A Series of Observations

A bead of sweat travelled down from her brow, and she wiped it away so to not ruin the books that lay around her. The billowing sleeves of her dark gown graced every surface her hands travelled as her hair routinely covered her face. She braced her hands on the table, seeking the support she needed to scare away the weakness that threatened from a lack of sleep.

The woman whispered to herself over her books, ever persistent in the search of the final key that she lacked. Her skirt kicked up chalk that lined the ground as she walked, she would repair the circle later. Travelling to the hearth, she stirred the brew in which she created, its bubbles offering a brief intermission of her thoughts. Steam clouded the windows as the temperature continued to rise, but it would never be able to block the powerful casting of the full moon that rose brilliantly in the sky.

The woman walked to open a window anyway, offering herself some reprieve from the heat before she relit some incense, the aromas wafting through the room. She returned to her books and brought them with her to the floor, where she continued her work on the ritual circle.

It was lightless where the man was, nearly imperceptible darkness that intended to rob him of his most profound sense, or at least that was the intent of his captors. They did not know the way that darkness sharpened him, the way that it brought him to life. He sat in his lifeless cell, chains chaffing on skin and tethering him to reality when he thought perhaps he was dead. When he closed his eyes, the darkness did not follow him in the same way, not exactly.

It was a different kind of darkness that he sought out in his dreams. Dark hair that cascaded down a delicate back, dark brows that were ever-burrowed over onyx-eyes that would not look away from a book. Though when they did, and when those eyes were focused on him, the silver ring surrounding them would flare as she performed her magic, or as they performed it together.

He had lost track of the days, with no way to know if it was night or day, but each moment that he slept, and many more times when the dreams would end and he was awake, he would seek her out again.

The woman completed her circle, its runes complete to perfection. The moon was nearly at its highest point now, and time was quickly escaping her. A finishing touch to her potion was all that was left, and she carried it, now cool, in a silver goblet to the center of the circle, where two offerings lie: a silver ring, and a rare stone pendant necklace.

She knelt at the center in front of her offerings, candles danced with her movement and incense continued to flow throughout the room, joining her collectively in this moment. She began to speak the ancient words, and with the moon at its highest point, she drank from the goblet and brought a blade’s sharpened edge to her hand. With a brief hiss she drew forth blood, its scarlet hue leaving her hand to unite with the items in the circle.

As the blood collided with the items, it erupted in a controlled flame. Her words grew as she worked her way through the spell. The energy of the room grew, a sense of pressure rising. The candles flared brilliantly and the woman’s prayer, if you could call it that, came closer to its completion.

The flame had dissipated, and she reached for the ring and necklace, holding one in each hand. They had not warmed from the flame, and certainly had not melted due to the magic that preserved them. They felt cold to the touch and each item hummed with the remnant energy of their connection. Still on her knees, she spoke the final words with her eyes closed. She would not be able to bare it should this have failed.

The man had paid close attention in his captivity. Where others would forfeit their minds, his found resolve. There others would allow for their fates to be sealed, he did not accept. In the darkness he prepared the etchings in the ground, a result of his meticulous handiwork even without vision of it.

He sat at the center of his circle and waited.

The woman had put all her remaining strength, desperation, anger, and love into the completion of the ritual. She could feel the soul tie between them strengthening, and in an instant, the candles blew out around her, and from the darkness and smoke a figure emerged.

Bathed in exquisite moonlight, he reached out to offer her his hand.

“You found me, my Darkling.” His words were velvet and rich wine.

She rose from her kneeled position, her hand remaining in his.

“You found me, Prince.” Her words came out breathlessly, the sight of him a blessed shock after so long.

He looked to her hand, to the blood that painted itself across her pale skin, and kissed his way across it, taking the necklace from her grasp. He reluctantly let go of her hands to replace the necklace around her neck, where it settled at her chest and luminesced from the effects of magic.

He dared step closer, afraid it might be a dream, and trailed his hands from her face to follow the curves of her body, never blinking as if to miss even the smallest change in her.

She took his hand once more and brought the ring to return to its rightful place.

“I would prefer it if we never had need to do it again.” the woman smirked up at him.

“As you wish,” he vowed, “never again.”

Retribution would be a promise for another day, but for now all that mattered was this reunion.