She stole into the room like a whisper, gliding seamlessly though the blackness swallowing walls
and ceiling, kept from engulfing the room completely only by the soft glow emanating from the
center. There stood a platform, or dais, perfectly round and elaborately carved from what must
have been obsidian, so little light did it give back from the glowing cage set upon it. Leaping
up, she sat on her haunches and studied the prisoner trapped behind the gilded bars. It must
have been magicked, so delicate and insubstantial were the curving wires of shining gold and
pale electrum.
The occupant turned to face her and the breath caught in her throat; she had never in all of her
long years seen anything so beautiful. He was a rose, darkest crimson hair streaming down his
shoulders in the manner of petals, faintly glowing skin of palest pink, limbs traced with a
network of thorny green tendrils. Dressed only in ragged brown trousers, he shivered slightly in
the chill and drafty room. The pupils set in his mint-green irises dialated, but still she could
not tell if he had seen her. Greatly daring, she crept closer. Breathtaking as he was, he looked
slightly wilted up close. The soft light came not from him, as she had supposed, but from a
jewel around his neck. His voice, when he spoke, was no less beautiful, for all of the bitter
anger in the tone.
"What do you want? Have I not said quite enough?"
She stepped close enough that he might see her, though in the presence of such beauty she had
never felt so ashamed of her ugliness. She resisted the urge to slink back into the shadows and
hide.
"You are not one of them," he said coldly, and if he were at all curious as to what she was, his
voice well concealed it.
"No," was all she said, and her voice was like a whisper of night, sibilant and sensual and
totally foreign. In this light most of her features were shadow, though her silhouette was lithe
and delicate, and a shining tangle of black curls reflected back the jewel's light, transmuted
into iridescent dark rainbows.
A noise sounded from outside the room, and she shifted suddenly, tensed as if to flee, and he
realized abruptly that she iwas/i shadow, and not merely hidden by the dark. "You are their
servant, then," he intoned flatly.
Satisfied that whatever it was had past, she turned wide, unblinking eyes to him. Shadowed by a
curtain of black lashes, they lacked any white at all. He was surpised to see that they were not
black, but deepest sapphire, with what would have been the whites a lighter topaz blue. She
inclined her head but did not answer.
He had nothing to say to one who served those he hated, and abrubptly grew bored of her company.
Wearied by the day's trials, he turned his back to her and sought to find rest enough to face
the morrow. 'Stay or not, as you like', he thought rudely.
He had nearly managed sleep in spite of the cold, when her unsettling voice spoke again in his
ear. "Here, brightling. Take this."
He turned irritably to face her with slitted eyes, but the biting words evaporated from his lips
when he saw the proferred item: a thick, if worn, woolen blanket. He made no move to take it,
though his traitorous body trembled all the more from wanting the warmth it promised.
She tilted her head. "You are cold. Why do you not take it?"
"Your kind offer nothing for free," he spat. "And I have nothing to trade. Go and leave off
tormenting me."
She stiffened then, and looked hurt, if shadow could be said to show such emotion. Stepping
forward, she thrust her arm though the bars, only the clenching of her jaw revealing the pain it
caused her. He had learned well what these bars were capable of, his first day trapped within
them. Knives carving into your skin, driving into your belly, tearing your soul free. He had not
been able to stop shaking with reaction for hours. She seemed determined to hold it there until
he took it, instead of simply dropping it inside.
In silent surprise, he reached out and lifted the ratty length of cloth from her trembling
grasp, the muscles of her arm corded taught beneath satiny slate-grey skin. She snatched the arm
back and exhaled. She melted into a cross-legged position, watching him wrap the blanket around
himself. Only her luminous blue eyes and a startling flash of white were visible as she smiled.
"There is one thing you might do for me," she started, and his jaw tightened. Of course there
was.
"Tell me about the day," she said wistfully.
"Day?" He repeated uncertainly.
"Day," she said. "I never see it." She leaned back on her hands. "I am only sent out at night,
to perform my tasks." Her eyes peered at him from beneath a tangled curtain of black hair. "The
sun kills Shadow."
He could not imagine such a fate. The sun was golden light, warmth and sustenance. The sun was
life. A fierce longing for home siezed him, and he began to talk of it as much to imagine
himself there as in response to her request. She listened with rapt attention, as a child
hearing bed-tales, and he did not notice the faint smile that curved his lips in return.
and ceiling, kept from engulfing the room completely only by the soft glow emanating from the
center. There stood a platform, or dais, perfectly round and elaborately carved from what must
have been obsidian, so little light did it give back from the glowing cage set upon it. Leaping
up, she sat on her haunches and studied the prisoner trapped behind the gilded bars. It must
have been magicked, so delicate and insubstantial were the curving wires of shining gold and
pale electrum.
The occupant turned to face her and the breath caught in her throat; she had never in all of her
long years seen anything so beautiful. He was a rose, darkest crimson hair streaming down his
shoulders in the manner of petals, faintly glowing skin of palest pink, limbs traced with a
network of thorny green tendrils. Dressed only in ragged brown trousers, he shivered slightly in
the chill and drafty room. The pupils set in his mint-green irises dialated, but still she could
not tell if he had seen her. Greatly daring, she crept closer. Breathtaking as he was, he looked
slightly wilted up close. The soft light came not from him, as she had supposed, but from a
jewel around his neck. His voice, when he spoke, was no less beautiful, for all of the bitter
anger in the tone.
"What do you want? Have I not said quite enough?"
She stepped close enough that he might see her, though in the presence of such beauty she had
never felt so ashamed of her ugliness. She resisted the urge to slink back into the shadows and
hide.
"You are not one of them," he said coldly, and if he were at all curious as to what she was, his
voice well concealed it.
"No," was all she said, and her voice was like a whisper of night, sibilant and sensual and
totally foreign. In this light most of her features were shadow, though her silhouette was lithe
and delicate, and a shining tangle of black curls reflected back the jewel's light, transmuted
into iridescent dark rainbows.
A noise sounded from outside the room, and she shifted suddenly, tensed as if to flee, and he
realized abruptly that she iwas/i shadow, and not merely hidden by the dark. "You are their
servant, then," he intoned flatly.
Satisfied that whatever it was had past, she turned wide, unblinking eyes to him. Shadowed by a
curtain of black lashes, they lacked any white at all. He was surpised to see that they were not
black, but deepest sapphire, with what would have been the whites a lighter topaz blue. She
inclined her head but did not answer.
He had nothing to say to one who served those he hated, and abrubptly grew bored of her company.
Wearied by the day's trials, he turned his back to her and sought to find rest enough to face
the morrow. 'Stay or not, as you like', he thought rudely.
He had nearly managed sleep in spite of the cold, when her unsettling voice spoke again in his
ear. "Here, brightling. Take this."
He turned irritably to face her with slitted eyes, but the biting words evaporated from his lips
when he saw the proferred item: a thick, if worn, woolen blanket. He made no move to take it,
though his traitorous body trembled all the more from wanting the warmth it promised.
She tilted her head. "You are cold. Why do you not take it?"
"Your kind offer nothing for free," he spat. "And I have nothing to trade. Go and leave off
tormenting me."
She stiffened then, and looked hurt, if shadow could be said to show such emotion. Stepping
forward, she thrust her arm though the bars, only the clenching of her jaw revealing the pain it
caused her. He had learned well what these bars were capable of, his first day trapped within
them. Knives carving into your skin, driving into your belly, tearing your soul free. He had not
been able to stop shaking with reaction for hours. She seemed determined to hold it there until
he took it, instead of simply dropping it inside.
In silent surprise, he reached out and lifted the ratty length of cloth from her trembling
grasp, the muscles of her arm corded taught beneath satiny slate-grey skin. She snatched the arm
back and exhaled. She melted into a cross-legged position, watching him wrap the blanket around
himself. Only her luminous blue eyes and a startling flash of white were visible as she smiled.
"There is one thing you might do for me," she started, and his jaw tightened. Of course there
was.
"Tell me about the day," she said wistfully.
"Day?" He repeated uncertainly.
"Day," she said. "I never see it." She leaned back on her hands. "I am only sent out at night,
to perform my tasks." Her eyes peered at him from beneath a tangled curtain of black hair. "The
sun kills Shadow."
He could not imagine such a fate. The sun was golden light, warmth and sustenance. The sun was
life. A fierce longing for home siezed him, and he began to talk of it as much to imagine
himself there as in response to her request. She listened with rapt attention, as a child
hearing bed-tales, and he did not notice the faint smile that curved his lips in return.