Writing Snapshots

the blood shed by a rose

Historical Fiction || Werewolf

How beautiful she looked as sleep overcame her, with her lips parted by a sweet breath-soft, pink lips that would taste heavenly under his, he was sure. Her locks, a rich golden caressed by bronze, spilled over the bed, like ink forged out of sunlight. Her soft cheeks were flushed a faint red, a rosy color on her pale pallor. Miles of milky white skin was highlighted by the moonlight casting its glory upon her, this fair maiden.

Édouard gripped the bedpost tighter as his head slightly spun on its axis. Her beauty, yet again, caused his breath to leave his lungs in a panic, for no one could ever breathe with her in their presence. Everything about her was sinfully divine, from the delicate arch of her heel to the curve of her swanlike neck.

Édouard had visited the chambers of Rosalie Delcour for many weeks now, watching as her small figure curled into those soft satin sheets. He had stayed for only a few minutes or so, afraid at being caught. He could not bear it if he never saw her again; if she were parted from him. But tonight...tonight he felt bold.

Her window, on the first floor, was easily scaled by Édouard, the local thief, for there was no feat he could not overcome. The Delcours were the richest family in their humble French town, but Édouard had never possessed the inclination to steal from them, for that would ruin his chances of getting Rose's hand in marriage.

And how he wanted her hand, those slender fingers between his own gruff, calloused ones; her hands in his long hair that curled at his nape; her hands everywhere on his body, his face.

But a thief could never marry such an exquisite gem and heiress. He could only watch her, hoping one day she would see him as well and want him as much as he wanted her. Until that day came, he would watch her chest rise and heave in slumber, watch those eyelashes that hid forests and oceans.

It was too late he realized those eyes had flashed open and were regarding him with absolute terror. His own midnight skies dueled against her oceans. For a moment, the entire world seemed to gasp in anticipation of what was to come. Édouard swore that, as their eyes met, it was meant to be--until she opened her throat to scream.

The shrill noise cut through the air, shattering it. A twin scream followed soon after when the air in her lungs had been extinguished after the first. She shrieked and screamed and wailed. Still, Édouard could not swallow the sense of betrayal he felt towards her, for trying to expel him out of her presence, by summoning others to aid her.

It was the cause of this betrayal that kept him still, unable to escape from the danger that was certainly hurtling towards him now. He could hear the clack of footsteps, like the thunder of horses. Yet, all he could do was watch those soft, quivering lips of the fair maiden in front of him, wishing he could pull her into his arms and soothe her. She needn't be scared of him!

"Please...please don't harm me. Please leave." Her French was soft and lilting, and timid. So timid---like a little fawn.

He dropped onto his knees near the foot of the bed, reaching for her. She shirked away.

"I would never harm you, oh so sweet, Rosalie. You are the very reason I live, the very reason that" he pressed a palm to his chest, "my heart beats. It beats for you, and only you, Rosalie. You are mine and I am yours. One day, you will see that, Rosalie."

"Non, non." Tears silently rolled down her cheek. It was yet again too late he realized that she had her hand grasped around the handle of the jug on her bedside table; too late he realized that the silver metal was hurtling towards his face.

But Édouard was no ordinary thief with ordinary reflexes, and he ducked, the silver crashing resplendently on the floor.

A rage like no other consumed Edouard's being, his entire world pulsing a furious red. Betrayal stung like scorpions.