waiting… blood discoveries… returning.

October 27, 2007 at 7:12 am (ETC Adventures (Doctor... Who?), original poetry/prose)

The Lady waits in the feeble overcast light, near the cold campfire. As usual she is alone, and has been for some time.

To pass the time, she has begun summoning books, the unseen books that fall under the gaze of no eyes. They are stacked there beside her, hovering in midair. She sets aside the current volume, then stretches out her arm towards the west. A moment later, there is a strange sound, of wind and motion, impossibly fast. It is over soon after being perceived, and a weighty old leatherbound tome has flown into her outstretched hand. She lets it fall heavily into her lap, then, closing her eyes briefly, touches the binding. The book opens to the desired page, and she bends over it, a single curled red lock of hair alighting on it like a mark, finger lightly tracing the lines until she’s found the information sought. Lines and lines of names and lines.

She shakes her head, brow furrowing slightly. She does not like the surprise that she has read. The book quivers in her lap, sensing the approach of a person whose eyes will fall upon its’ empty space soon if it does not return. She releases it, and it flies out of her lap and back to the west, faster than the mind can believe, slotting unseen back into place in time for the questing eyes of the librarian.

The crimson-haired lady reaches out her hand again, and another old book flies into it… then another, and another. She consults these as well, with rising unease. None of them say to her what she hopes to read, but all seem to confirm the disturbing evidence found by the first tome. Dejected, she releases the tall stack of old books now, and they fly off in various directions, to return to their proper places in libraries around the world.

She stands and paces, whispering to herself, “what… what?”

She stops now, seemingly resolved, then holds out her left hand, summoning a small crystal bowl. This she sets carefully on a rock near the cold campfire, suspends her left wrist above it, then with a sharp steel blade summoned from air or memory or imagination, quickly slices into her own pale flesh.

The dark crimson blood splashes into the bowl, the crystal catching the feeble rays of the fading sun. With a lick at her wrist, the wound is sealed, and with a flick of her hand, the knife is banished. She peers into the bowl, at the thick blood. Her Vitae, her Life. She peers into it, as if expecting to see something important written there. After several minutes, she realizes she does not know what is in it. She stares at it as if it is some foreign thing, and not the very real sign of her life.

She stumbles back a bit, as if struck by an unpleasant thought. She looks around the campsite just as a final bright red ray of sunset slices through the trees, like broad laser beams. Focused through the crystal of the glass, this light pierces through her blood: bright light through dark crimson. It slowly begins to bubble. She stares at it for long moments as it slowly boils…, then sighs as it finally ignites.

She lets it burn out, filling the air with strangely-sweet smoke, as she fills a pouch with the ashes from the campfire. She then reaches into an inner pocket of her coat, pulling out a strange silver key. She replaces the key with this pouch, and squeezes it in her hand as she watches the last of her blood burn away. She slips the key along its silver chain, then over her head to rest, hidden, beneath the fine lace of her blouse.

The Lady waves her hands slowly in the air, and the scene shifts, moves… crystal and ashes melt into the earth. In a few minutes, there is no sign that anyone had spent the last week camped here.

She turns, and walks, slow but sure, towards the northeast. Towards home.


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