Heart's Rage by FireStormThe figure stood outside the window in the dark, his face a frozen image of dark rage. His soul was in agony at the scene within the room that compelled him to watch, though he fought to turn his eyes away. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe, his mind attuned only to the couple in the room.
Inside the couple embraced. The only light in the room coming from some candles and the light of the fire burning in the hearth. The man kissed the forehead of the stunningly beautiful woman before him. He moved to kiss her cheek and then embraced her tightly, both smiling brightly at each other.
The figure in the dark watched, his eye squinting, the lights of rage smoldering deeply like dark fires. The woman was his soul mate and lover. The angel of his dreams, and his deepest desire and treasure. The man was of his own flesh and blood. The brother sired by his father and more than a brother. He was his trusted friend and confidant, until now. This betrayal stung him more painfully than he could imagine. The image before him was searing his soul. The wasted trust. The wasted love. How could they do this to him, how could he have been so wrong about them both?
The lady broke away from the embrace and turned to the door. Retrieving her cloak, she wrapped the garment around her shoulders. The material fell lightly over the long hem of her dress. She turned and smiled sweetly at the man, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He moved forward, opening the door and watched her go. Smiling he closed the door and turned back into the room.
The silent figure peered closely, noting the contents of the room. A sudden inspiration flashed into his mind. Pulling his dark cloak more closely about him, he turned and headed towards the street. His rage no longer hot had turned to a calculating cold fury. Cunning guided him as he looked out upon the street. Being careful to make not the slightest sound, he followed the figure walking ahead of him. Moving stealthily, he moved silently faster gaining ground.
The woman walked alone unaware of the dark figure. She was smiling, looking inward, reflecting on her great fortune. She felt the slight chill in the air, but felt comfort in the warmth of her love. She was well contented by her memories and was enjoying the opportunity to walk and think.
Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and spun around. "Slutty bitch! Whore! You bring such shame to me!" Terror rose up in her, but she recognized the voice. "Is this some new game M'Lord?" she asked with a tremulous smile on her lips. Then she looked into his eyes, seeing the cold rage in their depths. She shied away, fear quaking in her as a lone leaf in a breeze. "A game, yes, a game you should not have played bitch!" came the cold deadly reply. Terror seized her now, she had never seen him this way, and choking fear shook her. Cold sweat suddenly covered her flesh. Goosebumps caused her to shiver and a weakness in her legs caused her to wobble.
The dark figure could no longer control his violence. Feeling her tremble in his grasp, he struck her, slapping her across the cheek hard. Her head rocked back and her eyes flashed terror. The look of her face goaded him on. He pushed her hard against the wall behind her, causing her head to impact with the hard surface. She let out a cry of pain.
As her head hit the wall, she felt the pain of the blow rock through her. The stunning blow caused an involuntary cry to escape her lips. She knew she must fight back or something terrible would happen. She kicked out, catching the dark figure in the knee, she reached up and scratched his face, drawing blood. The figure ducked his head away and sneered in a purely evil grimace. He grabbed the front of her dress and shoved her back again. The sheer force of his power causing searing pain to race along her back and limbs. She cried out in terror trying to scream. He covered her mouth, cutting short her scream. His face contorted with dark rage. The dancing light of the rage in his eyes overpowering the stark terror in hers. She fights with all her strength, the terror taking control of her muscles. She kicks, bites, scratches and thrashes against her attacker.
The dark figure continues to rage at her physically. He recognizes her panic is giving her strength and he is losing his grip on her. He removes a hand from her and reaches under his cloak. He can feel the cold steel of the handle, the coldness matching his rage. He pulls the dagger thinking to threaten her into submission. She brings her knee up in a desperate attempt to stop him. Her blow glances across his knee and thigh, missing. The audacity of the act causes his rage to turn black. He feels his knife hand slide forward, feels the thick warm liquid caressing his hand. Her face goes slack with a look of cold surprise. Her eyes pierce his sight, pleading and dimming. The light of her life dulls and fades to black nothing in the depths of those so beautiful eyes. Her body wracks with a quiet sob and is still. She slides to the ground, her lifeless eyes staring into the night. He watches her death with a face masked in fury.
He hears footsteps running towards him and turns to meet the intruder. His brother races up to him sword in hand and peers at him and the silent figure on the ground. He speaks to his betrayer, "I have killed your slut brother, and you are next." His brother looks at him dumbfounded and then looks down at the still figure again. He begins to shake, his face trembling and contorted in agony. He throws his sword to the ground and pulls his arms to his body, his wrists and hands covering his face.
"Oh God, NO, please no, oh god, please let it not be so!" he cries in an agonized voice. The dark figure takes a step forward, moving towards the agonized figure. "Save your anguish, for you are about to join her." His brother pulls his hands down eyeing him, his face contorted, his eyes plainly showing the anguish and pain and something else, pity?
The murderer hesitates, glancing at the body of his former lover and returning his gaze to his brother. Deep within him, a tiny coal of dread begins to kindle. His brother looks at him plainly with pity now. "You are wrong, don't you realize what you have done? Oh if I had only refused her, she would not be dead now!" "But, you and she betrayed me! You took her as your lover, knowing my devotion to her." His brother drops to his knees his body shaking in wracking sobs, "She was not my lover! She came to me asking me to help her buy a gift for you, a secret gift to be presented to show her devotion to YOU!"
The sting of fear and doubt begin to burn along the dark figures spine, skin and limbs. He breaks in to a cold sweat and a single spark of realization begins to glow in his soul. He looks at his brother and sees honest truth in his face. The fire of realization flares along his senses and mixes with the cold heat of his dread. His brother continues speaking through his sobs of pain and pity, "She treasured you above all others. Her fidelity should have been unquestioned. She was like my sister and I rejoiced in your union." His brother drops to the ground sobbing uncontrollably, his face buried against the hard street.
Hearing his brother's words, he suddenly realizes the look in her eyes at the parting in the room. The look of warm friends parting, not the look of secretive lovers. Pain explodes in his soul. The agony so painful he wails. He pulls at his hair, stares up into the black night, realizing he has lost everything he loved. His legs turn to quicksand and he slumps to the ground. He looks to his lost love and crawls to her, pleading with the gods to let him find her still alive. Blood congeals and pools around her, as he reaches to her. His touch confirms that she is cooling. Great sobs wrack his soul as he pulls her into his lap and cries rocking her broken body. Crying her name over and over, he continues to rock her as he collapses in on himself.
As the waning light of his sanity recedes, a wispy figure moves like a shadow from his body. It rises languidly from the sobbing wretch. Barely visible as it moves like a shadow into the night. It's silken wings like gossamer and limbs meant for clutching and entwining the soul. It's nourishment coming from the fear and anger of mortal hearts. It's hunger stated for the moment, it moves off. Soon to search for another victim and replicate itself. It's preferred host the easily frightened for that is where jealousy hides and feeds, in the weak.