Title: The Dead Can’t Fall In Love

Author: Eáránë Serágon

Rating: PG-13

Document Manager Errors As Of Dated Update: Botched up spacing. Be warned.

Note: Repost.

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Small, petite shoes pattered quickly on the hard ground as they ran from an unseen force, innocent white nightdress swishing along the young girl's ankles as she dashed through the large, rich forest. What she was running from was unknown, but it did not seem to matter that it was not following her anymore, for she continued to sprint as though her life depended on it, glancing behind her sporadically as though to check the night air for watching eyes.

Her worn gaze glimpsed light between the trees in front of her, and she felt herself put on an extra burst of speed, her breath gasping and ragged as she struggled to get to the opening. Her foot hit a small root protruding from the ground, and she stumbled, but continued on her way, her focus and mind only set on reaching the clearing.

She was so close ... soon she'd be there ... a few more feet ...

She breathed deeply as she reached the outside, but quickly held her breath once more as the putrid smell of blood and rotting flesh reached her nostrils. She looked around and felt bile rising slowly into her throat, and didn't bother to hold it down. Turning to her left, she fell to her knees, emptying the contents of her small stomach onto the broken ground, tears streaming down her cheeks as she finished and stood up, her hands convulsing so wildly that she could not control them and let them collapse to her sides, utterly useless.

Her entire diminutive village was a pile of smoking ash as far as her adolescent eye was trained to see. There were no survivors, as she could easily guess by the atrocious odor, and she stumbled into the rubble, unable to keep the burning tears from her cheeks. Her white slippers, looking so out of place in the charred remains, fell upon something soft, and she glanced downwards, her breath hitching and she feared she was going to vomit once more, but bravely she kept her composure, kneeling softly, almost cautiously, next to the unmoving object.

Her older brother's strong body lay there, though virtually unrecognizable and disfigured. His neck was slit with what looked like a very rusty knife, along with many other places, leaving his body to look as though he had been bladed to death. His skin was white and rotting, a look she could hardly favor on his nor any handsome face, and he smelled of death and decay, a poison to her nostrils as well as her mentality. His eyes, once sparkling with life, were open and lifeless, something she never though she'd see in her brother, and his mouth, constantly turned upwards in a silly smile and always ready to emit a hearty bout of laughter, was slack and open, as though he couldn't quite believe he was dead.

"So we meet again, young lady... too bad the times are so troublesome and lacking in your behalf." A slithering voice called to her from behind, and she abruptly stood, swinging her small body around, her large brown eyes wide in shock and fear as she attempted to back up, falling backward onto her brother's corpse as though to haunt and traumatize her mind even more.

She screamed as she felt the cold body beneath her and jumped up, attempting to flee and tripping once again on a soft object, another corpse, one she did not recognize. Cold, dead skin rubbed against her bare leg as her nightgown bunched up, and she cringed, wrenching her leg away hastily, her eyes filled with undisguised disgust. She glanced down at her treasured white dressing gown, now smeared with dirt and the blood of her loved ones, hot tears streaming down her small, innocent face and her body shaking as though her life depended its convulsions. She again looked up at the man who had addressed her, her eyes shining with fear as she watched him begin to confidently stride towards her, managing somehow to avoid all bodies in his path.

He was accompanied by a large group of many other men, all trooped behind him as though they were his minions without purpose. The majority were robed, and frighteningly so, their leader adorned in a hooded cloak made of grimy, cheap material of poor making.  She saw only eyes, of all different shades, gazing at her from beneath the hoods, and she felt her stomach clench tightly at their stares. They gazed at her with violent, hungry eyes as though she was a pheasant on the king’s table, and she felt her heart and blood stop cold as they stepped forward along with their leader.

Desperately, she scrambled backwards, reducing herself to crawling as she hurried to get away, unable to travel very far, as the ground was littered with the bodies of her friends and neighbors so thickly that where there was not rubble from the their houses, built with sweat and blood and destroyed with the same essence, there were the cold, empty shells of bodies showing wasted-life. All around her there were rotting corpses and bodies; familiar faces that had once laughed and hands that had once patted her on her golden head were now mutated, unrecognizable in their dead states.

A frightened sob escaped her lips as she stood, glancing behind her at the man this man that had destroyed everything she held dear all for one small slip of paper. His stature screamed royalty, as well as his attire and features. His emotionless eyes followed her every action from behind the hood of his silky black cloak, and his lithe, young looking figure was domineering and powerful underneath his strange shadowed presence.

"You cannot run. I will find you, just as we have found them." He motioned to the destruction around him. "You really did not think that you could escape?” A cackling, evil laugh erupted from him, causing the men behind him to shift nervously and glance curiously at one another as he continued to speak. “Now, hand over the Will, and I might spare your pathetic little life."

She shook her head desperately and continued to trip and stumble over the bodies as she clumsily attempted to make an escape, knowing it was no use but trying with all her might to get as far away as her legs would carry her.

“Stop." His icy voice commanded, booming and strong, and she felt her legs stopping against her will and turning towards him, the bottom half of her body frozen after this action, as though she was paralyzed. She raised her fearful eyes to his, wondering if this was some sort of magic, or if she truly was simply frightened enough to the point of paralyzation. However, all thoughts were extinct the moment his eyes rose to meet hers. Brown and gray locked as he stepped nimbly forward, his eyes burning hers as he moved closer, his voice reaching her ears even louder than before.

"The Prince is an evil man, young lady. Should he get hold of the King’s Will, all will perish many bad things will happen.” He stated this smoothly, his eyes and mind bent on corruption and misleading. He held his large hand out for the document; and he constructed his words to be simple and spoken as though he were addressing a small, ignorant child. The girl shook her head once more and made no move to retrieve the said paper, which was tucked safely the pocket of her now ruined nightgown. The male took another step towards her, causing the girl to whimper pathetically and attempt to take a pace backwards, crying out in frustration when her body did not move.

"If you do not give me the letter, dear girl, you will never fall in love." He spoke again, his words random and seemingly pointless, and his voice sleek and oily, like a slick and disgusting eel. His hand was still outstretched for the letter, callused fingers crusted with dirt and grime seeming almost barbaric compared to her own lily-soft skin. His eyes were forceful and urgent, and it was clear he would not take ‘no’ for an answer. The girl finally found her voice and spoke up, her voice childish sounding and soprano and fitting to her face and figure.

"Why not?" She inquired, genuinely curious, but her voice trembled almost as violently as her body. She lowered her eyes after she spoke and forced her sparkling blue orbs to stare fixedly at the dirty ground, as though she was afraid of the answer. It was clear that she was, indeed, afraid of what the man was going to say next. The voice of the murderer had a smirk in it as he answered, and he drew his elegant, long knife out of its sheath, displaying it in its rustic glory for his followers to see.

 "Simple, my dear." She allowed her eyes to meet his, and she watched with unbelieving gaze as he raised his hand to uncloak himself, "You'll be dead."

He took more quiet, calm steps towards her, her own eyes widening, and she willed herself to move, knowing it was futile. He was so close that she could smell his disgusting stench, a cross between a vile alcohol and horrible body odor. He knelt down to her level, and more than anything she wanted to push him over, but found that she could not, for fear moreover anything else. She felt his chapped, dry lips next to her ear, and she struggled to breath, finding her lungs not able to work as his words swept past her ear.

“Your parents might have kept this from you, sweet child … “ The words were murmured, sending a shiver down her spine as he retreated slightly to look into her eyes, which were wide and disbelieving, “But the dead can’t fall in love.”

Her last vision was that of one pair of cold, murderous gray eyes, and a high-pitched scream erupted from her undersized mouth, the black oblivion of death overtaking her vision.