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Demon's Bride
a year was all we had a year was all I had of you and now... For a decade he had been searching, believing that she would not have died; believing that she lived, that she breathed...that she waited for him. Waiting to be found like a jewel lost among the lusterless dull rocks within a deep deep cavern. ...believing that she died, that she was killed, he had spent another decade, spent millions of dollars on a research, that of reconstructing a human being from a mere cell. He believed in miracles. If he had to, he would reconstruct her from scratch, from his memory. Advanced technology was truly amazing. He was not there yet, but so far he had created satisfactory creatures - androids - that obeyed his every whim. All he had to do now was create her... "She's here," flaty stated the woman before him. Her dark red lips reminded him of blood, but he brushed aside the thought. "And how am I supposed to believe you?" asked he his ex-lover from a time beyond memory - from a time before his life truly began, before he met her. "Do I look as if I care if you believed me or not?" the woman sneered and turned away, her pointed heels clicking haughtily on cold metal floor panels. Waiting until the clicking heels had completely gone away, and still waiting for a good measure, he turned to face the flat smooth door that the woman had indicated. She waited...or did she...? He took a deep breath and raised his palm to the small panel monitor placed next to the door. With a whoosh, the wall-like door slid open, bringing him a rush of chilled air. Puffing out a breath that whitened in the air, he cautiously stepped in, holding back his desire to rush in, crying her name. A single step, and he nearly lost his composure. In the small square room, where familiar equipments blimped and glinted with tubes and metal linings, she lay within a coldly glowing glass casket. She's here... His ex-lover's words whispered in his mind and for a split second, he nearly despaired. Did she lie there in death only to mock him? But no...he knew these machines, what they were, and somewhat of how they worked. With hands that threatened to tremble in cold excitement, he touched those familiar panels, pushed buttons that would rouse her from her cold sleep. How beautiful she appeared, even in the death like state she lay in, even in the cold gel like fluid that surrounded her; how beautiful she was, just the way he remembered her: her long lustrous hair, pale smooth skin... How he had longed for her, to hear her silvery voice, to gaze into those deep violet eyes...! The final click of a button dropped into his stomach that already fluttered with thousands of butterflies. A near silent whir of machinery vibrated against his eardrums, and before his unwavering gaze, the transparent fluid within the casket drained away; leaving her free to breathe, to live, to open her eyes and look at him...! Another click and whir, and the lid of her coffin rose, sliding slowly, oh! so slowly to bare her to the chilled room air. Holding his breath and unaware of doing so, he approached the metal lined casket, bent, and touched a cold, wet cheek. For an instant, his heart nearly froze at the unyielding chill beneath his fingers, but it started beating rapidly again as he saw her eyelids flutter, the palest rose stealing into her blue tinged skin, and warmth responding to his touch... In the next instant, he gazed into the deepest midnight orbs that barely came into focus; and he waited. Waited, fearful of breaking her existence, fearful of finding out that this was a dream, and that she was not real, that his senses lied him...! "Chao...lain...?" a barely audible whisper. All he saw was her lips try to form his name, and it was enough. "Years...! For so long...! I've been searching...!" Nearly breaking down, he crushed her cold, chilled, but live body to him, ignoring her startled cry. Tears ran from his tightly closed eyes, falling, mingling with the fluid in her hair, and he clutched her even more closely to him. Finally he had found her, and she, alive and unharmed! What miracle brought him to her? What grace of God? "Who...?" the word froze his thoughts. Had she not called him by name before? Why this question? Had they toyed with her memory? Had she lost all memory!? "Chaolain's father...?" puzzled, confused voice. Uncertainty made her tremble, not merely from cold, and with an anguished cry, he tightened his arms, almost uncaring if he broke her delicate, slender frame. They had not stolen her memories. No, they had stolen her time: the years, decades that he should have spent with her, lived with her, aged with her! "But...you said...years...?" Trembling hands pushed against him, and he unlocked his arms, allowing her to look at him, looking at her. How unchanged she was! Her beautiful innocent eyes, the unlined smooth skin that of a young girl, the soft lips that had always been ready to smile now puckered against tears. "Chaolain...? Chaolain...!?" And her voice, the same clear voice, literally untouched by years, now repeated his name, first unbelievingly, then gradually, with conviction... "Chaolain..." All the uncertainty, all the fear in her luminous eyes faded away, and she gave him a radiant smile, eye glowing so beautifully that despite his gloomy thoughts, he involuntarily smiled back, feeling the years drop away. "Chaolain..." Giving a tiny puff of a sigh, she started to lean against him... And pain lanced into him, driving all the breath from him as he stared at her horrified eyes. He could not even scream as the slender white arm pulled violently away, leaving a gaping hole where his heart had been. "No...." Instead, it was she, who spoke, her whole arm drenched with blood, his blood, her blood. "No.....!" Falling against her, against the cold impersonal casket, he tried to smile, and failed, coughing up blood. She had broken through his ribcage, and boneshards had driven into his lungs... Of course, miracles did not happen. Or if they did, they came with a price. They might not have stolen her memories, but they had... The miracle that was her life came with a price that was his life...for the demon's bride never die. It is the demon that dies, killed by the beloved, or by the one who loves the beloved. That is the miracle, and thus it has become. |