Tales after Dusk 03

He looks the same as the day she first saw him. Tall and handsome, his pale face only appears more so because of his light blonde hair. With deep, dark brown eyes he stares at her, his perfect mouth parting as he speaks, "My my, Priestess, you seem to have let yourself go a little."

"Obviously not very much, if you can only be in the same room as me when I am chained," she says, holding up her bound wrists. Undeniably, it feels good to hear a voice that is not her own—however, she wishes the voice didn't belong to him.

He smiles, almost pleasantly, "That is just a temporary precaution. The time has come for you to do a little favor for me."

"I would never do anything for you," she spits out angrily. She tries to quickly weigh her options, trying to calculate if she could charge him and kill him before he does her.

"Now now," he doesn't waiver, "hear me out before you get all wound up. I will give you your freedom, I just ask that you do one small thing for me in return."

"Oh? And what is that?" She snaps, though she is smarter than to believe he will keep his word.

"You will find the man with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood and hair as black as night," he looks down at his hand, examining something that she cannot see. "You will find him and you will kill him."

Daphne can't help but laugh rudely, "You might as well just slit my throat because I will never do your bidding," she spits at his feet. With a repulsed look on his face, the wizard steps back. Daphne smirks at him.

"I figured you would say that." He turns around and with the wave of his hand, the wall disappears. Two black smoke men appear and grab Daphne by the arms, dragging her out behind the man. She doesn't fight them because if she cannot kill the wizard she is ready to meet her death. It is a long walk through the cold, stone dungeon but soon the air warms slightly, becoming crisp as they near two large wooden doors.

The sun is bright, almost blinding after being locked in a dark room with only torch light but Daphne refuses to close her eyes, soaking in as much of it as she can. Though the earth is cold and frozen beneath her feet she is so happy to feel the comforting dirt between her toes that she could cry. She wants to lie down on the ground and press her face to it, to smell the earth. She tilts her head up to the warmth of the sun on her skin, the crispness of the air that fills her lungs. Her heart swoons at the simple pleasure of being outdoors but as her eyes adjust, the courtyard of a vast castle comes into view. Snow is drifted up against the walls, the air cold enough that she can see her breath.

Her joy soon dies in her heart as muffled whispers reach her ears. She scans the area before her; behind a large steel gate, she sees a herd of deer, frightened and pacing. When they set eyes on her, she hears their terrified cries. They plead with the sylvan to let them free. Her breath gets caught in her throat to see the beautiful, wild creatures caged, to hear their fears, to see the confusion as to why a guardian of the forest will not come to their aid.

"Will you kill the man?" The wizard asks calmly once more.

Daphne tears her eyes away from the deer, looking up at him. For the first time she sees the golden crown on his head, tucked neatly into his blonde hair. His harsh brown eyes stare her down. Involuntarily she quivers under his gaze, her heart racing, "No, I will not kill anyone for you," she whispers.

He nods slowly. Looking to the smoke men, they disappear, along with her chains. Daphne falls to her knees, shocked at her sudden freedom—she should run as fast as she can, but her eyes are drawn to the cries of the forest creatures before her.

Walking to the gate, the wizard passes through the bars like wind without having to open them. Extending his hand, he clenches it into a fist; the nearest deer squeals in pain as it rises off of the ground and floats towards the man. Daphne gasps for air as the creature's frightened cries pierce the cold air.

The wizard draws a knife from his belt and slits the deer's throat, letting it drop to the ground. The doe kicks around in agony, trying to run but not able to get up as its blood drains from her body. Stunned, Daphne lets out a cry, "Stop! No!" She starts crawling forward, desperately trying to do her duty to protect the helpless animals.

"Will you kill the man?" He yells back at her.

She freezes, slowly meeting his gaze. She cannot speak, the words caught in her throat like a lump. He only gives her a moment to reply before he continues on his task. Barely able to stomach the horror, she cannot move, she cannot breathe as she watches him slit the throat of each deer, their screams ringing in her ears even after they are long gone, haunting her thoughts.

As if it was nothing, the man walks back out of the gate. He draws a kerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood off of his pale face before cleaning his dagger and replacing it in his belt. From his other pocket, he pulls out a necklace. Hanging on the simple leather string is a stone so black it seems to both reflect and suck in the light around it. He tosses it on the ground before her.

"Make sure he puts this necklace on or next time, there will be humans in that cage."

...

Daphne stands in the shadows of a tree just after dusk, looking through the windows of the Seven Dwarfs Inn. The fierce, biting winter wind has no affect on her body as she has been numb since she was released from the castle. Her once warm and happy heart has long since been frozen in her chest. Her lifeless eyes watch the happenings of the bar; seven female dwarfs bound about, serving their customers, sitting on the bar, chatting with various men. For the second night in a row, she watches as a man comes out from the kitchen with bowls of stew—his skin as white as snow, his lips as red as blood and his hair as black as night. Looking down at the necklace in her hand, she tries to reassure herself. What is one life, when compared to many?

She easily slips from the shadows to the alley behind the bar. Though a few humans see her, they don't really. Even when covered from head to toe in a thick black cloak, her mere presence is beyond their comprehension, so she appears as nothing more than a drifting shadow in the wind when their minds refuse to accept that she is a mythical creature.

The backdoor is locked, but she slips a small green twig into the keyhole; coaxing the branch to twist around, it soon opens easily. Daphne enters quickly, shutting the door before slipping behind some ale barrels when she hears footsteps. A few scantily clad women come into the back, heading down the left hallway. As they disappear she slips down the opposite way, towards the man's room.

His door is slightly ajar; after peeking inside, she is relieved to find it empty and dark. Lurking along the wall, she makes her way into his room. The initial smell of soap hits her. As she takes a silent, deep breath her lungs fill with the lingering scent of pine smoke, mixed in with his earthy natural scent. It reminds her of the tree trunk she used to sleep in when she was in fairy form. Her heart aches for the forest and with each breath she feels her resolve wavering.

Daphne shakes her head as if to discard those memories, trying so hard to forget them. She runs her fingers along his bed, accidentally stirring up more of his scent into the air, almost intoxicating herself. Sighing, she leans against the poorly made dresser, staring at her barely visible shadow in the wash basin. One life, compared to many, she reminds herself. He is a nobody, a mere dish washer in a tavern. He means nothing. By taking his life, I can save the lives of many more.

Daphne sets the necklace on his dresser. Taking in one last breath, she closes her eyes, savoring the smell that reminds her of home before she leaves his room and sneaks back through the door.

Hiding in the shadows of a doorway opposite of the back of the tavern, Daphne waits, watching the black window into the man's room. Hours pass, allowing her guilt to settle deep in her soul. When it is late enough to now be considered morning, business dies down and the lights from the main part of the tavern dim. She sees the floating glow of a lantern appear in his curtained window. Watching the shadow of the man walk across the room, she sees him pause, arms moving over his head while he undresses. His masculine form crosses the room and out of view of the window. She imagines him near his dresser, wanting nothing more than to wash away the grime of his work when his eyes land on a curious necklace. There is a loud thump; it reminds Daphne of the sound a tree makes when it falls dead to the earth. Her eyes well up with tears. She turns swiftly on her heels, disappearing into the darkness.

...

After dragging his tired body back into his bed room, he shuts his door behind himself. He peels off his dirty shirt, the cold air sending a shiver down his back. It was busier than usual tonight and he made several trips around the floor, refilling mugs, serving food, clearing dishes, freshening up the rooms on the second story. His exertions caused him to work up quite a bit of sweat; desperate to wash his face clean, he makes his way to his dresser.

Next to the basin, there is a handsome necklace. He is astonished by the beautiful, black stone that seems to reflect light while sucking it all in at the same time. He knows it is not his, and it is a curious thing to appear in his room. Never before has he gotten a gift, but he knows that it is nearing the tenth anniversary of his arrival at the Inn—perhaps one of his dwarf mothers saw fit to celebrate the occasion.

Not wanting to appear ungrateful he decides to put the necklace on now so that tomorrow he will remember to thank them for their generosity. He loosens the leather cord and pulls the necklace over his head but the instant it the stone rests against his neck, he finds it difficult to breathe. He claws at his throat, unable to drag in a breath. He tries to tear the necklace off but when that doesn't work he starts to run for help. As darkness creeps in on the edge of his vision, he tries to stumble out of his room but instead crashes to the floor, knocking the water pitcher off of his dresser it shatters when it hits the ground. Barely able to see through the darkness, he struggles to stay awake.

A dwarf bursts into the room, "What the hell is all of this racket?" She shouts, only to find the man lying on the floor, trying weakly to claw at his throat. She sees that he is choking and quickly pulls a knife from her tiny boot; with one swift flick, she cuts the necklace off.

...

It takes all she has for Daphne to drag herself back to the castle. After she pushes back her hood, none of the guards stop her, allowing her to make her way into the throne room where she stands before the King.

"It is done," she says softly. Her heart is heavy, her soul now tarnished beyond repair. She feels but a shell of her former self and is disgusted that she would do as the wizard commands but she can still hear the echoing screams of the deer haunting her thoughts.

When there is no response, she looks up, only to see fury mar his face for the first time.

"Is that right," he snarls. Rising out of his throne he walks down to her, grabbing her by the throat, his cold fingers touching her for the first time since he tore off her wings. Daphne forces herself to look into his dark brown eyes but she doesn't fight him; there is nothing he can do to her that she doesn't deserve, especially now that she consorted with him.

He drags her with ease through the hall and down into a library where he harshly tosses her to the floor. Pacing before a grand mirror, he shouts angrily, "Who is the most handsome man in all of the land?"

Daphne stares at him; she isn't sure if she is supposed to answer his question or if it wasn't directed to her at all. The King ignores her, staring into the mirror. His reflection soon disappears, leaving behind a dark pane of glass that seems to quiver like water as a soft whisper responds to his question.

"It is true that the King is fair, but to the boy with a season as his name you cannot compare."

The King spins around on his heels, sneering at Daphne, "It appears you have failed me, Priestess." He raises his hand, swinging at her; she sees it coming but doesn't dodge, her spirit is broken. The blow sends her flying across the floor. When he swiftly walks to her she covers her face with her arms, her body instinctively curling into a ball as he repeatedly beats her; through a small gap in her limbs she is able to see the sneer on his face turn into a smile as he enjoys himself.

Just as she thinks she is going to black out, the hits stop. She breathes shallowly, each small breath sending pain searing through her chest and she bites her tongue to keep herself from crying. She flinches involuntarily as his cold fingers curl around the back of her cloak and he begins to drag her out of the room. When the temperature changes, she knows she is outside. He discards her down onto the ground, the cool earth touching her face though it offers little comfort. She forces herself to open her eyes.

"Bring me the child!" He howls; no longer surrounded by smoke men, but rather those of flesh and blood do his bidding.

A guard drags over a little boy by his arm; the boy can't be more than six or seven sets of seasons old. Behind him, a woman and man huddle together against the cold, crying as they clutch onto an even younger little girl.

"Do you recall what I told you last time?" The King growls at her.

Panting, Daphne uncurls her small form, forcing herself to her knees where she prostrates her body before the King, begging, "Please, don't—I, I made a mistake. I promise, I will do as you wish, just don't harm him—"

"Too late," he snarls, as he drags a dagger across the little boy's throat.

As his lifeless body falls to the ground, Daphne tries to choke in a breath, horrified at the ease with which the King discards life. She claws at the ground, dragging her body over to that of the boy's; desperately, she presses her shaking hands to his throat, trying to stop the blood from seeping out. She closes her eyes, searching deep within herself for the power of the Spirit to try to heal him as she would any other creature, but it is too late. The boy is gone.

Just as before, the King takes care to clean the blood off of his dagger; a cold, cruel smile on his handsome face. He walks slowly past her, tossing a small vial on the ground before the sylvan he speaks over his shoulder "You have two days, or you will watch his family and several others die as well," he says softly before he disappears into the castle, followed by the guards.

The mother, father and child rush over to the boy, wanting desperately to hold their son's body but stop as they near the strange creature. Daphne looks up at them through her teary eyes, seeing hate and blame streaked on their faces; gently she places the boy's body back on the ground. She picks up the vial with her blood covered hands and limps out of the courtyard.

...

Daphne was forced to steal a horse in order to get back to the Seven Dwarfs Inn as she could barely walk and wouldn't have made it in time. Once again she finds herself standing outside, in the alley peering through the man's window in the darkness, guilt consuming her soul. It is early in the morning, just a few hours after the Inn has closed up for the night. Though she would prefer to wait until nightfall, she has little choice for she has to be back at the castle tomorrow morning if she is to save the group of humans from the little boy's fate.

Sylvans spend years of their lives creeping through the forest, protecting the living creatures within it. Though it has been ages since a sylvan has been forced to kill a human for poaching an animal, they still rely on their stealth to stalk the hunters to make sure that their prey is one of need and necessity, not one of vanity. Almost all men that enter the forest, despite their claim that they don't believe in fairy tales, still leave gold coins as offerings to the tiny fairies as if to buy their game. The sylvans find this amusing because they have no need for the humans' currency. Not wanting to leave the foreign metal in the forest, they gather up the coins and keep them in the fortress. There are so many that several rooms are full of them.

Daphne uses her learned stealth to sneak into the back of the tavern so silently that she walks right past a sleeping cat in the storeroom without waking it. The man's door proves to be a problem this time, as he has locked himself within. Carefully she coaxes a twig through the key hole, trying to muffle the sound of the twisting metal latch as much as possible with her cloak. The rusty metal hinges groan quietly as she pushes it open just enough to slip inside.

His earthy scent hits her immediately, almost overwhelming her weakened state, immediately bringing tears to her eyes. She places her hand on wall to steady her body while she quietly draws in short breaths to stave off the pain in her ribs, trying to keep herself from sobbing. Her eyes fall down to the bed, where his sleeping body jerks, his lips murmuring something, his face twisted with fright. Her heart aches at seeing him suffer and before she even thinks about what she is doing, she gently places her hand on his forehead, closing her eyes while she coos kind words to calm him down as she would any other creature. He stops thrashing, his breathing slowing down to a steady pace.

Daphne opens her eyes, pulling back her hand, horrified at herself for trying to comfort him when she was sent here to kill him. Her brow furrows as she watches him sleep peacefully, looking over his handsome face for the first time up close. His ghastly white skin almost glows in the faint light, his dark hair nearly impossible to see yet it frames his face against the muslin pillow. She looks at his luscious lips, so plump that they remind her of fresh spring berries. Her eyes linger on him for a long time, her heart fluttering at the sight of such a beautiful creature—then, she forces herself to recall the handsome face of the King and how it does little to ease the wickedness of his nature.

She silently limps away from his bed, towards his dresser. She pulls out the vial, uncorking it—getting a distinct whiff of its contents, she instantly recognizes it as puffin flower extract. Though there isn't anything within the forest that could harm a sylvan, Daphne knows that this flower is fatal to all others who have contact with it. With a heavy heart she pours its contents onto his boar bristle brush, returning the empty vial to her pocket. When she turns to leave she pauses over his bed, lingering for a moment as she watches him sleep, breathing in the man's scent which makes her feel both safe and comfortable in his presence, but ache with pain as she is condemning him to death.

"I'm sorry," she whispers with tears in her eyes before slipping out of the room.

...

He wakes up but leaves his eyes closed for a moment. Despite having that same nightmare again, he feels surprisingly calm; his breathing is deep and slow as he remembers his frigid panic washed away, the warmth of kindness filling him instead. Instinctively, he touches his forehead, struggling to remember something but it slips away before he can grasp it. Sighing, he opens his eyes and as he does every day, he stretches his arms above his head. Reluctantly, he pushes his warm covers aside and rises from bed. Quickly stripping out of his sleeping pants, he pulls the cold clean clothes on over his shivering body, slipping his boots over his cold feet. He rubs his arms, trying to get warmth into his clothes while he crosses his small room to his dresser.