A/N: It is an supernatural story.
And I don't want to reveal anything about the plot in advance........
So please read and find out.......
🌞🌜🌞🌜🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞🌛🌞🌛🌞
Oregon......
A beautiful....old....and tiny Town near Pacific ocean with only a population around 2000 people.
Me and my Dad, we shifted here, just few months ago, after my Mom's death in an unfateful car accident.
My dad was completely heartbroken after loosing his soulmate....
Forgetting his suffering son all along.
He never took any heed to consider my pain, I have lost my mother...she was the most important part of my world also. But he couldn't see past his own loss. The noise of his breaking heart was so loud and deafening that the painful whimpers of my greiving heart couldn't reach his ears. And in all this chaos.....I lost my Dad too, along with my mom.
This small town doesn't feel like home, but neither does Bangkok, not anymore..... after mom, that place that house has become the most horrible place for us, me and Dad both. And I know why my dad has choosen this town, this is my mom's birth place...though she never lived here, after she left this town with my grandparents when she was only a year old. There is nothing that could remind of her to dad but I know, here.... he feels connected with her, where.... She opened her eyes for the first time.....this place which brought her into this world..... And she met him and love him.... Marry him and had a family with him. So he left that place where she took her last breath to came here.....where she took her first one.
I started my college's freshman year, just a month ago. Our house is a walking distance away from my college so I always walk to the college in every morning, trying to get more familiar with this new place.
I walk straight to college from my house in the mornings but on my way back home I take a different way, every day. I memorize each house and yard on the neighborhood. By the end of the month, I have covered every possible route, twisting left and right, through the grid of narrow streets till grand villa's. The wind here is a little damp and cold flowing in from the ocean, smell....a mixture of seaweed, mud and pine trees.
I stop at an intersection. My home, is off to the right. Just two blocks away.
It's still bright, So I turn left.
My feet takes me past an abandoned orchard. Lichen and fungus clamber like coral... up the trunks and branches, thriving in the waterlogged habitat. I tuck my dripping hair back under my hood and walk on.
The fence around there was covered in rusty metal, falling prey to decades of neglect, just like everything else here, in this small old town.
Curious and bored, I enter the abandoned cemetery, behind the orchard.
I stopped short on my steps.
Something calls to me. It hummms inside of me.
A heat. A vibration. A longing.....
I pick my way between the stones, reading names, long forgotten.
William Jackson....
Maria Romanoff...
Jennifer...... something beginning with a 'T', her last name erased by time and the elements.
The feeling, the knot of energy beneath my ribs, guides me further back, further in. Near the southernmost edge of the fenced lot, close to an ancient tree. Its limbs hang tired and heavy. From between its dark green branches, a glimpse of white catches my eye.
The pull gets stronger.
It would be so easy to let it possess my body, carry me forward to its source. A tiny voice within me tells me to turn around and leave. To run away. To leave before it's too late, before I lose what little free will I still possess.
But....
The Curiosity wins.
As I enter the oldest section of the cemetery, the grave markers change from simple marble placards to upright stones and carved crosses. A statue, an angel weeping, The blackened mortar that fills the seam between case and lid, is chipped and gaping. I imagine that I can simply peek between the slabs to view the bones of the deceased child. Icy fingers scratch down my spine.
Pulling my jacket tight against the chills, I walk around.... My circular path brings me to the deeply rooted guardian tree. I part its branches with a steady hand and find myself standing before a breathtaking work of art.
A round shaped grave, seems to have been carved from a single piece of marble. If it wasn't, the work was so expertly executed that I cannot see any sign of a joint or seam. It towers above me, at least seven feet high and three feet in diameter. It was mesmerizing.
I walk around the monument, fascinated and curious. It is so different from every other memorial stone here. It belongs in a European graveyard amid the tombs of fallen kings, not in this small rainy town. My toe catches on a solid object, mostly buried beneath the thick blanket of dried grass. With one booted foot, I scrape away the crumps to reveal a marble plaque, filthy and discolored but otherwise in excellent condition.
I read the words and feel them take hold of me......worming their way into my very bones.
Arthit Rojnapat
Born October 18, 1805
Our Beloved Son and Brother
We Will Mourn Your Loss
Every Day of This Existence
'Every day of this existence'
It's an odd choice of words, even for a century-old tombstone. And there is no dash nor date to mark his departure from this world. I circle the tombstone once more, then reach out, placing my hand flat against its cool surface. The stone hums beneath my hand. Resonant and warm, the feeling echos in my bones, shaking my whole existence.
I was alarmed, but I didn't pull away. I stepped closer.
With both hands pressed against the icy marble stone, I feel it. The pull of the tides. The heat of the sun cresting the horizon. The rush of the blood within my veins. I hold my breath until I am giddy and lightheaded. This is life. This is what it feels like to belong. To be wanted. To have the essence of my very being treasured within something greater than myself.
It tells me I am home.
Home.....
As the light fails, I drag myself away. I feel colder already, no longer sheltered beneath the old tree. The pull is still there, but it weakens as I walk away. I miss it. I vow to return tomorrow, after college.
Arthit Rojnapat......
I wonder who he was and how he died. I wonder if his family's descendants still live in or around the town. I do not recognize the name from anywhere, but a lot can happen in a couple generations. Perhaps they moved away, or the name disappeared with the death of the last male descendant. With a sense of determination, I promised myself to find answers.
*****************
Next day..... My feet took me on the path of cemetery on their own, the strange pull has returned. It is almost insistent. It quickens my steps and my heart rate. I am nearly jogging as I pass the old orchard, the scent of fermentation was thick in the air.
My eyes searching for it.......
Solid white and quiet, it lurks in the shadows. I should be frightened. That would be the normal reaction. After all, this is a graveyard. A place for ghosts and souls, But...... Rather than being fearful, I feel curious and hungry, missing the hum of that stone's energy...... feeding my soul.
I enter through the gate and walk straight to the old tree. My eyes never drop, but my steps are sure, somehow moving over and around clumps of grass and graves, without tripping. It is almost magnetic, the way it draws me in. I smile as I slip beneath the hanging branches. I let my backpack slide from my shoulders. I unzip my raincoat and hang it on a branch. My hands land on the cool stone and I laugh, relieved to be back within its embrace. The buzzing hum.......
it makes my blood simmer in my veins.
I want to fall into this feeling. I step closer....... Closer....... Until I can rest my cheek against the stone.
And...... I lose myself.
I don't know where the hours go, but it is dark, and I am late. Feeling cold inside already, I grab my jacket and bag and run home.
************
"Kong. Where have you been ??"
My dad asks from his spot in front of the television.
"Oh, I dropped by my friend's house after school to work on a project, then me and my friends lost track of time. Video games, you know. I am sorry. Have you already eaten dinner Dad ??"
"There is pizza on the counter"
He says, nodding toward the kitchen, and move back his attention towards the telivision.
"Thanks, Dad"
I smile.
Inside I am quaking as I ate my pizza. I need to be more careful. My dad runs a departmental store in the main market of the town and spends all his day at the store. Normally he doesn't care what I am doing, not anymore...... But if he suspects that I am hiding something from him, he will question me until he finds out the truth.
What is the truth ??
I don't even know. I have found something....... Something beautiful and tantalizing. Something...... inexplicable, but wonderful. I have found something magical...... and
I don't want to share.
I hurry through my homework. Then I stuff everything back in my bag and start up my laptop. I don't know where to begin my search. I try his name first. There are no hits for Arthit Rojnapat.
I research the last name, finding that it belongs to the royals of this part of the country, centuries ago, which explains the rich and royal class of that Tombstone. I search for 'Rojnapat' in combination with 'Oregon' and other nearby city names. There is one hit. A public record of a property deed in south of Oregon. I click through the Department of Taxation website with my heart pounding. No sales on record since 1830. The property is still held under the name of Rojnapat's.
My fingers fumble the address four times before I am able to type it into Google correctly. The map shows me a secluded area almost two and a half miles outside of the town. If I walk there after school, I won't have time to visit the cemetery before I have to come home. The desire to know more about this man and his past is powerful, but the compulsion to return to his memorial and feel the living energy it possesses....... is formidable.
"It's only one day. It's only one day. I will go back there next day"
I reassure myself as I get ready for bed.
****************
The school day drags. My teachers drone, my classmates irritating, even my lunch is tasteless and boring. I am absent minded and distracted, despite my efforts to act normal.
As soon as the final bell rings, I hurry off, bypassing my locker to escape campus before anyone can flag me down or ask where I am going. I follow the route I memorized last night, walking as quickly as the slippery, leaf-strewn pathway allows. I reach the property forty five minutes later. I almost miss the turn, overgrown as it is, but an ancient iron post still bears a rusted sign, the letter 'R' curling around an old family crest. I recognize the symbol from the carved plaque by the Tombstone.
The road must have been paved with stone at one time. It's the only thing that has prevented the forest from swallowing it completely. I slip beneath the overhanging trees, and on the layers of fallen leaves and branches. I know I am on the correct path because iron lamp posts pop up every ten yards.
I step out into a clearing and stop, transfixed. The house is massive. White pillars hold up the sagging roof. The old structure, broken by years of neglect. But even in its sad condition, it is impressive. Stately. I approach the abandoned house, breathless and amazed.
He lived here..... Once upon a time, Arthit Rojnapat ate, lived and slept beneath that roof. For the thousandth time I try to imagine him.
Was he tall or graceful ??
Simple or smart ??
I walk around the entire house, taking in the boarded windows and extensive damage from insects and rot. I don't dare climb the steps to the front door. Several are missing and the rest are on the verge of disintegrating. I knock broken wooden pieces away easily, but the thick-paned glass is murky with grime. I heave against the weight of the window, but the latch holds and the frame creaks. I don't want to break it.
I pull the boards away from another window and try again. The latch pops free and the window moves an inch. Sweating with exertion, I manage to raise it more than a foot, but the frame is so warped that it won't move any further. Looking around the clearing, I make sure I am truly alone before lifting my foot high enough to hook over the frame. Hopping and pulling myself up, I am able to make my way through it. I land, breathless, on marble tiles.
The smell of rodents and rot are heavy in the stagnant air. I lift my shirt to cover my mouth and nose, then I start to explore. I am in an old living room. Turn-of-the-century furniture lies in shambles. There is a piano in the corner, collapsed and shattered, its strings coiling around and between the fractured wood.
I find the kitchen, the wooden slab still solid and sound, although it, too, is coated in grime. There was a wood-burning stove in the middle of the kitchen. Stacks of tarnished silver and delicate china sleep in carved wooden cabinets.
How has this place never been robbed ??
Has it been invisible all these years ??
I try the stairs, but my foot crashes through the third step, and I scream, the alien sound of my voice echoing from the walls and ceilings. The effect is haunting.
There is one more room on the main floor. A sort of parlor, with abandoned sofas rotting. I turn to go, only stopping when I notice an oil painting hanging above the ancient mantel. The light is poor, only thin strips of gray creep through the split boards that shield the windows.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn on my flashlight, aiming the beam at the oil canvas. There are five faces - three men, two women. Their clothes are fine, black coats and shiny waistcoats on the men, lace-trimmed gowns on the women.
I kneel, my legs suddenly weak and unsteady. They all are beautiful. More than beautiful. Otherworldly. Their skin looks smooth and white as moonlight, their features godlike and perfect. And the artist, whoever he was, captured their expressions flawlessly.
The middle aged man stands in the center of the portrait, his eyes glinting with kindness, his mouth is relaxed, almost smiling. A stunning woman leans into his side, her hair a mass of honey and wheat, her gaze radiating so much love. Her eyes, like the man beside her, seem to glow with an inner light.
Seated in front are two boys and a girl. Or rather, two young men and a woman. The blonde girl was so beautiful, her glinting eyes and smile was gorgeous.
The young man to her left holds her hand on his knee, twin silver bands on their ring fingers, Dark brown hair, curls against his broad forehead, Broad shoulders, broad hands, broad smile. He was a big man. With glinting eyes. Of course like others.
And then there's the boy to her right. I realize that this must have been an older portrait. He is much younger than the dates on the memorial plaque implied. If he was born in 1805, but the family didn't purchase this house until 1830. he would have been an adult, established with his own life and career when the family lived here. Even so, I know it's him.
Arthit Rojnapat.
I know because my heart pounds and my hands shake. And the hum..... it vibrates deep in my stomach, calling me back to him. I look into his eyes, and I see my soulmate. Trapped, like me in this unrealistic world.
His chocolate hair looks like it has a life of its own, curling in fire-tipped waves. His features are stark and chiseled, but as beautiful as a Greek god sculpture. He is perfect in every way. Every way but one. It must be some trick of the light, or water damage to the painting itself, but his eyes don't match the others'. They are looking over me, over the painter's head, focused on some point far, far away.
Lost......
Desolate.......
And they glow crimson....
Bleeding from within.....
Shaking, I let myself out, yanking hard on the jammed window until it crashes back into place. I shove my arms into my jacket sleeves and zip it up. It's raining again, and the light is failing. I jog through the evening light and think of his face, angelic in its beauty but possessed by some foreign agony. I want to visit him. To tell him what I have found. To tell him that I know him now.
My Arthit.......
Tomorrow. I will see him tomorrow.
***************
I am brimming with energy and excitement, as I am walking to the cemetery.
I take a different route today. It adds a few minutes, but I don't want people to notice a pattern and start bothering me. Maybe I am being paranoid. Something tells me it's safer this way.
Safer ??
I don't know why that word popped into my head.
I feel anxious as I draw closer. Fretting at my own slow pace until it finally comes into view. Iron rails, crumbling stone walls, and the old tree towering over it all. I check in front and behind, but the street is deserted.
When I finally stumble and fall against the stone, I chuckle breathlessly.
"Arthit"
I say, knowing who I am addressing. He is the boy in the portrait. I know he is 'Arthit'
I smile, sinking down to sit with my back against the tombstone. I set an alarm on my watch so I don't slip up again, then I lean my head back and close my eyes, feeling the thrum of my heartbeat vibrating through the stone.
"Arthit"
I whisper, and the hum of his reply caresses my spine.
*************
Sunday morning dawns bright and sunny, but I have seen the forecast. It won't last. Today is the free day for me and I can spend full day with my Arthit today. I just need to wait for my dad to leave for the store then I will off to the cemetery.
After having a silent breakfast with my dad like usual, I hear his car pulling out of the driveway, gravel crunching beneath its tires. Exerting every ounce of self control I possess, I finish cleaning the kitchen, and change my clothes.
My steps have a bit of a bounce as I head to the cemetery. The sun is shining, and I have the entire afternoon to spend near Arthit's grave. I arrive beneath the tree and feel how the stone greets me, vibrating the air with an almost audible buzz. I place my palm flat against the marble and whisper,
"Hello Arthit. I am back, just as I promised"
I plan to clean the marble stone today, it is loosing it's colour and shine and I want it, to stay the same......as beautiful as the man burried under it. I start with the brush, roughly clearing away pine needles and dirt. Next, I spritz the stone face with cleaning solution and scrub it vigorously, grinning as the natural glow of the marble shines through, pure as moonlight. It is a hot day and this whole process make me feel dirty and stinky, but it feels wonderful at the same time. I shed my extra layers of clothing, stripping down to my t-shirt and jeans, and keep spraying and wiping.
Once I have touched every surface, I step back to view my work. Gray and peach-pink veins wind their way through the stone, capturing my eyes. I haven't gotten all the dirt out of the intricate carvings, but the contrast between milk-white stone and darkened shadows is actually quite breathtaking. Every detail stands out in stark relief. It is a beautiful sculpture, carved with ornate arches.
As I walk around the Tombstone, I see I missed a spot. Standing on the base with my body pressed full length against the stone, I wipe away the last smear of dirt. I don't step away immediately. The skin of my hands is pink with exertion, steaming in the cool evening air. The stone offers blessed relief. It is cold at first, soothing as ice on a burn. But it warms with my body heat, humming at a higher frequency, shooting fire through my nerves until I can't even breathe.
The light is fading as clouds roll in from the ocean, but I am no longer afraid. Being close to the stone, seeing its true, unblemished beauty, feeling the living strength that emanates from its center, it's a moment that awakens some primordial force within me. This is my place. I will never feel as content, satisfied or complete as I do here.
I feel....happy.
Alive.
Free.
It is getting harder and harder to leave the stone, but my alarm is sounding. I cannot risk rousing further suspicion with my father. He wouldn't, couldn't understand. I cannot risk losing my Arthit.
I hurry home, shower, throw together a quick dinner and retreat to my room. Minutes later, I hear my father's car pull up.
***********
Every day at school, I am careful to move and speak as I always have. Slightly disinterested, but concise. By the time another Friday rolls around, I load my backpack with homework for the weekend and flee out the college campus.
A weekend. A whole weekend with my Arthit !!
My dad has plans to go out, for purchasing stocks for the store, tomorrow. I plan out my Saturday in advance. I can complete all of my chores tonight and leave as soon as he is gone in the morning. I can be there when the sun rises. When the stone turns from gray to white, glowing opalescent and pure, I will feel it awaken....
It is Friday afternoon, so I cut my visit to Arthit, shorter than normal. It hurts to leave early, but I promise him I will return with the sun, and I rush home to prepare dinner. My dad seems to be watching me more than usual. Again, I remind myself not to be paranoid as I wash the dishes. Breathing naturally, I plonk myself down in front of the television with a crossword puzzle and a soda. It's something I have always done. Familiar and predictable.
"So, Kongpob"
He starts in, his voice projecting his discomfort.
"Yeah, Dad ??"
I don't look up from my puzzle. My eyes would give away too much.
"You have been pretty busy lately. A lot of school work ??"
"No, not really. Just trying to get used to with life in here"
"You must be spending a lot of time with your classmates, then. Right ?? Any of these girl's around here catch your eye..... Planning to settle down ??"
I choke a little and try to hide it with a laugh.
"Dad.... I am just 18 ??"
I scoff. Inside, my heart is racing.
"Well, I remember what it was like to be 18"
"Uhhhhh........"
I have no words. My heartbeats are flaming. I fold the crossword in half and place it on the coffee table beside my soda.
"Dad I just trying to get to know this town....the people and the life here.... Nothing more"
"I know. Your mom and I met when we were 18. I just hope you will tell me when you find someone"
"Sure Dad I will"
I croak, mortified.
I know he has been suffering without mom. I just didn't realize that I was there on his mind too. In a way, I am relieved. He is still my Dad.
"Good"
He mumbles, sinking into his armchair.
"That's good"
************
Saturday morning, I force myself to wait for extra fifteen minutes after my father leaves. I pack a thermos of hot chocolate, two peanut butter sandwiches and an apple. I stuff few of my textbooks into my bag along with a couple of other books that I might actually enjoy reading. I roll an old towel tightly and fit that into the top of my backpack. There is no reason for me to come back until evening.
A car is passing as I near the cemetery. I don't recognize the driver, but I keep walking until the car is out of sight before backtracking to my destination. Once I am hidden beneath the old tree, I relax.
Just in time. The light is growing. An orange glow softens the eastern sky. I sip my hot chocolate with my back against Arthit's stone and wait. The warmth floods through me, around me, turning the stone a blushing peach, almost the color of human flesh. I turn to the side and press my cheek against the marble, smiling with tears in my eyes. It is so beautiful. So tranquil.
I hear and feel a crack. It's only a tiny popping sound, but it strikes me like a rifle shot. I gasp, my heart pounding with dread.
I reason through my panic. The stone is solid matter. It has been heated and cooled repeatedly, expanding and contracting year after year. It's a miracle it hasn't happened before. Look at all the other tombstones. Cracks, chips, worn spots......they happen. Erosion is natural. To be expected.
However, I am sure my efforts in cleaning the marble have removed the insulating layer of dirt, making daily temperature swings more extreme than normal. Maybe the cleaner I chose was too harsh, seeping into the pores and seams and degrading them further. I bite my lip, fighting tears.
"I am sorry Arthit"
I tell him, regretting my actions. Tears drip down my face, dropping from my chin and the tip of my nose, soaking into the stone.
I don't want this monument to fade, to fracture or break. I want it to outlive us all, to sit here unchanging every day of this existence. And I will visit it every day, the one constant in my life.
My true home.
"I am so, so sorry Arthit"
I repeat, sniffling back more tears.
The day is warm and beautiful, a rare thing in starting winters. As the morning stretches on, my guilt recedes somewhat. I am gradually able to reclaim my good spirits. It was only a little pop, I tell myself. Probably just like a hairline fracture.
I finish my notes and get up to stretch my legs, circling the marble with my fingertips stroking the carvings. Hard, yet still soft somehow, the texture is enchanting. I sit back down on my towel, facing the stone, with my bare feet pressed flat against the base. It towers over me, but it isn't sinister.
It's stunning......
Elegant......
Graceful.......
Hungry.......
Hungry ?? I pause and cock my head to one side.
Yes. It's hungry......
It wants me. That pull, the subtle vibration in my core, it has grown exponentially stronger. It craves my presence, just like I crave it's.
"I am here my love"
I say, knowing it cannot respond. Even so, I imagine that it sighs. I feel it in the soles of my feet. An exhalation. A settling.
"I am right here"
I repeat, smiling, and bite into my apple.
************
Tonight is an Eclipse night. On this clear, cloudless night, the stars will be blazing. Seeing my Arthit, during the day isn't enough for me any more. Every night stretches out before me, interminable and empty. I can hardly sleep any more. Missing him, being apart from him for hours, it's excruciating.
I wait until I can hear my father snoring, then I slide down the stairs and open the back door through the kitchen, The door creaks alarmingly, but I am committed. I slide the door shut and locked it from outside. My father rarely use this way out to the house. He won't notice it's lock from the outside...... I am certain of it.
In the faint silver glow of midnight, I sneak down the deserted street. Nobody is awake. A dog starts barking, but I hurry past, and it loses interest. When I reach the cemetery, the stones seem to float an inch or two off the ground. I tread carefully, following my normal route, until I pull aside the night-blackened branches and step up to Arthit's stone.
My heart pounds. The cracks have grown. I can see them clearly, even in the dim light. I am terrified by what I have done. If it falls down..... if I lose him...... I will die. I will wither and drift away, hollowed out and hopeless. It isn't fair !! I have been alone for so long. Now that I know how it feels to be happy and content, the thought of losing it all again...... Pulled the tears and air from my eyes and lungs in wrenching gasps.
"Oh, Arthit"
I sob, creeping up to the stone.
An entire piece of marble has fallen from the spot just above my head. I brush off the dirt, using my saliva to wet the stone and wipe it clean on my shirt. I climb up on the base, standing as tall as I can to fit the piece back into the correct spot. I will bring some glue once it's light.
"I can fix it. I will fix it"
I promise myself desperately.
I fumble with my phone's flashlight to help me get the orientation right. I don't want to chip the fragile edges. The light shines through the dark opening into the hollow place behind the stone. Something catches the light and throws it back.
A reflection.
I am looking into an eye......
Its pupil fully dilated and black as obsidian.
He moans...... merely a whisper. But his agony is mine. The truth slams through me, nearly tearing my heart in half.
This isn't a grave.......
It's a prison.
"Arthit"
I breathe.
The eye shifts.
He sees.
He knows.
I stumble backwards and fall, bruising my elbow on the edge of the plaque. Backing away, on my hands and feet, the horror nearly crushes me.
I flee from there.
Even as I run, my lungs burning in the frigid winter air, I know that it isn't fear that drives me away. Not fear of him, anyway.
But......
The fear of what I am about to do.
I know who he is, and who I am for him.
My reason says it's impossible, but I know what it is.
And I know that my fate, my destiny, is written on that stone slab. I was made for him.
He is my eternity.
I climb back the stairs to my room and huddle in my bed. There is no internal struggle. My decision is already made. It was made the first time I touched the standing stone.
But how......??
As I cower beneath my covers, my plan takes shape, a spider's web spinning itself within my mind. The symmetry is breathtaking. Of course. It makes perfect sense.
If I don't do this, I will mourn his loss for all of my existence. My pitiful, empty, meaningless existence. So really, I have no choice.
**************
I stay away for days. It is pure torture........ but my goal gives me strength and focus. When I return, it will be for the last time.
I won't be leaving him again.
I am only 18, but I have affairs to see to. Errands to run. Loose ends to tie. I write draft after draft of my letters to my father until I get it right. He is very much used to living without me around weeks at a time...... He leave the house for several weeks, when the loss of his missing soulmate fell heavy on his heart and burning soul.
He will learn to live without me too..... Day's will become weeks, weeks will become months and months will become an year.....
Then one year will become two, then three, then five. He will miss me, he will mourn, but he will survive.
In my letter, I tell him that I met a boy. A boy who gives my life meaning. He makes my heart pound and my knees weak. No, I am not just being childish or impulsive. He is my reason for living. I cannot live without him. And I know that he (my father) won't accept my sexual preference...... He won't allow me to be with a boy. So..... I am running away with him. Forever. I tell him that I love him. I tell him goodbye. I seal the envelope, drop it in the mailbox on our outer gate..... and set off for my final destination.
I no longer worry who sees me walking to the cemetery. By the time they think to investigate, it will all be over.
Ducking into the shelter of my favorite tree, I look up and freeze. The hammer in my bag isn't necessary after all. I have been gone for nine days.
Just nine days.....
The Tombstone is no more standing strong and beautiful.
It's been shattered. Chunks of marble litter around it.
I meet his eyes. His black-as-night, bottomless, tortured eyes.
He doesn't blink. He is standing, bound to a solid iron post that is as thick around as my thigh. Shackled and chained at his ankles and wrists. His legs and torso wrapped around and around with fist-sized links of welded iron.
I know he was cursed and punished, in this beautifully carved marble prison, centuries ago. I have searched about him in the old history books of the royalty of this town. There was a mention of the young prince being punished for turning into a life sucking demon.
I approach him slowly and his eyes drop down, widening in surprise.
He understands, what I am here for.
"They should have killed me"
He hisses, his hungry eyes swallowing me whole.
" They should have destroyed me when they had the chance"
His voice is satin....and sandpaper.... at the same time, dry as the desert wind. The marble shards and dust continue to shiver and fall as his entire body shudders, the chains rasping and grinding together.
Transfixed, I step closer, sucked in by the pull..... that insistent tug on my soul. I am trembling, too, the heat of my desire rolling off me in near-visible waves.
"It's okay. I want this Arthit"
I say, my eyes wide so he can see the honesty and commitment in my heart.
"I want you to do this"
I step up on the base, grabbing onto the chains at his waist. I stand toe-to-toe with my Arthit, my bare feet burning into the cold marble slab. The iron post rises above his head, black and menacing. The chains around his arms and legs creak as he strains against them.
I can free him.
I can break his bonds.
I have that power.
Because I am his Mate
He shakes his head, but he is bound so tightly that he can barely move. The marble beneath my feet quakes as he struggles. I find his hands, ice cold and harder than stone. But Fragile, somehow. I run my fingers down his, touching every sculpted joint. His hands curl into fists, the bones standing up in ridges. His clothes are just rags, his flesh sinks in hollows between every bone, but his beauty still consumes me.
"Two bodies...... one soul"
I whisper.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his silk like hair. I stand up on my toes and tilt my head back..... back, back until my spine creaks and my jugular pulses angrily against the strain.
"No......."
He protests weakly
"No, please........No......."
But decades of imprisonment and starvation have weakened more than his body. I feel it when his resistance crumbles. He groans, his breath sweeping sweet and cold across my skin. His head bends down until his lips rest against my throat.
'You may now kiss the groom'
I don't feel the pain, only the pleasure of finally touching him. The hum becomes a ringing cry, then a roar. A rushing flood of flames pours out of me to fill his brittle flesh, until the chains shatter and his arms are crushing me to him.
Arms firm.... strong and hot, filled with my blood.
I found my Soulmate.
🌞🌜🌞🌜🌞🌜🌞🌛🌞🌛🌞🌛🌞
A/N: It's an another one shot of KongArt. But it's different from my any other story....... I have read about a tombstone somewhere and this idea came into my mind. I shared it with my sweet little bamboo and she encouraged me to pen down this tale.....
I hope you all will like it. And I am sorry that there is no smut in it.... Again.... I promise I will write a wonderful smut story next time 😜
Bamboo_shoot Thanks sweetheart for your encouragement 💖💖