Broken Wings - Chapter Forty One
Kadaj watched in silent fascination from the shade of the glowing white trees. He had not come merely to act as a spectator, but he had time to spare, and he was content to quietly jeer at the solemn ritual occurring before him.
Aralyn kneeled at the foot of one of the trees, dressed in her traditional white gown. Kadaj found her attire quite ironic; should she not be dressed in the black robes that signified grieving? That was, after all, what she was here to do.
Gently she arranged two roses, one a deep crimson and the other a pure white, so that the stems were deeply intertwined. The thorns tore into her soft hands, causing rivulets of blood to flow onto the leaves. While she winced at the sting, she did not falter in her task until the heads of the roses touched one another, the red and white both clashing and matching each other. She raised the large blossoms to her face, letting the velvet petals stroke her cheeks as she whispered formless words to an unknown recipient. Her eyes were nearly opaque, and so very far away.
Eventually she set the roses upright in the damp soil at the foot of the tree. Having completed her task, she rose to her feet and slowly glided away.
That was Kadaj's signal to go.
He strode forward boldly, entering Aralyn's sanctuary with no remorse for how he was about to defile it. Unrepentantly, he first seized the roses, tearing the white from the red violently until he held one in each hand, the stems missing strips of their outer skin.
He dropped the white to the ground for now, using his now free hand to draw his blade. In one swift, fluid motion, he severed the crimson bloom and a tiny bud that had not even opened yet from the stem. These he let fall without a second glance.
He then retrieved the white blossom as he sheathed his weapon, eyeing the rose as a cruel smirk played on his face and his eyes lit maliciously. Grasping one solitary petal between two fingers, he ripped it off and let it fall to the earth on its own. He did the same over and over again, petal by petal, until after long, painful minutes, the flower was bare.
Taking a vial from a pocket at his waist, he removed the cork and slowly drizzled the black water over the fallen petals. The whiteness that had managed to survive was now consumed, replaced with a burnt, ashy black as the petals ignited. He did this until there was only enough white left to tell that it had once existed.
Chuckling as he pocketed the dark substance, he eyed his handiwork with pride. He only wished he could stay to see Vincent's reaction as he came and realized, far too late, what it was he was going to do with Aralyn.
A/N: This came to me in the shower, and while it's not necessary, I was reminded of a very profound sticker on my English teacher's door that reads: "Metaphors be with you!". (get it? May the force...metaphors? Heh heh...nerdy English jokes, I lurve it!) This is heavly foreshadowing what is to come in both the present and in the flashbacks. I have given this to three different people to pre-read and all three have come up with different interpretations that have all been correct to at least some degree. Translate as you will, or disregard it all. Metaphors be with you all!