Beyond Vile

       
       Beyond Vile

Black cloak, swirling in the still
still air.

a small wicked smile
plays upon his lips.


As if drawn to a flame, a small
moth flutters near.
... courting death...

A long curved aristocratic finger
holds itself out as if it were the
arm of a falconer; the moth the falcon.

A hint of amusement plays perhaps upon the
beautious countenance of the Dark Mage...

...perhaps...

The pretty little moth alights on the outstretched
finger, again, a falcon, called back to her 
roost.

The Dark Mage draws it near his lips,
he kisses the fluttery Dark shadow of the 
Butterfly.. at once she ceases quivering.



She falls to the earth, silently.
like the first snowflake after a long 
autumn.

Beautiful, yet horrible: Beauty standing alone,
horrible for it portends the cold winter
to come.

The dead moth lies still in the 
street, dead from the kiss from he, the 
Darkest of Magi.


He utters a chat so low, it appears he is muttering
to himself
The moth stirs in the wind that follows.

(The Mage's cloak is still in the gale)

The Mage creates and orb of light 
in his left hand, and an orb of dark  in
his right, and places them east and west
of the dead moth.

He invokes a Circle of protection ahd the air 
around him and the still body of the moth is quieted.

...and the gale continues to blow
around them...

But soft! awake? the Moth 
stirs once more! O sweet joy!


Now a small whirlwind spins the moth
in tiny swirls within the Circle of protection,
glimmering shimmering lights, like millions of
tiny fires are thrown around the Circle, concentrated
on the moth.

The moth grows and changes The orbs
fight and grow Now Dark, Now Light
Dark! Light! Dark! Light!

then all is still once more.

and in the place of the pretty little moth
hovers a faerie lass of twenty and two
with the same wings of the moth ere the change

Raven black hair falls to her wiast.
Sapphirene eyes look brightly at the Dark Mage
A Creamy white gauze cloak covers her tiny body
Golden sandals adorn her perfect feet
A silver and ruby crown rests on her brow
and in her tiny hands, she holds the orbs of 
Light and Dark.


She gives the Orbs to the Dark Mage, so saying. 
"I believe these, are yours, My Lord."

The Dark Mage smiles the barest hint of a smile,
	"So they are."
		And takes her hands.

			They Kiss.

The faerie lass does not die!

	"I am immune to that now, My Lord,
	I was not prepared, thou had me
	caught, unaware."

     		"Ah My Queen, thou though not treat me so unkindly,
		I am but thy humble servant"

	The Mage mocks a courtly bow.

	"Aye that ye be, My Dark Mage, what news?"

	"None My Queen."

	A raised eyebrow, "None?"

	"None, save that thy Lord the King is..."

			"...Dead."

		"Dead?"
	
	"Aye my Queen, Dead." 
		
	
		"As dead as I, a moment ago?"

			"Deader?"







		Silence		







		...Laughter...


	Wicked laughter

	Had it been heard by any other than the
	Dark Queen and her Darker Mage, life would 
	have fled, quicker than a blink.

	"A year from now, my lord. A year, what is a year to 
	those such as we?"

		"Nothing, My Queen, nothing."

	A secret smile, exchanged

	"Then adieu, my Lord, adieu."


			She departs in the manner in which 
	She came.

		"Aye, my Queen,  aye. Adieu it is.
		When next we meet, we shall be free
		and then, I shall be King!"
	
			The Dark Mage smiles a smile
		 So evil, so wicked the very grass 'neath
	his boots turns black as his soul.

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