Monday, July 8, 2013

Seed of Eternity

 Please welcome back Ms Macie Snow.  Sometimes things aren't as they appear.  Just as the grape vine twists around the arbor in the  heat of summer,  the delicate bloom of love can be twisted by the forbidden fruit. One taste can be one too many with  eternal results. 

Seeds of Eternity
Macie Snow

The first time I saw her, I thought I was dreaming.
 I hadn't dreamt in so long, you see? She was so beautiful
 as her raven locks gleamed in the sun and she
 lifted a simple white rose to her lips, gently caressing the
roses velvety softness with her lower lip. I had never
seen such beauty, not since life before eternity.

Spring was my favorite time of the year. It
always has been, and in fact still is. The year
 mother finally let me start a garden was the
 best of my life. I was amazed at how bountiful
 the flowers were, and how they all managed to
 bloom at the same time. The white roses were
 particularly amazing. All the other flowers were
 vivid, sensually inviting the bees for pollination.
 But the white roses were simple, modest flowers,
 who were pollinated the same as the others. Their
 velvety lips were inviting, and I could not help but
 caress it with my own lips, imagining a man's in their

After the first time I saw her, I began to look for her
 every day. It was hard to find her schedule at first, as most
 of the time she was hidden away from the world. Whether
 it was by her own choice or another's command, the mysterious
 raven haired girl was as a ghost, only rumored to exist. But every
day, she would go to her garden, and sing as she tended the
 flowers. I soon found myself falling in love with the voice that
 sang so softly, so yearningly. And before I fully realized it,
 I loved the girl who sang songs of hope, of freedom,
 and of love yet to be known.

Mother trusted no one. Not even the sisters she so loved.
 That is why she kept me hidden away from the  world.
 For my protection. I could not be hurt, she said, if I
stayed hidden away from the evils of the world. She
 thought me a doll. A porcelain, delicate doll to be hidden
 away so as to prevent imagined damage. She did not know
 I sang. She did not know that I knew of wonders of the world
 which she was keeping from me. I sang my sorrows. I sang for
 love which I would never know, and for beauties I would never
 see. And I sang for joys unknown. Mother did not know. Mother
 did not need to know.

Every time she sang her sorrows, my heart broke for her.
I had not realized I still possessed a heart to be broken.
 But she broke it. She sang her sorrows to the wind as
 she fed her love to the flowers in her garden. She
 sang of desires I had long forgotten, emotions I never imagined
 I would think of again. To love someone so entirely, yet not
 know even know their name. I did not think it possible.
 I did not even think I would love again. Yet as spring
 turned to summer, and the days grew longer,
 my love for her grew.

Mother would have me live and die an old maid,
 so long as she could keep me all to herself. What
 I wanted mattered not. What I did or did not feel
 mattered not. All that would ever matter was my
 so called safety. I laughed and called myself the
 secret princess. She smiled and locked the door.
 Paranoia did not exist. She was simply keeping me safe.
 I longed for the day I could escape. Only my roses mattered,
 and even Mother loved them. I dreamed of life, and sang my
 sorrows while Mother reinforced my gilded cage.

Her songs grew increasingly mournful as the summer passed.
 My heart ached for her as she cried to the wind, giving her
 life to the one thing she was allowed to love. I listened to
 her song every day, sharing her sorrow. Until one day, her
 song was cut off by her tears. I stood there in stunned
 disbelief, unsure of what to do as she wept. Finally,
 I could not take it a single moment longer.

                The man approached from beyond the garden. A fence had been built to prevent this very thing, but he seemed unbound by mortal laws, and easily leapt over the fence that far surpassed my height. I stand as he approaches; quickly wiping away the tears I had finally granted release.
                You are not supposed to be here, I warn the man shakily.
                He smiles softly when he stops in front of me, only a mere two feet separating us. He was the first man I had ever seen, who saw me as well. I had hidden in the shadows when Mother welcomed guests, some male, others female with male escorts. But never had a man looked upon me, not even my father. So to have this rare specimen looking upon me, well it was disorienting. I knew enough of the world to know that this man was exquisite. He had dark hair, blacker than my own which was short and curled around his ears as he tucked a lock away from his eyes. His olive-toned skin stood in stark contrast to my own, pale white skin, and his black eyes drew me into their infinite depths. He stood perhaps half a foot over my height, and was most definitely a strong, handsome man.
Forgive my intrusion my goddess, I could not help but notice your tears. A goddess as beautiful as yourself should never want nor need to shed tears. Is there not some way in which I can assist you? The man says, bowing low before me.
                I blink in surprise. What did you call me?
                He lifts his head and meets me in the eyes, Why, a goddess of course.
                I laugh dryly. I am no goddess.
                Surely one such as yourself is no mere mortal, the man says in surprise.
                I assure you sir, I am a mortal, I smile sadly. And though I find you incredibly fascinating, you really mustnt be here.
                What one must and must not do differs for every person my goddess, the man says, reaching for my hand. And I mustnt let a beautiful woman cry.
                I watch in amazement as his lifts my hand slowly, and kisses it gently.
                My name is Damen, my goddess, and I am here to serve you.
                I pull my hand back, a blush slowly rising in my cheeks. What do you want?
                Only to see your tears end, my goddess, Damen says gently.
                I wipe my cheeks dry and lift my chin proudly. They are gone, kind stranger, you may leave.
                Such harsh words from a pretty face, Damen moves as if hurt, reaching for a white rose. I am no stranger, and your tears run not dry. He gently caresses the velvet rose with his lower lip, and I blush deeply, looking away.
                Might I know your name, my goddess? Damen asks, offering the rose. Or will my dreams be filled with a nameless beauty to match your face
                I chuckle softly, accepting the rose. My name is of no concern to you, but you may call me Seph.
                A beautiful name, Damen sighs. For a beautiful goddess.
                I am no goddess, I smile, inhaling the scent of the rose.
                Only a goddess can feel such joy and such sorrow, all the while lighting the earth with her beauty, Damen says, sitting on the stone bench next to my roses. Mortals are not capable of such strong, vivid emotions.
                I smile, sitting on the opposite end of the bench. Were that not a compliment, I would take offense.
                Yet a compliment it was, and no offense will be had here today, Damen smiles warmly.
                I smile back, running my fingers over the rose. This man was intriguing. Much more so than if I had met a man before. There was Something about him. Something that implied eternity, and invited death. He was dark, dangerous, and absolutely divine. His musky scent had slowly worked its way towards me, and I try not to be overcome with it. He smelled of things forbidden, ancient spices, smoke, and of the eternal earth.
                Seph, Damen says slowly, caressing a red rose that was still on the vine. What has saddened you so?
                I laugh dryly. Nothing that need worry you, kind stranger. Your mere presence has brightened my day.
                A smile tugs at the corner of Damens mouth, as if I had said something humorous, but he holds it back. My presence brightens no day, my goddess, only my absence does such. Now would you really be so callous as to refuse a kind strangers offer of help? Tell me my goddess, be it your mother that troubles you so? Or a new quandary I know not of?
                I blink in astonishment. How is it you know of my troubles? I have shared them with no one.
                Nor would you, my goddess, for the only they could be shared with is the one that causes the trouble, the man says, gently reaching out and tucking my hair behind my right ear.
                I dare not move a muscle as he gazes gently into my eyes.
                A goddess such as yourself should not be hidden from the world, the man whispers. Deprived of its beauties, and the world of yours.
                How do you know of my plight? I whisper back, entranced by the limitless depths of his obsidian eyes.
                I know many things, my goddess, Damen says, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers. And I know you feel trapped, a little flame deprived of oxygen, just struggling to breathe.
                I can breathe just fine, I protest.
                Then you do not see the snuffer looming over your head, about to steal your breath, Damen says, curling my hair around his finger.
                I reach out and gently pull my hair from his grasp. There is no snuffer, good sir, and I will continue to burn brightly. Without you.
                Your words cut deep, my goddess, Damen says, clutching his heart. But do you truly wish me to leave, or does your mother?
                What my mother desires, I care not, I bite back. It is my wish that you leave.
                Damen stands and bows gracefully. Should you ever desire my presence, dearest goddess, I am but a whisper away.
                I shall surely remember that, I say dryly. Now please, depart.
                Damen looks up at me and smiles, before completely vanishing from my sight. I blink stupidly at the empty space he had occupied moments before.
                Twirling the white rose in my fingers, I search around the garden. He was gone. Had he ever even existed? Sighing, I glance down at the rose in my hand. Of course he existed. This rose was proof of it. The only proof that a beautiful man had been to visit me.
                Standing, I drop the rose behind me at the base of one of the bushes. I head inside, refusing to think of the mans exquisite smell or enchanting eyes. No good could come of it.