Forevermore.
By: grey
Church of Saint Jacques, 1368
At the alter stand a priest over the two lovers and the aisle of people in attendance, the silence is broken by the sound of the bells twelfth toll.
Perenelle: “promise me we will be together”
Nicolas, grasping her outstretched hands with his own
Nicolas: “until death due we part, and then, we will have each other forevermore as we stroll through heaven’s gate”
Priest: “I now pronounce you, man and wife.”
5 Hours later…
Nicolas, sitting alone writing at his desk in the light of the sun setting in the west, in the bed behind him, lied Perenelle wrapped in bloody sheets of red, red like the red rose pedals scattered on her lifeless body.
“Dearest Nicolas, I wish not to have taken my own life…” Nicolas writes on a pale brown parchment “but I know our love was not true, I deceived you, tricked you into holy matrimony with the sole purpose to take my own life so that I might see heaven’s gate” a smile stretches from cheek to cheek as he continues to print these lies “I only hope my earthly riches ease your suffering. Do not weep; I will be at the gates of heaven where I shall wait for…”
A voice interrupts the sound of the pen against the parchment, in a honey sweet manner it spoke
Perenelle: “Come back to bed, Nicolas, my dearest.”
Nicolas’s face went pale as a single bead of sweat fell from his brow, as he slowly turned to face his lifeless lover who lies in a crimson pool. She jerked up in bed, almost as if she awoke from a deep sleep her body still in a bloody jumble of lesions and lacerations. Once again, she spoke with a joyous and honeyed voice.
Perenelle: “come to bed, and let us dream of the life we shall share”
Nicolas looks into the eyes of her mangled figure and utters anxiously
Nicolas: “y-yes dearest”
What has he done…?
Back in the halls of the Church of Saint Jacques, the priest prays for answers
The priest: “why…”
The priest grasping in his two outstretched hands was a large, silver knife. As he plunges this knife into his chest, as a small pool of blood form at his knees, staining his black robes, black like an onyx stone, black like his eyes that gaze into the infinitely black void above as he cries out in pain.
The priest: “why do you curse me so? What sin, so vile, have I done to have such a curse befallen me?”
The blood that ran like a stream from the knife that now impaled his chest seemed to trickle out, then, stop. The priest fell to the floor, but his prayers still rang through the aisles, his question rang much like the bell overhead. The sound of the tolling of the bells rang out throughout the country scape.
The priest: “One, two, and three… “
The sound of the bells echo in the mind of the priest “four, five, six” the pain washes over him, he skips a toll.
The priest: “Eight, nine… ten, only ten this time… “
The priest staggers to his feet, the knife lied on the floor, and the silver blades razors edge glimmered in the candle light. A glimpse of himself in the blade of the knife he went to-and-fro down the aisle until he broke into the streets through the tall, battered doors.
The priest: “why am I, a loyal subject of god, forbidden to see the glorious gates of heaven?”
His cry rang out, through the dark nothingness of the streets
The priest: “WHY?!?”
The priest’s eyes met a single glimmer of light, as a single white feather falls down before him. A voice so calm, yet demanding broke out of the hollow darkness replacing it with a hot white light, a blinding white light, but the faint outline of an angelic figure was still evident.
The voice: “The pact between god and his subject has been defiled, and it was by your hand that this atrocity has come to pass, heed my words, for heaven nor hell may lay claim your soul less this act be rectified by your hand.”
The Priest: “and to what task might my hand play in the act in completing?”
His voice cracked with fear of the figure before him.
The voice: “The name of the all mighty, and his gifts have been used in vain, the boundary between man and god has become blurred and it was by your hand has this most sacred of borders have become distorted.”
The priest: “who? Who are those to break the mortal bonds of man? Who is so vain to wish such pain upon themselves?”
The light began to fade, back into the blurred figure until a flash of light was consumed by the utter darkness of the night.
Who…
Years pass…
Perenelle: “Nicholas, please bring me a glass of tea”
Nicholas, standing in the kitchen obeys the command submissively, almost automatically.
Nicholas: “yes, dearest”
As Nicholas pours the tea, he adds a generous amount of arsenic into the glass and serves the deadly brew to Perenelle, laying her bed with the local paper in hand.
Perenelle: “a new queen has just been crowned in England, This queen Victoria is supposedly going to bring in a new age”
Perenelle looks up to Nicholas, but Nicholas does not meet her gaze, instead, his sights dart out the window above the bed.
Nicholas: “that’s nice dearest”
Perenelle takes a long sip from the pale white glass cup of tea. A long sigh followed as she returns the glass the nightstand beside her. The glass rested upon the nightstand, the room with an almost deathly stillness. Perenelles’ gaze finally met by Nicholas’s cold, blank expressions, he tries to resist but he could not help but grin at his devious act. As Perenelles body begins to spasm, her mouth foaming and her eyes turning a milky white as the life drains from her face. Nicholas turns away from her and lets out a sigh in relief.
Nicholas: “over… it’s finally over”
But as Nicholas leaves the bedroom a voice rings out that halts him; it spoke in a honey sweet manner it said.
“Nicholas…”
His head jerks back to pale body of Perenelle, the sound of a pin could be heard echo through the halls but the silence ended by the sound of beating, beating… the heart of Perenelles heart beats steadily, the sound pounded in the Nicholas’s head.
Perenelle: “Nicholas please brew me another kettle of this delicious tea, it is absolutely divine”
Perenelle extends a cold lifeless arm and, in the outstretched hand, held the pale white glass cup. Nicholas
quickly swipes the pale white cup from Perenelles cold, lifeless arm with disgust.
Nicholas: “dearest, why won’t you die?”
Perenelle: “do you remember what you said to me, on our wedding day, do you remember?”
Nicholas’s glaring down at Perenelle, his eyes like daggers and still, Perenelle stares and with a smile, repeats.
Perenelle: “do you remember?”
Nicholas: “yes”
Nicholas replies with a grunt, disgusted by how calm Perenelle spoke to him.
Perenelle: “until death due we part, and then, we will have each other forevermore as we stroll through heaven’s gate, im going to keep you to your word, Nicholas, dearest.”
Nicholas’s glare softened to a horrified stare of disbelief.
Perenelle: ”we will be together forever.”
Nicholas scampers away like a dog with a vengeful master. He runs to the kitchen and grabs the kettle atop the stove and pours a glass. Franticly, he swallows the deadly beverage and falls to his knees. As the world around him begins to fade into darkness, and his body begins to sway between consciousness and the bitter-sweet end. However, before his sight finally fails and his body begins to spasm, his mouth begins to foam, the last thing he sees is the sight of Perenelle standing over him and, in her honey sweet manner
Perenelle: “good night Nicholas, my love, I will see you in the morning.”
And just then, Nicholas’s world turns black. The next morning, Nicholas awoke beside Perenelle, who nuzzled herself beside his still aching body. Her warm, silky skin against his own, he looks down at Perenelles sleeping form and mutters under his breath
Nicholas: “still alive… “
Around the same time, in the Britain empire
The priest is hunched over his desk, inkwell by his side.” It is now June 25th 1837, I near the quincentenary of my years on this earth, I have seen everyone I’ve loved pass on, ascend to the heavenly gates. Though I know it a sin, I mustn’t claim to be envious of them. I have, since meeting the angel, searched for the sinners who crossed the border between man and god with success. I have seen each faithful follower of my church expire; my church, my nation, my friends, I watch as they all experience what I so greatly sought after. “
The priest looks up, upon the gold cross that shimmers as the suns ray glimmer and glisten, a single white feather fall down upon the priest’s desk. The arched, angelic figures glare landed on the hunched priest. The voice resonated with the toll of the tolling church bell, the priest laughed.
The priest: “the angel of Saint James, is this the mind of a hoary, tortured man that conceive such things? I plead with you, Angel; pester me no longer with this promise of venturing beyond this existence and attaining what is so sought out by those who are neither man nor god.”
Saint James: “though not of the same blood of man, you are hardly god.”
The priest jolts up in anger his arm slam down in protest.
The priest: “Then what am i?! Am I a mere plaything for the all mighty? What hand do I play so great that im denied my mortal right?”
Saint James: “you do not ask, you are, and it is all simply means to an end”
The priest: “to what ends? To what great role do I play?”
Saint James: “that is yet to be seen.”
~End of chapter 1~