored. My hand flew to my forehead which was covered in cold sweat. In the darkness, my eyes darted around to realize my surroundings. My room. A soft, white bed. A blinking clock; 2:33 am. A turned off t.v. A closed laptop on an old desk filled with miscellaneous books and writings. A closet. A dressing table. My hand searched in the dark for the glass of water on the nights stand beside me. Lifting the glass to my parched mouth, it was a sad realization it was long empty from my last awakening earlier. Running my hand through my disheveled dark hair, I fell back on my pillow. I sighed, exasperated. How many nights would these dreams haunt me. True, or false? Nevermore, I thought. Please nevermore torture me with images I long to remember.
My heart ached. I stared at the clock and wondered just how much time had passed since that woman burned in that fire. Just how long ago? Then the name. What was the name she screamed, or that was screamed? What was that name? I rolled over, trying to hard to remember.
What was that name, nevermore?
What was his name?!
