judgment on me? Your birthright does not parallel to the wishes of a preternatural. If it is a life of mortal torment, of noble dying blood that you desire, then I shall return you to the bed of your dearest beloved.” He watched her expression change to behold a faint glimmer of hope.
“But in time, in your mortal time, I shall return to you, hovering over your dwindling, dreaming form. I shall come to gather my claim of redemption!”
His voice grew deeper at the end of his speech, reverberating in her chest, threatening to stop her heart. Alexandria, unable to speak against the beast that stood before her, stared at him bewildered. “Why me? Why have you chosen me?”
He smiled almost pleasantly. “You are the beautiful princess of the Spectrum. Why would I not choose you?” His ghastly form rippled with his breath. He looked at her with the Devil inside of him.
Shifting his glance to the window, Lokee walked up behind her, his voice lowering to an intimate whisper, “Remember, Alexandria, remember me,” he taunted, looking into her face one last time, “and remember that you are marked!”
She arched her back in excruciating pain as he sliced methodically down the length of her back. She cried out in agony as he dug deeply into her flesh, drawing on her back as if it was a canvas and his nails were utensils.
When he finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork, blowing on it, cauterizing it with his magic. Chanting in a foreign tongue, he held her tightly in front of him as he looked into the mirror. His arm was across her throat. Her eyes were half-mast, but she saw their reflection, stifling a scream when she looked into his black eyes again.
A swirling fog came at her from the mirror revealing a black hole. She looked into it, terrified of what he meant to do. She tried to back away, but only pushed into him. With a swift push, he sent her tumbling, screaming, through his mirror.
“A woman knows the face of the man she loves
as a sailor knows the open sea.”
–Honore de Balzac
Eight
The dull forest silence was shattered by Alexandria’s tormented cry. Her body convulsed as pain shot to the ends of her limbs like wildfire. She opened her eyes. Straining to focus on the man next to her, who was trying to comfort her, Alexandria fought until she realized they were Roman’s arms around her. Intense relief filtered through her, erasing some of the agony.
“Oh my God! Alexandria? How did you . . . where did you come from?” Roman looked at the mirror which looked back at him as a normal mirror would. He looked at the trembling woman beside him, utterly shocked by her sudden appearance. “My darling, what happened?”
“Is it really you?” she said slowly, struggling to keep her eyes open wide enough to look at him.
“Hush, my darling. You’re safe now,” he promised, enveloping her in his strong arms. He kissed her forehead. They searched each other, confused, but joyous for the togetherness they were somehow granted.
He rubbed her back, causing her to cry out. “My back, my blood—” she uttered, shakily.
He lifted his hand away from her quickly, looking over her shoulder and down at the blood drenched nightgown. “What has he done to you?” he asked, horrified. He reached down and tenderly lifted the gown enough to see where the bleeding was coming from. “I can’t see the wound clearly.”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes closed against the pain. He lifted her up effortlessly and carried her to his bed, lying her down gently on her side. She rolled onto her stomach. The ache was unbearable. Roman left her side.
“Roman!” she cried.
He hurried back to her with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. “Shhh, baby. I’m right here. Let me clean this up so I can tend to it properly.”
“It hurts. It hurts so badly,” she slurred. Her eyes closed and she drifted off.
Roman dipped the cloth in the warm, herb-infused water. He was using the
“But in time, in your mortal time, I shall return to you, hovering over your dwindling, dreaming form. I shall come to gather my claim of redemption!”
His voice grew deeper at the end of his speech, reverberating in her chest, threatening to stop her heart. Alexandria, unable to speak against the beast that stood before her, stared at him bewildered. “Why me? Why have you chosen me?”
He smiled almost pleasantly. “You are the beautiful princess of the Spectrum. Why would I not choose you?” His ghastly form rippled with his breath. He looked at her with the Devil inside of him.
Shifting his glance to the window, Lokee walked up behind her, his voice lowering to an intimate whisper, “Remember, Alexandria, remember me,” he taunted, looking into her face one last time, “and remember that you are marked!”
She arched her back in excruciating pain as he sliced methodically down the length of her back. She cried out in agony as he dug deeply into her flesh, drawing on her back as if it was a canvas and his nails were utensils.
When he finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork, blowing on it, cauterizing it with his magic. Chanting in a foreign tongue, he held her tightly in front of him as he looked into the mirror. His arm was across her throat. Her eyes were half-mast, but she saw their reflection, stifling a scream when she looked into his black eyes again.
A swirling fog came at her from the mirror revealing a black hole. She looked into it, terrified of what he meant to do. She tried to back away, but only pushed into him. With a swift push, he sent her tumbling, screaming, through his mirror.
“A woman knows the face of the man she loves
as a sailor knows the open sea.”
–Honore de Balzac
Eight
The dull forest silence was shattered by Alexandria’s tormented cry. Her body convulsed as pain shot to the ends of her limbs like wildfire. She opened her eyes. Straining to focus on the man next to her, who was trying to comfort her, Alexandria fought until she realized they were Roman’s arms around her. Intense relief filtered through her, erasing some of the agony.
“Oh my God! Alexandria? How did you . . . where did you come from?” Roman looked at the mirror which looked back at him as a normal mirror would. He looked at the trembling woman beside him, utterly shocked by her sudden appearance. “My darling, what happened?”
“Is it really you?” she said slowly, struggling to keep her eyes open wide enough to look at him.
“Hush, my darling. You’re safe now,” he promised, enveloping her in his strong arms. He kissed her forehead. They searched each other, confused, but joyous for the togetherness they were somehow granted.
He rubbed her back, causing her to cry out. “My back, my blood—” she uttered, shakily.
He lifted his hand away from her quickly, looking over her shoulder and down at the blood drenched nightgown. “What has he done to you?” he asked, horrified. He reached down and tenderly lifted the gown enough to see where the bleeding was coming from. “I can’t see the wound clearly.”
She didn’t respond. Her eyes closed against the pain. He lifted her up effortlessly and carried her to his bed, lying her down gently on her side. She rolled onto her stomach. The ache was unbearable. Roman left her side.
“Roman!” she cried.
He hurried back to her with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. “Shhh, baby. I’m right here. Let me clean this up so I can tend to it properly.”
“It hurts. It hurts so badly,” she slurred. Her eyes closed and she drifted off.
Roman dipped the cloth in the warm, herb-infused water. He was using the
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