Rough Draft Intro to *something* Untitled

Bits and pieces of the book, a very long time in the making. Since before my first ferried ride into the unknown... Darkness Forums setting the stage early in my scavenger's searching. How do I even begin to describe what led to this feverish writing all those years ago?

The hows and wherefores are not for this post, but a short scene from something on which I am currently, immortally it seems, working. ;)

Here Goes...

[Though the days were fair and full of fresh sunlight…] At night the sun sank into the clouds and a chill would fall nearly as quickly as dusk. The last rays of light would mingle over the sky to bounce off the waters and create defective reflections on mercurial tides. Hazy mists hovered to fill the streets and blanket the town below. People seemed to swim by, wading through waves of billowing fog.

Aged and steeped in history, the cobblestone streets tingled beneath her feet. Briny spray from the crashing waves rose up to touch her face as if it were a spider web, clinging. The softest breeze dried the salted seas and whispered of ancient mysteries. Her thoughts, unshielded from those who would hear them revealed a wanting. As openly worn as young lovers’ hearts on their sleeves, though lacking naivety of the latter; she carried an air of awareness of those who would hear her inner dialogue.

Creating an aura that preludes her beauty, the energy of her smile and inquisitive mind floated on the mid evening air, catching the breeze to be taken in by one standing very near. He stood shrouded in the growing dusk, hidden in shadows that seemed to swirl their way around him like the fog. The intensity he saw in her, barely breaching womanhood she was… ravish-able.

He recognized her from lives that came before, where she had crossed the path of his continuous form. The control was a constant struggle of his nature. Anger born of impatience, consciously curbed, because of the length of his life. Difficult to remember, that to interact with this creature, she would only be aware of her life as it was. Over and over again, impossibly he was somehow responsible for those earlier endings. Pushing her to the point of insanity, finding her all too late, killing her outright. And watching her end her own life after the truth was unkindly retold. Yet over and over again she would cross his path, recognized by that spark of questioning deep within.

So terminally unique, unable to accept how like a teardrop in the sea of all who came before. She was in love with the beauty of his suffering. Care worn and cold, to the world she seemed, against his futile attempts to save her from herself. Knowing the story’s ending before its start he tried to change their fate. His wish had not been to find her so cold, given so many weary nights, without faith without meaning without form, was she dead before he touched her? How could he not feel the weight of blame on his shoulders over so many lives that had gone before?

He, who could not find peace in a world outside his own, how could he be contented in the knowing? Once he’d used her up the leavings would be withered and frail. Foraging through the vilest some scraps to find a taste of that true self and acceptance she offered so freely of her heart and hands. To be drowned in her. Would that he could take her away from the dust to dusted trail.

To take something so vibrantly living and show her the barren road he walked how could he dash the very light to which he had grown so fondly accustomed? Replacing it with this cavernous longing the constant craving to take from those with abundance and know the need remains un-sated well beyond enough. Yet still she stands so sweetly unaware or was it without care in knowing his path. The danger, sharper than an adder’s tongue, a touch holding more poison than the snake’s softest whispered kiss. An impossible wish, taking her into the depths of the mind of the monster, the nature of what he had become, in hoping she could survive unscathed.

Something familiar behind her eyes, is it her passion that sets this fluttering free?

The many times we have met as surely each time I had taken it from her, but how many moments could there be? When we watched the madrigals play and she was dead before the day began. During the comets flight she was lost in a fortnight, more unnamed memories of her essence still held in modern day.