The Crimson Stain

An experiment. Please critique.

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            She keeps her eyes closed as she manifests into the realm of mortals, taking in the atmosphere one sense at a time. The gentle breath of the world caressing her pale skin. Soft blades of grass brushing against her bare feet. Sounds of rustling leaves and an owl’s hoot some ways behind her trickle into her ears. The rich scent of apples and peaches mixed with honey she could almost taste.

“Enjoying the moment?” Her eyes flick open. Ah, the man with pearl eyes. Hardly visible in the moonlight, sitting there in an apple tree. Eating a peach. Looks like a frog, the way he’s perched up there. She likes frogs.

“Hello Frog.” She smiles up at him.

“So that’s my name this time, eh?” The man, grinning, falls forward, flips, and lands lightly on his feet in front of her. “Been a while, Zel. Come to announce another passing?”

“When else do you find me?” She sees Frog look toward the old manor not far off. A lit window reveals a little girl searching through a desk. “Though I wonder, are you here for more than a kindly greeting, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” Frog glances back at Zel. “Alas, my duties indeed call me elsewhere, and so a kindly greeting it must be left.” He makes an exaggerated, flourishing bow. A flash of light catches Zel’s attention to a blade at his side. “Farewell. Until the next corpse. May we have more time for pleasantries then.” Shadowy tendrils begin twisting up from around his feet, consuming his body, even to his pearl-white eyes, causing the form to collapse into the ground and vanish into the wavering shade of the wind-rustled trees.

Zel turns to the manor, her feet gliding over the delicate grass bringing her to a water basin in a courtyard next to the aged building. She notices a web of ivy clinging to the side of the stone wall like frost on a window. The intricate weaving of stems in and out of cracks in the rock makes her smile. So different from her home of insubstantial echoes of substance.

She sits at the dry stone basin with her back to the manor, lazily lifting her hand from her side. The air around her arm quivers, quickly replaced by a dripping red cloth. Zel brings the bloodied garments into the basin and waves her free hand over it languidly, summoning a fresh pool of water, which almost immediately turns into a dark wine tint. Her hands busy themselves in the pooled liquid as a song flits past her lips like butterflies escaping a net.

The cloak of Death

Like Winter’s breath

Veils the sound

Of mourning

Softly soon

Come ‘morrow’s moon

Souls will rise

Soaring

Falling rain

Will come in vain

To wash the crimson stain

            She thinks of Frog’s blade. Of the girl in the window. Of the blood in her hands, familiar as water. Death is both as natural to her as a river’s flow and as foreign as sunlight on a summer’s day. Why is it so painful for those that yet live? She is vaguely aware of someone’s presence behind her as she continues her eerie melody.

While pale face

Calls Death’s embrace

The gentle wind

Shall cease

Listless bliss

Shall be as mist

When sorrow falls

In peace

And with the slain

Comes lover’s pain

Who holds the crimson stain

            She senses the presence draw nearer. It feels timid with its light footfalls erratically stepping and stopping, unsure of itself. The little girl? Zel looks down at the garments in her hands: A man’s long silk shirt with a frayed tear in the middle. Perhaps the father’s. The lyrics continue through the cool night air.

Blood will drip

And fate yet grip

The wings of ash

So barren

Dawn’s bright gaze

Shall fail to raise

The faces of

The children

When all is lain

O’er mortal’s bane

There lies the crimson stain

           

            Zel’s melody ends. She stares down at the shirt in her hands, keeping still while the calm silence lengthens. Slowly turning her head, she looks at the girl watching her only a few feet away. The look in her eyes is full of wonder and curiosity. It reminds her of herself whenever she found something new in the mortal world. She feels sadness for the girl, not quite knowing why. How might this young one take the death of her father? The mortal kind tend to each react somewhat differently in such a position.

            She decides not to linger with this child much longer. Her appearance to mortals also causes varied reactions. Zel lets her presence dissolve into the air, an early mist catching the morning breeze. The wondering girl is left alone in the moonlit courtyard. A dark liquid drips from the basin.