To be stained red# 14

The moon was bright in the sky. Mystery and allure, sorcery and magic.

******

All day the people had been on edge. The conversation hushed, the silence suffocating. Tension was simmering just beneath the surface, pain was pulsing deep within hearts.

The cold wasn't the only thing that chilled hearts, that gave shivers.

The night was of immense importance. The night of the full moon of the last month of the year. A dark night, for every Romanian.

When the sun finally set and the moon rose to the sky with all its magnificence, they left their homes and walked to the edge of the forest.

As they neared the clearing, they saw it. Blood; dirtying the grass and land.

Bodies lay, like stacks of hay all around the clearing, some whole, some in pieces- all dead.

About a hundread of them, all male- young and old. Unaware that this had been the last day of their life, that this night would bring to them death, in the face of the King that lost control of his demons once again.

There is sorrow in their eyes, but not disbelief. They had seen what he could do, what he had had once done.

They move then, like a dam broken, as they walk to the dead; instead of simply willing them to the side.

They pick them up, cradling them softly against their chests, collecting parts for those in pieces, burying them with all the respect the dead must be given.

The wind shifts, grows colder, as the first flake of the night floats to the ground.

Snow falls, in thick lumps only to touch the ground and be stained a beautiful red.

The red of life, the red of death. The color of lifetimes, of dreams and hopes, of souls and hearts.

And between it all, snow and blood, death and beauty, stands the statue, as proud and tall as ever. And in the cold night, it is an ever colder sight to see, for heartbreak and sorrow hangs around it like a curtain.

The white marble, looking so clean, is marked by despair and madness.

Once a prison, it had been left perfectly untouched even when the power hiding underneath it had broken out. For it was more than just a prison, it was a mausoleum. A tomb- to a sister, a wife, a queen.

The body turned to dust a century ago, the tomb standing for centuries to come.

And as before, the statue is clean. Not a speck of blood it, even as it flows so freely on the ground around it.

They move as one as they place candles on the ground. Those who are old enough to remember the woman they have lost, children who only know that it is something of great sorrow.

They feel him, standing under the shadow of the trees. His eyes drifting over them, before centering back on the statue.

It is a horse, standing on two legs, its mane of hair flowing behind it. Stubbornness in its eyes, pride in its stance. Freedom stamped on every fiber of its body.

Fitting. She loved horses.

Their loyalty and friendship. Their magnificence and beauty

A bougainvillea tree stands behind it, its pink flowers a beautiful contrast to the white of the marble of the statue.

********

He stands at the edge of the forest, arms coated in blood, as it drips down the tip of his fingers to the ground below, watching his people as they walk out to light candles on his Alina's grave.

It would humble him, if he had not lost his sanity as soon as the sun had set.

He had fought as it had taken control of his mind. The darkness that pulsed beneath his skin, that festered in his heart, and ran in his veins.

But the best he could do was to go as far away from his people as possible, to take the killing and bloodshed away from them. And so he did.

He remembers his claws tearing through flesh and bone, blood- as it gushed out and wet his face, as it ran down his throat like wine.

Death felt so good.

The only thing that could keep his demons at bay. Like alcohol to a human. Heady and intoxicating. Painless and freeing.

He will wake tomorrow morning, just like he has done for the last 10 days since he quit his position, with some semblance of sanity intact.

The madness would leave his mind, and leave behind only the memory of what he has done. Remorse and disgust will burn deep within his body, and he will be reminded again of what a monster he is.

He looks at them, his body as unmoving as stone, even as a war of wills goes on inside his head.

He moves away from the edge, leaving his people to pay their respect in peace, without the threat of death looming over them.

And by the time he feels the darkness recede, he finds himself at the edge of the cliff.

Constantine would have pushed himself off, if he didn't know for sure that he would live. If he hadn't tried this numerous times in the last 10 days.

Emptiness and frost seeps deep inside him as he looks up.

At the stars.

The stars that once shone in his lover's eyes. 

******

"Do you like flowers Tan?"

"I like everything you like, love"

She laughed at that, throwing her head back, and letting her hair cascade behind her.

The sound was soft and musical, and it made goosebumps run under his skin.

"You can't like something just because I like it."

"I can."

"I like bougaonvillea"

She saw the way he scrunched uo his face in distaste.

"You don't like it, do you?"

"It just has a lot of.... Ah...flowers. Like really lots of them"

"When we decide we want to move on from this plane, can we have a horse statue to mark our resting place? Like horses are fun right, and ...ah ...they are pretty, and... make great friends and ....can we please have it?"

"Anything you want love"

She looked up at him in the way that always made him smile. Hiding half of her face in his chest,  as she mumbled hesistantly.

"And a bougainvillea?"

He said nothing. God knew he could deny her nothing if she all but asked,  but not saying yes meant he still had a chance to talk her out of it.

"You won't be able to talk me out of this one Tan"

Of course she knew what he was thinking. She always knew somehow.

"When people come to see us, I'll fall over them like flowers in welcome"

****

And behind him in the clearing, a riot of flowers rained down on people.