Copyright © 2012: Letitia Van Herck. All Rights Reserved.
When Love Runs Red
Dante could quaintly recall the angels face. She had been his beckoning light, the very essence that had kept his soul humming through the tortured battle known as death. The hours – even days – had been gruelling, torturous and feverous. He had been certain of death, so certain in fact he had began to pray to a deity he didn’t believe in. He had, however, been spared any acquaintance with death for now. He could remember the warmth of her; the pure shinning joy the angel had given him and for a single moment he had felt completely at peace before darkness overtook once more.
His mind was fogged at present as he lay back against a cool hard surface. The low thumping that droned endlessly in his mind made him clench his teeth. His body aching and numb he began to long for the angels return. He frowned now, though body still immobile, as an uncontrollable nagging started at the back of his mind. It was telling him, though indirectly, that he knew the angel. That he knew her warm scent and plush features like they were his own.
Instantly his eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up, only to groan in pain. The room had began to spin and so with a frustrated grunt he lay back down. His mind, however, was alive and roaring with awareness, for his angel was her: Charlotte Elizabeth Watson. He could still feel her presence lingering against his skin and the rush of her soul against his. Instantly panicked he became desperate to find her – for he knew not her of welfare.
“You should not try to move,” The sound a familiar feminine voice muttered low. Dante turned solemnly to the voice and caught sight of Primrose lingering quaintly in the doorway. It was then that the familiar herbed odour of the operating room hit him. She was precisely right, he should not be moving. Yet even as he thought it, he knew it was inconceivable not to do so when he knew naught of Charlotte’s welfare.
“Thank you for the advice, but I have important matters to attend to,” he replied curtly, his body moving by sheer panicked will. He heaved himself up in one fluid motion, his vision swirling instantly, before he tried to steady himself on his feet. His body, at present, much resembled a decayed tree and he found himself clinging desperately to the operating bench for support.
“At least feed if anything, it shan’t do you much good trying to continue on so weak,” Primrose muttered, a shy blush tainting her pale cheeks. Dante frowned at her offer and shook his head lightly. It didn’t seem correct, not when Charlotte was out there; her state unknown to him. He had never enjoyed the act of feeding either, and often put it off. There had always been a close intimacy about it that he found far too invading.
“Your offer is most gracious but I must decline,” He replied steadying his limbs and stepping forward, shoulders braced and face stern. She looked like she wished to protest but upon one glance of his hard gaze she clenched her mouth shut and nodded—accepting defeat.
Though his vision did sway considerably in and out of vagrant blackness he pushed himself forward in his quest to find her. He knew not what possessed him. Yet a single voice ringed through his mind, as gentle as snow and warming as a cold winter’s log fire, that beckoned him towards Charlotte's chambers. As though a man possessed he powered forward, past the twining corridors, with nothing but a single determined focus. She had for these brief moments completely taken over his soul. It was terrifying and yet all at once perfection.