Life Goes On

Beatrix looked at the chaos around her. Her lifeless enemies strewn about the once peaceful meadow. She looked down at her hands, sticky with the hot blood. She knew, however, that it was not her own. The accursed flame in the heavens beat down on her armor as a cool northern breeze caused her cape to billow out behind her. Her lips parted, drinking in the breeze as if it were an elixir. Crystalline water for her parched soul.
What’s the use? She thought. I could slay a thousand, no, a thousand thousand more and still, your face would not gaze up at me from the bloodied ground. The whole world could instantaneously incinerate, and still, your face would haunt my dreams, my thoughts…
What’s the use?
Beatrix fell to her knees, head bowed, body as broken as her spirit, her heart. Twittering brought her attention to the skies. Two nightingales flittered about, soaring in and out of each other, all the while singing gaily the earth’s song. The same song that they had been singing centuries ago. The same song they would still be singing, long after her body had corroded and wasted away into dust. If there was peace, the nightingale sang. If the entire world were consumed in turmoil, still the nightingale sang the same sweet song that graced the wind and carried it into the souls of all those who would hear it.
You did this to me, Beatrix thought, turning her gaze, once again, to her gooey fingers. You did this to me, but no more. You may have controlled me once, but now, now it is my turn.
Beatrix threw her head back and laughed aloud. Her voice was not accustomed to being used, let alone in such a gleeful way as this, and cut her off in a half-choke, half-gurgle, but still, she had laughed.
"The willow can age and topple over, whether by menacing axe or of its own accord, and life goes on. The fox can consume all the chickens in the world, and still, the heron’s life goes on. You. You can destroy my love, my heart, my soul, my home, and still—still life goes on."
Beatrix stood. Stood taller than she had in years, and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Not shuddering with fear; not any more. Shuddering with exaltation and renewal. Extracting her sword from its embediment in the soil, Beatrix walked on. And life went on.

Legion (song inspired--we'll pretend it was by jason mraz)

The rain drizzled down on the battlefield; the two forces clashed. Black and white collided, hacked, and bled. Hours went by. The white force began to pull back, and were surprised to see their black-clad enemies act likewise. But, they knew better: they were giving them false hope; time to recover, then crush them later.
Leon entered his tent, his guards taking up immediate position outside. He took off his helmet, gazing at the intricate designs emblazened on it's sides.
So much work, he thought, so much planning...
He threw the helmet at the ground. Turning, he stabbed the maps, scattered across the makeshift table. Sitting down, he leaned his head against his folded arms, and his arms against the "table". Commotion from outside drew his attention away from inner thoughts. Growling and wondering what immature squabble his pathetic soldiers could possibly be commenced in at a time like this, Leon stormed out of his tent.
"What's the meaning of --"
"Sir," his second in command, Gerard, cut him off, "a stranger has entered the camp."
"A stranger, you say?" Leon asked. "Is it the King?"
"No, sir, it's--"
"Then get him out of my camp!" Turning on his heel, Leon headed back to his tent. There was a lot to be done if they were going to escape this with their lives, let alone their dignity.
"But, sir, she has an army."
This caused him pause. Sighing, Leon spun around and marched to deal with this meddlesome intruder, with full intentions of telling him exactly where he could put his army...
Alice ignored the gawking idiot soldiers, her long, determined strides carrying her quickly through the camp. She had thought of putting on a helmet, but it just would have gotten in her way. Finally, she arrived at the captain of the army; he looked as though he'd seen an apparition of some sort.
"Stand aside," Alice commanded him.
Leon couldn't move. His legs felt as if they were about to give out beneath his weight. Turning to Gerard, but keeping his gaze locked on this unexpected guest, he spoke, his throat only managing a whisper.
"The leader of the army is--"
"A woman, yes, sir. I tried to tell you, bu--
"No, not that! It's her?!?!"
"Stand aside," Alice repeated, louder, "or be removed forcefully." She spoke, not with content or malice, but calm assurance, merely stating the facts.
"How on earth did you-- and this army? This army? Where did you-- What have you-- How are you, Alice?" Leon finally managed to mumble. Alice made a swift motion with her hand; there was a flurry of movement, and Leon found himself on his back, looking up at a spectral being, his image shimmering in and out of existence.
"Alice--" he whispered, as her battle skirt brushed against his boots, and she walked past him without a look.
The Sal-Kirith had returned to the battle field, a black sea silently approaching the unaware camp, with death in their clenched fists and frozen hearts. The moment their archers were about to let loose their poison-tipped arrows, poised with such accuracy that they had come to be known as the rain of death, a silhouette appeared on top of the hill in which the enemy camp was stationed. The archers looked to their commander for instruction. He made a few swift hand motions, signaling five to redirect their arrows at the woman, and the rest to continue as planned.
Alice raised her hand above her head, then lowered it to point at the Sal-Kirith leader. He flinched. He had had three of his best mages cloak him in darkness. It was impossible for this human woman to have percieved him through such strong magic.
While pondering this phenomenon, the Sal-Kirith leader had forgotten to give the signal to his archers to fire. By that time, it was too late.
The air around the woman shivered, as if it, too, felt the cold that was speedily creeping over the Sal-Kirith. All at once, the Sal-Kirith saw what it was that caused them to feel this way, and they knew it would be useless to run.
Alice and her legion swept over the army, leaving death in their wake, covering the field in a blanket of black armored corpses.

A tiny voice asked, "Is he the one?"--writing prompt

The night was dark, the stars unusually dim. The cold, Nebraskan wind intruded through the small house's windows, a burglar in the night. It was not, however, unaccompanied. Five small, glowing orbs followed the wind, twisting, rising, and falling with the slight current, like one great, synchronized dance, eventually sweeping them through the open window.



Kade Finch was seven years old, and sleeping blessfully at the time of the breech.



A tiny voice asked, "Is he the one?"



"Hmmmm...he looks annoying," was the reply.



"Oh stop it," rataliated the first, emphasizing the point with a swift blow to the head.



"It'll take a lot of work, "continued the secomd, unfazed, "and will most probably fail, but, yes, he's the one they've chosen." He concluded with a deep sigh. "Just look at him, though, Aris; it's revolting, "he said, his face twisting in sincere agony.

"I'll admit, he is a gooddeal uglier than we'd hoped."

The two tilted their heads to one side, thinking that pergaps a different angle would improve his looks. It didn't.

"we can always make him wear a mask. Or a helmet. Or even wear a paper bag with eye holes! Either way, it matters not. Our orders are to bring this, this--thing back to the Queen. If they decide to behead him there, that's his problem. Come on, the twilight hours are beginning again."

With an exasperated and heartfelt sigh, the two faeries began to weave the treads of reality around the creature, encasing him in a casket of magic. They then proceeded to make the long journey home, stopping only to ask the guards how everything went. Seeing that all was well, they proceeded through the twilight forest, through the webs of existence, onward. Home.

Mersam Navem II

The last rays of the sun fought their way through atmosphere and clouds, alighting on a few of the elegant buildings of Mersam Navem, drenching them in red, and leaving the rest to be swallowed up by the shadows. The citizens of the wealthy city began to make their way home, exhausted from a full day's worth of work, and a half day's worth of pay. Boats pulled into the harbor for the night. Among them, was a boat with unique, red, triangular sails, that could be seen from the higest room in the King's castle.

Isabella put down her quill. Picking up the wax and emblem, she sealed the two enchanted letters together, one within the other. Then, elegantly stringing her bow, she knocked the black-feathered, onyx-tipped arrows, used only by the shadow demons that lived in the southern marshes. Pulling it back, Isabella aimed, and let it fly. Not checking to see the arrow hit her mark, Isabella turned to look out of her crimson sunlit room at the quickly growing shadows. Soon, the entire city would be consumed. It was almost time.

Recalling the spell she had worked on for months, she began to string together the arcane words, agily forming symbols with her hands. A few minutes later, the casting began to take its toll. She breathed deeply, and for a moment she wished she could speed up her training. But, only for a moment. With the trap in place, time was of the essence.



Sweeping over to the window, Isabella placed her cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood over her head, concealing her face, and leaped over the window sill. With a twist mid-air, she grasped silently to the vines that inhabited her wall.

Eternal Sleep-found poem from Margaret Weis' "Amber and Ashes"

Bracing herself for death,

Mina gave the knife a sharp thrust.

Death watched with amusement.

Lifting her eyes,

Her legs trembled

Her strength failed her;

She met the eyes of the God.

She heard his footsteps come nearer

Nearer

His shadow fell over her

Blotting out the sun

She shivered

Let me die

Please

I only want rest

He smelled of myrrh

Reminding Mina of

Perfumed oils

Poured onto funeral pyres

To mask the stench

Of burning flesh

Mingled

With the musky fragrance;

The faint, sweet odor of

Lily and Rose,

Faded

And fragile as

The petals of youth

Pressed between two pages of life's book

His touch was cool

On her sunburned skin

Sleep is what you need

Sleep

Not death

Only poets confuse the two

She could no longer see the God

Remember by Christina Rossetti

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Song by Christina Rossetti

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.