Author's Note: This is probably the most cliché thing I've ever written, but I want it to be that way. Anyways. As the contest ends on the 23rd, I need some brutal, nit-picky reviews before then! Please!
The silence is almost tangible. I can feel my breath heaving in my chest, and my heart beating like a war drum, pounding out a rhythm of terror against my ribs.
My hands look milky blue-white in the moonlight, like the hands of someone dead. Shivering at the thought, I crouch down lower behind the lip of stone.
Massive trees arch high up above me, forming a cathedral of twilight. As the wind shifts their branches, the dappled pattern of light and shadows changes on the dusty earth.
My hiding spot is close to the trunk of a tree, behind an outcropping of stone in the clearing. I pray silently that my life will not end now - not tonight, please, not tonight.
She enters the clearing as silently as morning mist. Once again, I am struck by her beauty; the high white brow, sculptured lips, hair like a spill of ink. Her simple white gown whispers gently over her smooth, lanky limbs.
Then he comes. Not as inconspicuously, however. I hear the hissing rattle of death on his lips, smell his blood-and-iron reek. Risking a glance at his face, I see his eyes through the slits in his black oak mask.
They are the same as I remember - two slashes of glaring white nothingness; the hard ivory stare of the soulless Cørra.
I can remember the last time I'd seen him. He had been younger, but no less cruel. The fog of memory blotches my vision...
She looks shocked at his appearance. Her lovely cornflower eyes widen, and she clutches the branch of a nearby tree with trembling fingers. Through the slits in his mask, I see his cruel white lips curl upwards in an indulging smile.
A gasp escapes her perfect lips. I follow her gaze to the Cørra's belt, and see the glint of a dagger there. Horror flares in my chest. The silence wrenches in my stomach.
Suddenly, the clearing is illuminated with silvery brilliance. I look up and see the cold, blazing eye of a full moon. The Cørra smiles again.
With slow, deliberate steps, he begins to walk towards her. She turns to run, but stops at the sight of the forest; dark and menacing, shadows hissing between trunks choked with ivy. My heart constricts in agony for her.
She turns again, resolutely, a look of hard determination set on her face. The Cørra slinks closer, and I see his gloved hand flash to his belt. A split second later, the dagger is glinting between his fingers.
My heart is in my throat. I feel like a coward, but what can I do? The Cørra would destroy us both.
He moves in a blur of loose scraps of silk and dried blood. She draws in a sharp breath as he moves his weapon to her pale throat. Her pupils are dilated with terror, despite her efforts to stay calm. There is an odd crumpling sensation in my chest.
"I love you." His voice is as smooth and silky as satin.
The dagger bites deep.
* * * * * *
Dawn washes the sky in gold and lilac-rose. Birdsong twitters from trees whose tips have just been kissed by the sun.
She will never see this sunrise.
I kneel by her, my back bent in sorrow. Tears slide down my face, to land like melted diamond in the wilderness of her raven hair. A neat vertical slash in her pristine dress seeps crimson. It soaks into the linen, spreading like poppies.
The Cørra's cruel laughter still rings in my ears. This means nothing to him - just another life, what does it matter?
Well I did promise that I'm going to be harsher on you. Let's start this trend with this piece shall we?
