Midnight. The moon hung at its zenith, its light pooling upon the stones of Celdon, high above the point where the forest dwindled and gave way to bare cold mountain. Cast in the silvery sheen, the figure stood tall atop an outcrop of rock, a silhouette black against the night. A cool wind wailed down from the peak so far above, yet it seemed not to touch the figure’s clothes, nor stir a hair upon its head.
Eirun.
The figure shuddered as though struck by an unseen blow. It turned towards the moonlight to gaze upon the world stretched below its feet. Illuminated, the face of the red-haired youth was pale, paler than a corpse. Eyes flat and dead, he smiled.
Burn in the dark.
He lifted his arm, and the sword glittered; a long blade wicked as a viper’s fang, and his smile twisted wider. A quiver ran through his body, and for a moment he stood entranced, riveted by the play of the light on steel. Tentatively, his other hand reached out to caress the blade; a gentle caress, fingers sliding ever so delicate along the vicious edge. Blood ran down his forearm and dripped to the ground. He took no notice.
“Let us savor this night together, my love.” The whisper was soft. “It will be beautiful. You are beautiful.”
The sword began to pulse with a light of its own, throbbing till it seemed a crimson heart, beating in tune to its wielder’s life. The youth’s smile became manic; joy lit his features, those dead eyes transforming it all into a mockery of passion.
”I have waited so long for this.”
“Perhaps I should wait a little longer, dear,” the youth said in a teasing tonne. “ think it rather fun, actually, to have you dancing I such impatience.”
The sword flared, burning brighter and brighter. ”You dare!”
The youth laughed and raised the sword to his lips. “A few moments more.” And he kissed thhe hilt of the sword, closing his eyes.
His name was Mathios, and and soon he would enter to his lover.
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