Stolen: The Confessions of Philip Ripton

The Door

Mortal time has a way of fleeing from one unfamiliar with its limits. Unfortunately, I learned this lesson a little too late.

Months had passed since Lauren and I finally connected. We shared in our grief, meeting each Sunday morning over the graves of our lost. Eventually, we came to be friends.

I had no intention of ruining such a perfect creature by claiming her as my own, but Lauren's father certainly did.

"You're twenty-two years old, Lauren," he reminded her. "You need to find a husband soon, or you'll shrivel and die."

I stood motionless outside their door, hearing a conversation I was never meant to hear. The man's bass-level shouts rumbled the window with emotion.

"I don't want to watch life pass you by," he continued. "You're such a smart, beautiful girl, and your mother would roll over in her grave if she knew you were using her death as an excuse to smother your potential."

Lauren's voice was small in comparison, and so very sad. "No one wants a girl with tears on her face," she cried, ignorant to my love. "I can't stop grieving just because you tell me to."

I didn't think. I couldn't think with her pain in my ears. I flung the door aside and pulled Lauren into my arms with her father looking on in bewilderment.

We eloped soon after, on a Friday morning in October. Lauren's father didn't approved of the match, given my reputation for sensual misconduct and my history of substance abuse.

Our secret marriage, of course, wouldn't stay that way for long, so we made arrangements to leave for the New World that very night.

Lauren kissed her mother's headstone one last time while I said my final goodbye to Lark.

She must have felt the shift in the wind, because I found her hovering soundlessly over her own grave.

I pulled out the doll we'd made that fateful night in the forest, and she hissed her hatred, knowing she could not touch me.

"You can run," the faerie chittered. Her body had healed from the damage I'd inflicted, and it had begun to take on a more feminine quality to match her soul.

My heart ached with the knowledge that it would never be my home again.

Her otherworldly whispers cut into my heartbreak. "But your spell won't last forever. Your suffering can begin then."

The blood drained from my cheeks at the truth of her words. The spell wasn't designed for durability, but potency.

Before she set back off for the forest, she left me one final warning.

"I've a lot in store for you, lover. You should pray that Hell claims your punishment first."