The Curse of Eternity

Death Twenty-Four

Lord Jerrath sits at a rectangular coffee table with The Fall etched in gold. Its surface glimmered in the flickering time candle which reads half-black and angles his body to not gaze directly at Lady Dal-Raseay. Every few flickers, she would turn in his direction, bat her eyelashes and twitter like some insane Moki.

The sound scrapes against his eardrums like dead tree branches haunting an old window and he hopes, like an insane Moki, she will fly into a window after some pretty bauble promptly snap her neck.

Of course, Lady Eluindara will not bestow him such luck. Damn curse.

He pours a bit of cream into his black tea, adds a cube of sugar and stirs slowly, prolonging the conversation, mainly with Lady Dal-Raseay. After his polite refusal, five moons turn ago, he thought she would concede. Alas, she continues to be a seasonal thorn under his fingernails.

"As ecstatic as I am to once again visit, I just cannot abide your land. It is dark, depressing and colourless. It makes me exhausted."

O'finren's Balls you little pu'thea, Desolation's voice booms, Don't visit if you don't like it.

Lord Jerrath flinches and turns to face the open Currath doors. Desolation stands between the transom. Myorla and Ceres are three steps behind. The kitten, who is twice the size of a regular house cat, yowls and rubs his aqua and byzantine-striped body against her ankles. She bends smoothly at the waist and plucks him from the ground.

If only she can voice those words out loud.

Ceres and Myorla changed her clothing into a less formal Tigressian bridal gown. Lord Jerrath is pleasantly surprised, she had not donned any attire of the like since she slit her wrist. Furthermore, Myorla and Ceres were making a subtle reminder to Lady Dal-Raseay that Desolation is his bride. He will have to find an appropriate reward for the maids' coyness.

A red and black checkered veil obscures her features featuring scarlet spider silk, knee-length tunic with slits on both sides up to her waist and lined in gold. Over the tunic sits a short, red and black chevron patterned vest hugging her torso like a second skin.

The slits between the tunic reveal crimson and black, vertically striped silk double-wide trousers cinched tightly at the ankles and enveloped with soft charcoal leather boots embroidered with vines and leaves in gold thread.

Lord Jerrath designed the attire and could not help but admire his handy work. He adores the way the soft, black leather loosely encases her ankles and reveals her smooth walk.

Around her hips, slung a simple braided, black leather belt sewn with thin silver and gold coins and chains. They sing merrily with the seductive sway of her innocent hips.

"Have you decided on a name?" he asks.

"N-No n-n-need. He-He told m-me. H-His name i-is Lighting." she responds voice like chocolate and silk. He can feel her words running down his throat.

"Psst. You have to choose a Bride that can't speak properly. Are you sure she is sane Lord Jerrath? Surely a Moons' Turn Bride that stutters and believes her cat speaks cannot be a right fit."

"Oceana!" her father admonishes.

Lord Jerrath knows the connection, Lady Dal-Raseay does not. Feelina are intelligent and have a telepathic connection to their master. The more intelligent the being they maintain the connection, the smarter they became. Feelina are born with the knowledge of their mothers. Humans encased in cat form, they cannot shift like their caretakers, the Feelinai.

He ignores Oceana and says, "Sit where you like."

Desolation walks toward him, setting Lightning at his feet. The Feelina obediently lays down while Desolation grabs a large potted Starflower and places it next to him; then she sits, crossed-legged on the tiled floor. Lighting crawls onto her lap.