South of SomeWhere (-Editing-)

|Memory|

I wake to a steady breathing over me, and in reflex, I jerk upwards, slamming the heel of my hand into the person's chest. Only thing is, my hand gets caught before it can make contact, and another gentle but solid hand grasps my shoulder and brings me back down to the mattress. My eyes snap open to look into two sky-blue ones. Then, I'm sucked into a memory.

........................................................................

A lone figure trudges his weary way up the worn staircase. He's a small man - squarish with terse shoulders and a wide spread mouth. I follow him silently making sure to keep in the shadows as much as possible. Out of the corner of my eye a brief, soft glow of light flickers along one of the columns. It's following the man. My mind is in a prison. All the colors are a muted palate - all 500 plus shades of grey swirling together like a bad movie clip from a damaged vintage film. Slogging his way along at an irritatingly slow pace, he finally reaches an immense set of stone doors. Fishing a key out from the paraphernalia in his overstuffed pocket, he unlocks the door and pushes it open, the aged wood making a dull crack on the wall.

"Your highness," the man speaks, his voice rough and growly. For the first time, I get a good look at his face. He reminds of someone I know. Traversing the throne room at a sedate pace, he finally reaches a throne. It's nothing magnificent and relatively small, and the only sign it belongs to any form of royalty is because of the insignia on the highest portion of the chair - a skull and cross bones. Cliche non to say the least, but I could guess that death was this queen's talisman. As I came to later know, she mostly specialises in living deaths. Deaths where the pain is almost, just almost, unbearable. It breaks you just enough that she can put you together and repeat the process again - over and over. I catch a glimpse of the light again and a spasm rips through it's body almost breaking its concentration. With a pain that I knew would cripple me as soon as I am released, I force myself back to scene at hand. Silence pervades and out of curiosity I direct my gaze to the back of her throne, peeking around the side. Hewn out of smooth blue stone is a rectangular pool, the length and width specifically designed for one person only, set in the highly polished marble floor, black as death. Filled with the clearest, most sparkling water found by witchcraft, it does not stir. Until the human, if she could even be called that, moves. At first the still form that lay in the pool appears dead except for the fact her eyes, round circles of blackest death and starkest white were open. I shudder involuntarily.

"Your highness," the gravelly voice says again breaking through the ominous silence and making me jump. For a fraction of a second I don't know if this "Queen of Darkness" has heard him. Then, she moves. With a frustrating slowness her colorless eyes close. It is undeniable that she is beautiful, but she is more than that. She is almost goddess like. Dark, thick lashes feather her cheeks, and her skin, a deathly white, makes her other features, full fiery read lips and ebony black hair, stand out all the more. She is still for a moment more. I lean closer.

'Is she dead,' I wonder. 'What a pleasant thing that would be.' I almost smile at the sadistic thought.

Then, a long scream of intense rage and insane power fills the room, and those sightless eyes snap open flashing fire. My falsified courage fails me and like a coward I run to a pillar and cower behind it. Watching in horror from my hiding spot, I see her raise up out of the water in a straight parallel. The bewitched water flies out of the pool only to form round globes that shimmer and undulate in the air around her. For a moment she stands still. My breathing eases, but I let down my guard to soon for just at that moment she does something unexpected. She catches on fire - all too like my special skill. Flames consume her body that elongate growing taller. She appears human-like, but it is as if she is made of the fire herself. The water circles her, mirroring the bright lights of her flame creating a dizzying display of multicolored lights.

"What do you want?" she rages her voice filling the room in a defining blast. The unfortunate man upon whom her wrath is directed throws himself to the ground howling. "How dare you," she snarls raising her hand for the death blow, but it never comes.

At that instant, the man squeals,"But I have a present for your majesty." The upraised hand glowing with her fire slows.

"A present?" she asks. He looks up hurriedly and bobs his head.

"A new prisoner has been admitted to the dungeons," he continues. I can see his quaking from where I have hidden behind the rich draperies halfway across the room. He is playing with fire, no pun intended, and he knows it.

"A prisoner?" she demands her question somehow sounding like a command. Her face is confused. Unexpectedly, the water drops from its suspended state and with a terrible hiss, soaking her in the downpour. Her body recedes and for a second she looked normal. Well as normal as any goddess-like beauty can get. A racking cough suddenly ripped through her body making her fall backwards to the throne. Covering her mouth with her dress sleeve, it comes back stained with blood. She slumps majestically in her chair. "What type of pri..." But that is as far as she gets. Faster than lightening, she whips out of her seat and catches him by the neck. Lifting him Darth Vader style, one hand clutching his scrawny neck, nails digging into his delicate flesh she smiles in cruel glee as he began to choke. "Don't tell me," she sneers. "Show me this prisoner. But mark my words Lafoye if I'm not pleased with your little "present" then we know what shall happen to you. Don't we? Hhmmmm?"

I gasp as the name hits my ears, and as Lafoye splutters as he hit the floor and another cough assails her. "Show me the way and this better be good dear," she mocks, flinging her head in the direction of her dungeons. He gulps and scurries to the door, and so they begin their journey down into ultimate darkness.

I'll admit. I followed them. I should have released myself from the memory. But I was too curious. Too interested in was to come. And in truth, where would have been the story in that? Winding through seemingly endless passageways, the two make their laborious way through her self-made hell. Cries and screams of agony echo around us. I jump at each new noise and cringe in fear. After what seems like ages, we reach solid steel door. Impenetrable. By now I'm near frantic with fright, but I follow anyways. Lafoye fumbles with the keys nearly dropping them, but he manages to get the door open. Darkness fills the room and I blink unable to adjust my eyes after the blinding light of the throne room. The witch solves the problem with a ball of flaming witch-fire thrown at the ceiling. When the light connects with my eyes, I let out a scream of horror.

Strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, his face bloody and bruised, head lolling on his shoulder is... "John! No, no not him. Not him," I babble incoherently. Lightening flashes from her hands, and she snaps around a wicked grin on her perfect face. John's chin touches his chest. His eyes closed.

"Ah yes Lafoye. I am pleased. VERY pleased," her voice oozing evil with every letter. "What a wonderful new soldier," she gloats. Then, she whirls around looking straight at me - or rather at the light that has suddenly started emanating from my being. I can only guess she was fully aware of my prescence. The though chills me to the core. "But you know what is the most wonderfully wonderful thing of all dear?" she asks walking around him to a small inlaid table in the shadows.

"Wha..aaat..? Your highness," Lafoye stutters. Something clicks and a dull, wet thumping sound fills the room. With a look of pure triumph, she turns.

"Destroyed love,"she says proudly and glowing in her outstretched hand is heart.

"NO! NO! No don't please!" I find myself begging frantically with a voice that is not my own as she advances on John's helpless form. Left hand to his chest she whirls around.

"Why not love? This is what I've been waiting for my whole life," she sneers. Plunging in with no mercy, she snatches the heart right out if his chest, and my scream echoes in the empty room. With a wicked smile, she looses no time in slamming the replacement heart into his chest.

"Oh please help him not be dead," I mumble incoherently as his limp body hangs from the leather straps. After what seems like an eternity, he gasps in a huge breath although his body still remains limp.