The Shrine
I awoke to the sound of soft sobbing. I knew at once whose tears were being shed. Using the keen sense of hearing I had acquired through immortality, I traced it to the corner that my precious pearl loved to bury herself in. The shadows were heavy; our only light the few candles I allotted us as a luxury. But it was enough for my eyes, and her eyes as well.
At once I was concerned. Why was she crying? Why was she so sad? I felt the cold marble floor under my burnt back. It felt wonderfully numbing yet still sent shocks through my body. Ah, such pain. When was the last time I had felt such tremendous aching? It always took a moment for my muscles and bones to prepare themselves for the exertion of motion. Nevertheless, my sore eyelids flew open and I gazed up at the ceiling.
Every breath was pure agony, I felt as if every inch of me were being repeatedly stabbed with a hot knife. I wanted to moan, but even the thought of doing that scared me. My head lulled to the right and I gazed up at a white pair of perfect feet sitting on an elevated dais and throne.
My Queen.
She was as stark and still as ever, imperial in her linen and gold. How I adored her and yet how I hated her. Bitterness swelled as searing as the burns, which covered every inch of my body. The flickering light from the candle played on her features, placing shadows over her smooth features and startling me as ever. So smooth. Was that what I was to become? My Akasha, kept for selfish reasons. But, in my heart, I knew that was a lie. I had told myself so many as of late. I had gone against stoic reason, against logic and realism, and so foolishly become no better than Pygmalion.
I closed my eyes, the pain unbearable in my bitterness. But the crying never ceased.
"Bianca." my voice was lifted in the room, a whisper that sounded as sharp as a yell, "My pretty one, why are you crying?"
She stopped all sound and movement, too still for even I to hear or see. Had I embarrassed her? This was no mere intrusion, this was concern. What had upset my love so?
"Precious dear, what is wrong?" I asked, keeping all sounds of my pain from my voice as I rose onto my knees. Taking a few short breaths of preparation to turn, I gazed at her corner, seeing the dark and shiny fabric of her dress.
"Marius." She said, her voice thick with shed and waiting tears, "I am sorry for waking you."
Hunched over like a cripple, I shook my head, "No, my dear, it was not you. It was simply time for waking. I must leave to feed soon." My bones and skin were screaming for blood, wanting the soothing caress of it flowing through my veins to heal cracked flesh.
My eyes were closed again; this was wearing me out too much. I regretted rising so soon.
Bianca was moving towards me, I could hear the soft rustle of her dress. She was my bride now, and my partner in this terrible existence. What had I done to her? Taken an innocent flower of a young girl and turned her into a monster. Had I used her because I needed her? 'No,' I told myself at once, 'You love her, you made her because you need her help and her love now more than ever.'
Raising my head, I gazed at her. A tight dark red bodice strapped her small frame; pushing her powder white breasts up deliciously and making her waist seem to be but a tiny pen stroke. Oh she was lovely in the different shades of red, pearls strung in her tight bun. I knew at once that she had dressed in this manner in hopes of pleasing me, and the weak smile I gave her for such an effort brought more tears to her eyes. But these were happy tears; she was delighted that she had pleased me. It seemed to make her more bold and calm her down. Her sniffling was no more, and her pink tears were slowly drying, eyes not shining with the threat of new ones to come.
"Why were you crying?" Nonetheless, I wanted to know what had caused the grief in her that she could not contain.
She seemed not to want to tell me. There was fear in her almond eyes, and I stared back into them steadily to give the stance of confidence I felt no more. "Bianca, my sweet, tell me what is wrong."
"Oh Marius!" she cried, seeming to burst with anger. I was startled as always when she gave way to such sudden fits of any emotion. But her anger was not directed to me, it was caused by the shame she felt in crying so weakly. "I don't know how much longer I can endure it here."
She was out of her element, my lovely courtesan. Gone were her full rooms of adoring admirers and poetry. No more were the sounds of the lute being played as a man told a satirical poem. I had caged her, stuffed her where the sun could not reach and she could not blossom. Oh the guilt I felt threatened to overwhelm me.
Perhaps she saw the tumult in her, for her hand came out and quivered before my face. Bianca knew better than to touch me, her fingers feathering as she fought not to. "My lord..." her voice was a whisper, staring through the holes of the mask I wore into my eyes, "I did not mean to cast guilt about so freely...-"
"I love you." I interrupted to make my heartfelt confession.
She wanted to hug me, I could tell by the way her small body tensed. We both knew she could not; it would hurt me too badly. I gave a soft sigh and reached to touch her cheek with my gloved hand. She flinched, as if not wanting me to touch her. I couldn't blame her, parts of my blackened skin still jutted from underneath the mask. But it still hurt my pride and vanity more than anything else. However, she did not pull away, even leaning into the touch though it was gentle and hesitant for she feared to break me. "I love you too, Marius. I am ashamed of my own weakness. I wish I could be as strong as you."
Something akin to anger threatened to explode from within me as well. I was not strong. I was an idiot. I couldn't count the number of mistakes on my own fingers and that was far too many. "Bianca, this is new to you. You need time to adapt to your new life. I don't expect you to handle this well. You are strong enough, my love. You are here while no one else is. You've taken such a task without second thought, selflessly for me. Not many can say they have it in them to do such a thing."
This too seemed to sedate her, both of her pretty lids dropping over to cover her eyes as if she were sleepy and content. The same dreamy smile I had seen dozens of times passed over her lips, hovering on her features before reality stung her again and brought her back to the ugly present with me. I think I hated those moments of clarity as much as she did.
"I want to see you." she said, her voice as suddenly firm as her face, each delicate feature etched with a steely assurance. The boldness in her tone seemed to be stoking the fires of her sudden bravery, perhaps surprising even her. But how long would such steadfast resolve last? Even at that moment I saw the fear shimmer in her eyes, as if she were afraid I would really do it. But in her mind, she believed that she could do it and she wanted to prove it to me.
What did she hope to gain? My eyes searched her as I sought to read her soul, finding nothing but silence. I had expected that. Was it to prove herself to me or to her own self?
"Bianca..." I spoke her name with such love; she smiled again through her hard expression. I spoke it as if it were the most beautiful word known to man. "We have spoken about this and I cannot show you."
She seemed to waver that very moment, bottom lip quivering to speak or to cry. Probably both. Her throat seemed to close up, leaving her only reaching to take my hand from her face. It was held tightly. Too tightly. I hid the pain well. "Marius, I won't be afraid. Let me show you that!" She was near begging, her eyebrows furrowing.
I pulled the hand from her, not to take it away die to pain, but to pull the glove off. Once again I held in the groan I wanted to give. Oh this was pain unlike any thought to exist, inside and out. My cracked and black hand came into view. I moved them to confirm that they were indeed mine because even to my eyes it seemed these burnt twigs could not be. But they were. I heard my love give a soft squeak, putting her hand to her mouth. I didn't dare look up that moment, not wanting to see the horror in her face coupled with the shame she would feel at so noticeably finding me grotesque.
"It is alright." I managed to force out as calmly as I could, "But you see that I am right. You are not ready to see me. And I am not ready for you to see me."
Bianca gave a quick nod, dropping her hand back into her fragile lap. I struggled to put back on my glove, finding that I could not look at it myself any longer. What had I become? I could not stand the sight of myself. I hunched over again, feeling a new swell of pain. How had this come to be? Hadn't I been so happy only nights ago? But even that seemed a lifetime away. I cleared my gaze to look at her. Bianca needed to see me strong, it would help her find her own.
But she had already crawled back into her corner, tiny legs folded under her as she attempted to make herself as small as she could. I wished more than every to be able to tell what she was thinking. I could have asked. She would have told me. But I did not, I only rose.
"I must go now." I needed relief.
Her eyes were closed. She nodded.
My steps were slow, struggling to make it each inch. She took no notice. I was glad for that.
I knew when I came back she would have a smile for me. She was always glad to see me come home. Each time I left, I think not even she realized how much each minute would make her miss me. It had happened night after night. I would come in, feeling better. She would curl her body up next to me though lightly touching and we would whisper to one another. It was what I lived each night for. I was not a monster then or the source of her grief. I was Marius, the man she had fell in desperate love with and sacrificed all she knew and loved to be with. It was worth it to her though she never thought it to be even in pain. I had loved her in life and did in death. She had loved me in glory and in my fall from grace. If I put stock in such love I would feel overwhelmed, though nothing now really held the shimmer that it once did. Though I could offer her little but my words of love, I knew it was enough. She was my faithful companion, and she would not betray me. My secrets were safe and perhaps with her I would have the time and love needed to heal.
Part of Baptism-of-Blood
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