It was as if a piece of him had returned.
He could see her clearly, holding her head in her hands, crumpled against the ancient oak tree. They were in the Upperrealms, an enchanted forest of swirling colors and vivid greens, surrounded by midnight skies that housed shooting stars and spinning planets.
David was unable to comfort her, his own heart broken.
“You cannot ask this of me.” Tears streamed down Morrigan’s face. “We just settled in here.”
“It is the only way,” he said, sinking into the moss beside her.
“I will tear him apart,” she muttered.
“I do not doubt that you shall,” he told her with a sad smile.
Morrigan stood, her sorrow replaced by indignation. The skies around her responded to the shift, lightning crackling throughout the darkening, thunderous sky. “We created the damned place, how can we be ousted from it? Just like the old religion that has been warped beyond recognition, the Roman gods our replacement. It is as if we are no longer wanted.”
“The world has grown much bigger than us,” David agreed. “Look how many gods now exist, we are but two.”
“I know,” she sighed. “As I know the earth follows its own rules, like the mothers who created her.”
David rose to his feet, pulling her hips against him so she was close enough to be kissed. “Humans do not have to remember who we are, but it is still our duty to protect them. That is why we must make this decision. We cannot let him destroy everything they have built.”
Her stony exterior collapsed once more, overwhelmed by grief. “You cannot ask this of me. I cannot live here without you!” Her words pulled rain down from the sky.
David pulled her back to him, holding her tight as he buried his face in her hair. “Do I have to tell you the story of Daghda and Morrigan, of Osiris and Nephthys, the most ancient of gods who find each other, always?” he murmured into her ear.
She closed her eyes, nuzzling into his neck. “Please tell me,” she whispered.
David, a voice called from outside their realm. David, it is time to wake up.
He shut his eyes, memorizing her body against his, her skin, and the scent of her hair. “There are two souls who will continue to find each other until the end of time, the first lovers, whose love for one another transcends all bounds,” he began as he folded her hand around the handle of his knife. She let out a sob as she realized what he was doing. They were now drenched in frigid rain that had created a river where they stood. He gripped her tighter. “They circle the realms, restless and incomplete until they find each other...but find each other, they always will.”
“Remember me.”
“Remember me.”
And with a battle cry laced with despair, she sunk the knife into his chest, the realm screeching her pain as he dropped to the ground, picturing her face over and over in his mind, determined never to forget her eyes.
Quickly, I am losing him, the strange voice interrupted. The earth shook as wind roared around him, the Otherrealms furious with his departure. And then, he died, all the worlds around him fading to black, the sound of crows echoing in his mind.
London, 1857
The rain had resumed its onslaught upon the earth, a crack of distant thunder awakening David from his dreams.
The window was open, the frigid breeze agitating the curtains into a frenzy. He lifted himself from the chair to close it, catching a glimpse of his disheveled reflection in the glass. He ran his fingers through his tangled copper curls, straightening a wrinkled dress shirt that had lost both its neck tie and waistcoat. How long had he slumbered? He wondered absently as he fished around the darkened parlor for a smoke. He retrieved one, lighting it quickly before turning the match onto a nearby candle as the tiny flame threatened his fingertips. The newly illuminated room was empty, a pile of unsettled blankets left in a heap on his sofa.
Suddenly, he remembered his companion.
He grabbed the candle, rushing into the hallway. “Jacob?” he called.
“In here, sir.”
David followed the voice upstairs to the guest bedroom where he found Jacob bent over his companion, who lay motionless beneath the stiff blankets of the formerly neglected bed. Several crumpled and bloodied napkins scattered the floor near her bedside.
“What happened to her? Was it…” David trailed off before giving himself away, almost revealing his true nature to his manservant. David often suspected Jacob had already figured it out, skeptical that he never saw the bottles of blood kept in the secret cellar in the kitchen nor questioned the perpetually foodless pantry. Tonight, however, was not the time for unnecessary divulgements.
If Jacob noticed the err, he didn’t show it, his weathered face appearing grim in the dim light. “She took a turn for the worse last night, sir. I found you both sound asleep in the parlor, yet when I went to retrieve her dishes, I noticed her skin had taken on a shade of blue. I was able to revive her and relocate her to the bed, but I’m afraid her moments on this earth are fleeting. I’m sorry to give you such horrid news, sir.”
David sighed, glad to learn her state was not a result of his own doing, but saddened to learn her time was near. “Thank you, Jacob. You have exceeded yourself in altruism. I thank you deeply.”
Jacob brushed off the compliment, rising to his feet. “You should sit with her now, sir. I would suggest calling for the doctor, but there is no point in it. The girl needs companionship now, or a priest.”
At the suggestion, she began to cough, releasing a spray of blood from her mouth as she fought for air. Jacob hurried to catch the expulsion with a fresh handkerchief, dabbing her chin as she quieted. “No priest,” she whispered through cracked lips.
Jacob nodded.
“Thank you, Jacob,” David dismissed him kindly. “I will stay with her now. I just needed a bit of rest.”
“Yes, sir.” Jacob bowed his head, slipping out of the room with the soiled handkerchiefs in his arms. “I’ll be up with provisions in an hour, if she is able to eat.”
His companion offered David a weak smile. “Good morning,” she croaked. “I think it’s safe to assume you didn’t anticipate bringing a whore into your home to die.”
David grabbed a half-empty glass of water from the bedside table. “I have long learned not to question the events that unfold in my life.” He tipped the glass towards her parched lips as she swallowed carefully.
She leaned back with a sigh, running a moistened tongue over her dry lips. “I suppose that means you’ve cut me off of the stronger stuff.”
“Anything you want is yours,” he responded earnestly, setting the glass back on the table.
“Good, then I want you to sit with me,” she said, patting the open space next to her on the bed.
