Lost ✴Contest Winner✴

III

Lauren. A sweet name for a sweet girl.

One that spoke of warm fires, happiness and shielding ignorance. He'd disregarded the name as ordinary, a disconnected word that would never resonate with a face or emotional value. He hadn't realised, wrapped up in the stars and the beautiful fay waiting for him under them to see why his parents were constantly arranging meetings, why they were so intent on her and her importance to him.

Yes, he would walk with Lauren, hold her hand and smile politely, laugh at her shy mannerisms, watching the wind and the sea but never talking of it. Yet there was no connection, it was as if they were two marionettes, strings pulled by adults hiding behind the guise of "Fate". They were actors in a street play, all empty dialogue and cliches. Lauren was not her, and could never match his faery's charm and glamour, but she was still "destined" to be his wife.

Oh no, dear Lauren was not a choice. She was a last resort.

~~0~~

Cold. It was too cold for late September. Under the pear tree, she was ripping leaves apart, her white hands destroying fragments of fire. Philip was shivering, hands pulling up too-short cuffs with the chapped fingers of an artisan. The sky was grey and corpse-like, the only colour coming from the swirling leaves, which were also dead. Everything was dismal, the ground was frozen into rough sculptures, Philip's breath swirling as grey mist, while at home his parents struggled to find air.

Dying. They were dying and he knew it, they knew it, too, and that was why they were selling his heart off like some commodity. He felt himself collapse, arms wrapping around himself  as he shook with sobs. If he tore himself apart he would find nothing but a screaming  emptiness that would never be filled. Lighter hands took his as he wept, silently comforting when words were only scrawls and vocal feats, not emotions.

"Philip..."

"You know what this means."

She faltered, flickered, shaking her head slowly as if to chase off cruel reality.

"I..."

"Do you?" His voice broke, watching her stand in disbelief and he scrambled  to his feet to face her. She clutched herself, as if it was the only force that would keep her from shattering into unrecognizable agony. She turned, and he was flung into an embrace that woke him and shook him because this was real, this was happening and he couldn't slow down the future.

"Promise me," she whispered bitterly, "My God, promise me that you'll never love her. You have to come back to me-"

He kissed her searingly to answer, and he knew it would be the last time he did. He didn't care if he was pawning his soul, because it wasn't his anymore.

They sat in sad silence, and Philip pulled a small knife from his pocket. The faery recoiled, and he gently pulled her back to him.

"I would never hurt you. Trust me."

He flicked it open, and she looked warily at the blade.

"Is it iron?" she asked nervously.

"Yes. I won't touch your skin once."

He leaned forward, and gently held a piece of her shining blonde hair in his hand. With a single slice, he neatly cut it at the top.

She panicked slightly, her hair smoking at the contact with the abominable metal, singed and twisting like kindling. The wind gently extinguished the flaming hair, and the faery looked curiously at Philip.

"What are you doing?" she asked nervously while he wound a piece of twine around the lock of hair.

"This," he said, thumbing the hair, "is a promise. When I get out of this, I tell you I'll find you."

"If you don't,", she said, her voice dark, "Philip, if you break your vow then-"

"I won't," he said quickly, "I swear I won't. I could never love her that way. My parents arranged this whole thing so they could see me wed before they-" he stopped. "Before they pass."

It began to mist lightly, droplets desperately clinging to any surface they touched. Philip shook moisture from his dark hair, and slipped his cap back on, hand still gripping the lock of fay hair.

He was too captured by her glamour to see the severed scrap shrink and darken, curl beneath his fingertips. No, he didn't see the liar in front of him because he was convinced she was the only truth he would ever know. He slipped the lock into his pocket, and pulled his damp cap on.

"I have to go." he said simply. He was numb as his hand slipped from hers, as he felt the uneven ground under his boots, as he said "Goodbye."

He forced himself to look straight ahead, if he looked at her he would die, he couldn't do that, he just needed to keep walking, fleeing and everything would be fine-

Lying. He was lying to hide reality, lying because his parents were drowning in their own blood, and he could do nothing to help them, lying because he was bound to a woman he couldn't love.

He was slowly destroying himself, and he would much rather that self-inflicted annihilation than to embrace his monochrome reality.

This was his greatest flaw.

~~0~~