Some Enchanted Evening

[Fawn Mourning]

Dimly lit the room, shadows dancing on the walls as the fire cast its flickering light. It glinted from the blade held carefully in a small hand. Lips were wet, the tip of a tongue protruding from them, in careful concentration. Each stroke of the blade was small, precise. The crimson medium of her work given an even deeper hue in the near darkness.

Straddled over the prone form of another, she works slowly upon her masterpiece. Each tiny cut was a brush stroke. Each incision would form the scar upon the pale flesh that would bring her vision to light. He would be so pleased when she had finished. It had been weeks in progress now, this master work. And she was so close to its finish.

The subject, her canvas...if you will, lay still. Eyes wide in horror, but no sound came from dry lips. His limbs bound tightly to the bed beneath, a silk handkerchief bound tightly between his lips allowed no screams. Once upon a time they would have found him a handsome man, but now...now...he was so near perfection.

"You are so beautiful my dove. You will soon be perfect. Brother Prime will be pleased, and He will be also. Soon you will be free, and they will know you for who you were always meant to be."

Fawn crawled down from the body, her hands sticky with the blood of her latest work. It had been easier at first, when he had rarely been awake. The bonds had come later, once he had begun to realize what was happening to him. He did not understand how much more beautiful he was becoming. How could he? The human mind rarely saw beauty as she did.

"Rest now, precious. No more work for a few days. We don't want to rush anything."

The face which looked back at her was covered in tiny scars, cuts in various stages of healing. Small scrolls and swirls, lovely...in the right light. It was much more ornate and ornamental than the scars which covered a goodly portion of his body. Hundreds of small eyes, some of which had healed enough to begin the final step of adding color.

"Soon. Soon we will be done, love. Soon..."

[Fawn Mourning]

"Be still, precious. You must always remember that only through suffering may we become closer to Him. You are the Chosen One, never forget that. Through you, we shall all be forgiven."

The voice haunted him, even in the dreaming. Alone, he was now, safe in the dream, at least safer than out there. Out there it would be more pain, more time to forget. Forgetting, it seemed, was even worse than remembering. Here he could at least remember one thing. Eyes. Beautiful and precious, as grey as steel, as unforgiving as a sudden storm, but in them, lay salvation. It was all he could remember, those eyes, and the safety that came from them.

Here, in the dream, the monochromatic landscape seemed to welcome him. To soothe his ills, if only for a little while. It was quiet here, and sane. Outside, in the cold world, everything was searing pain and that hurtful little sing-song voice. The tiny woman with the sharp blade and the sharper needles. And...him.

He never said a word, the man in the crimson robes, not a sound. He only surveyed what was happening in that room. Silent as a stone, his face hidden within the shadows of a deep cowl. The tiny woman seemed delighted at every apperance of the man, and referred only to him as 'brother'.

Sitting there atop the hill, he watched grey swans swim in a deep grey lake. They seemed so innocent, yet their apperance struck some sort of memory that refused to let itself be known to him.

Soon enough the voice came again, growing stronger now, and he knew it was time to return to his own private Hel.

"Time to wake now, my dove. Brother has come to see your progress. It is time for my little gem to shine."