This book has no name - Chapter 1 - The Collection.
Some very early fantasy. The start of love and loss, which is really just love.
The night already knew of the next chapter. The moon voluptuous against Elara’s inky velvet bedspread, whole and full, but something inside her wained. She wondered what it might be like to be desired by someone. To feel the kind of love that Gods once burnt earth to ash for, which was foolish, assuming what tomorrow would bring. The moon swelled for them all. For the last night they would live as they do now, which felt little like life at all. She was a promise of the end and of all that would come. Elara’s dark eyes chased her until she was out of sight and the sun peaked over the farthest hill. She piled her hair atop her head and fastened it with a gold pin, a ruby red rose resting on top. Elara’s mother once told her weaponry and beauty needn’t be estranged. It hadn't been clear back then that she was talking about her, too.
Elara’s hands gripped the side of the smooth walnut dressing table until her knuckles turned a milky white which surprised her as she didn’t know she could lift another shade. It had always been the barbed wire thread the other children tugged on. How could one be so pale when situated in a town closest to Sunne herself? The city of Arden could once stand on tiptoes and brush lips with the heavens, but the Gods no longer answer when mothers cry for their children at night. They have long gone and left the door ajar on the way out. Elara stared stead fast in the mirror, eyes glazing with soft water and some escaped as morning dew. There was no risk of any further spillages when they came to collect - and they would. They always did.
An apprehensive knock reverberated through the heavy door which annoyed Elara more than she’d like to admit. “Enter" she called in a tone that would never reveal the best of her nature. The man entered, heavy footed with a face that resembled a well loved book. His large eyes gave away no sign of life and it was hard not to wonder who this man had once been. The curiosity stopped as she looked down to find some kind of mud now residing on her rug. He clumsily cleared his throat. “Ahem, erm, Elara. My name is Darkin. We haven’t met formally as I have only ever worked in the laundry but I has been here long enough to remember your mother being born, may her soul be held safe in Modor. As you know Tarrow has passed and I thought you best not walk out alone. Your mother would not have wanted that.” He rubbed the back of his head with his seemingly ancient hands and lifted his gaze.
Tarrow had been Elara’s only family, apart from he wasn’t family. He was a farmer raising a lamb for slaughter but only he didn’t want to be a farmer, and she hadn’t wanted to be the lamb. It was a kindness he had not reached her twenty first birthday, although it would have been nice to go full circle together.
Elara’s dark eyes burnt into his and he quickly looked away. Pain spread across his face as she steeled hers and crossed her arms. “Well Darkin, I am very capable of walking into death’s arms on my own but why don’t you come along for the show if it pleases you?” He turned to face the door and held out an arm for Elara to take. She walked past with her head high, her midnight blue dress creating soft ripples in her wake and there was no greater contrast ever drawn between two humans. Darkin followed the last of their royal line closely and tried aggressively hard to not step on the chiffon that glistened as rivers do under moonlight.
Once the Gods had sealed the lids on their jars of ambrosia and abandoned the world below they deemed unsalvageable, darkness slipped through the unarmed void. Creatures and beings not known to any lowered themselves onto seats of power that great Kings once kept warm and there was no weapon that could be produced to attest those who hold inside them magic. Some painfully beautiful, some stomach churning, and all unwelcome.
The sun was yet to climax as Elara and Darkin walked into the grounds of this once lively palace. It is a strange thing to know the day and time one is to relinquish there flesh body. Death a cool hand applying pressure on a hot shoulder. A constant companion, perhaps the most constant in her short life. A cool breeze blew loose ribbons of hair around Elara’s soft features and allowed her dress to expand into its full glory. A darkness began to mute all light and she instinctively grabbed hold of Darkin’s arm, just for stability against the breeze, of course.
The scent of thousand year old oaks and ripe persimmon rode the ever fastening wind as Elara released her desperate grip on the living. She had inhaled this before. The notes somehow entering her mouth resting on her tongue. She began to salivate, the taste sweet like nectar but all who exist know that decay is never far from ripe fruit.
Elara kept her eyes open. The world now black, she knew better than to hide between the false security of ignorance. She could sense Darkin’s breath catching beside her and felt the urge to reach out and comfort him, but strength in softness had died a long time ago here.
She thought she could hear her own heartbeat pulsate in her ears, until gusts of wind began moving in tandem and she realised the heartbeat was in fact wings. A large thud shook the earth and Elara’s knees threatened to buckle. She bit her lip, wincing as the taste of blood greeted her mouth and just as her eyes began to adjust the night lifted. It was clear the light was not defeating the darkness, rather it was mercifully allowing the Sunne to take a breath. Three large onyx talons revealed themselves a few metres away, stretching themselves out and retracting slowly, carving up the once fertile soil and leaving scars. From where she was standing she must have only been as tall as the creatures feathered legs and she knew running was no option when one small pace would leave her flattened. Elara traced her eyes up the creatures body, its dark feathers turning shades of deep green and purple as the light began to catch. It’s chest proud as it stretched out a pair of large wings and tucked them in tightly against its body. A snowy feathered necklace was a stark contrast to its form below. A beak that looked as though it was made of gold caught the Sunne and Elara wondered what it ate. Field mice were no doubt off the menu. The creatures eyes glazed over the top of her. Not for ignorance, but for the fact this meeting was not important to it, and was more than likely just something it had to do before lunch.
I hope you enjoyed reading this. I love to write fiction and I was hoping to continue a part of Elara’s story on here.
Let me know your thoughts (and if you’d like to read on!)