Collection of Older Works

Faethfully Yours: Twenty-Six

I sat back on the hard surface, the coolness of the stone altar creeping through the linen dress I was made to wear. Purity is what her Grace said, though if it was meant to mirror the purity a white wedding dress symbolized, then her Grace had it all wrong. Her son made sure of that.  I wore it anyway because I would wear anything,  a potato sack and bunny slippers to a bathing suit and combat boots if need be, just to get to where I needed to go.

 Her Grace stood at my side, her diamond eyes reflecting the raging red flames roaring behind me. Squeezing my hand, she smiled reassuringly but the smile never reached her eyes. I wanted to see hope, maybe even some encouragement, a single sliver of guarantee that I was doing the right thing. But more, I wanted reassurance that everything would work out and we would both get back a man we loved. However, all I saw in the depths of her crystal pools was stark fear. She was scared. Heck, so was I.

A tense silence drained the breaths from everyone in the room. Rigidly, temple members shuffled to and fro in preparation for the ceremony, sending the knot at my throat crashing into the pit of my stomach.  Silver bowls in their glass hands, the temple servants found their place on the marble floor and set their bowls of crimson water before them. Now fully assembled and prostrated, they waited. 

Her Grace drew a deep breath. “Charlotte, you can still change your mind?” Her voice quavered and the terror behind it was enough to send me running. Hauling in a shuddering breath, I shook my head no. I’d made it that far. Before fear could grip me, I slid my feet onto the stone altar. Laying back, I took little comfort in the eerily calm red skies. It seemed the clouds too were getting ready.

Turning to her Grace, I squeezed her hand in return. “I want to do this—I have to do this.” For a moment she paused, contradictory feelings warring within her. I could only imagine the struggle. There was knowing I might not make it back, but there was also the favored possibility that I might make it back with her son. Finally nodding, she shifted back. From somewhere I reached for her again.

In case I didn’t make it back, I said, “Thank you, for everything.”

Wiping a red tear before it’d been given the chance to fall, she nodded and I let her go. With an inspiring deep breath, she whirled to face the gathered crowd. Spine straightened and shoulders back, she descended the stairs and assumed her place at the front of the temple servants. Meeting my eyes with a strength that fueled me, she smiled. She was scared still as was I but regardless, we were doing this.

I rubbed my fingers together. It was time. There was no turning back. This was only the beginning, a small step in what I had yet to do. Instead of feeling like a little leap, it was more of an enormous mountain, blocking my way. If the ceremony was the least of it all, I didn't want to think of the rest.

From the corner of my eye I watched the congregation of hooded figures ceremoniously kneel down by color. Her Grace mentioned that each side would call to their respective ancestors, their united call then opening the portal to the Underlands. The portal was the only entry way into the never-ending cycle.  She explained that she would use her powers to hold open the portal, allowing for my spirit to travel through. It wasn't too hard to take in except that I couldn’t understand exactly how my spirit would leave my body behind.

I asked her if she would have to kill me for that to happen and she laughed. Not a cruel laugh but more of a ‘are you serious?’ type of laugh. I didn’t think it was that funny because really, how else do you separate a soul from the body? But she calmed my fears somewhat saying that the separation from my body would be instant.  As soon as the portal opens into the cycle, my soul would be drawn from my body and sucked into the cycle. Seemed simple enough…