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@}-- Act I
@}-- Act II
@}-- Act III
@}-- Act IV
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@}-- Act X
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Letters from the Heart, Act III

"He looks foreign."

"Of course he is! Look at his skin!"

"What are those markings under his eyes?"

"Tattoos, dear. Now, don’t touch."

“Shh! He’s waking up!”

A hush fell as Lucien opened his eyes and focused on the nearest object, which was someone leaning over him. The light stung his eyes and he had to cover them. He brought up a hand to do so but felt resistance. Why couldn’t he move? He shut his eyes again and tried to speak. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat felt dry.

“Where am I?” he croaked.

“You’re in Meier, lad.”

Lucien turned his head in the direction of the gruff sound voice. “Meier?” he echoed. It sounded vaguely familiar. Wasn’t that the town he was looking for?

“My horse?”

“Alive and well. You’re horse wouldn’t leave your side.”

Lucien managed a small smile. “Good ol’ Hastor.” He let himself drift back to sleep.

The next few days were a mixture of soothing darkness and harsh daylight. There were always voices about him, all indistinguishable. Sometimes he could make out vague shapes and random words on the very fringes of sleep, but none of it ever made sense. Every now and again a word spoken would bring a singular moment of clarity; however, sleep would always overtake him before he could utter a word.

When he did sleep his dreams were always filled with images of Celesta. Why did she have such a hold over his heart? Especially now? It was over. Completely. She had chose and he was certainly nowhere in her future. He was just a forgotten shadow, just like so many of her gentlemen admirers.

He woke to shouting and someone shaking him. He sat up groggily with the person still shouting at him. He stood with some difficulty and realized that his legs might not hold him up. Someone slipped an arm about his waist and helped him walk. People were gathering personal belongings and important items quickly and running. What was going on?

Lucien forced his assistant to stop and he grabbed his things from the bedside. At least, those that he had seen. No sense going out unprepared. His assistant came to him again and helped out of the building. It wasn’t until then did he see the cause of all the commotion: men and women dressed in robes and armor were burning the village and attacking the people.

He watched as one group herded villagers into the main building. For what purpose he wasn’t sure. He tried to stop and turn about to help but the person helping him kept him moving away from the scene and toward safety. Lucien was too weak to resist and break free. Besides, what could one man do alone against a fanatical band of overzealous marauders?

Then, it hit him: those people must be the reason why he was here. They were the reason why he was here. They were the reason why Draconis had sent him to the edge of the world. He found for himself a direction. A path to follow. A focus. This was why he was here. Draconis’ reconnaissance was out of the question. He would have to stop them.

***

Celesta paused within the entryway of her manor and listened intently. She couldn’t hear any sounds of “him” anywhere and breathed a sigh of relief. A pang of guilt swept over her. She tried to shrug it off but the feeling wouldn’t leave.

She stepped forward cautiously, listening. Nothing. Figuring it as safe, she went directly to the kitchen and prepared a mug of coffee. She always felt incredibly tired whenever she entered her own home and that somehow struck her as odd. She shouldn’t feel tired when coming home. She shouldn’t dread coming home, either.

She set her mug of coffee down on a nearby counter and thought for a moment. What exactly was bothering her? Matteo’s courtship of her had been fun and she had enjoyed being with him. The letters he had written her were so lovely and she had felt a warmth being to grow in her heart. She had thought that at that time that Matteo was the one.

Then, when she had seen Lucien after so long in the tavern her heart swelled. Where Matteo’s letters flattered and wooed her with their flowery words, Lucien’s tugged at the very heart strings in the most complicated way and seared her soul with their honesty. Matteo had written his to impress her, and impress her he had. Lucien had written his from his heart. To let her know who he was before it was much too late.

The thought of Lucien made her frown. Where was he? Did he leave for good? Did he return home? Did he miss her?

She would imagine he wouldn’t. Not with the way they had parted ways a year ago. Maybe that poem she wrote for him wasn’t just about him to never be too late ever again but it was really about her. She was already too late. She had made her fatal mistake and now paying for it. Her marriage was falling apart and on some small level she was happy about it.

Matteo had turned into every other man that had courted her officially: a rabid dog hovering over its meat to protect it from all others. He ignored her constantly and she was treated like a conquest. A marriage shouldn’t be like that. The wedding night shouldn’t have been him rolling atop her and pleasing himself without a word of explanation of what was going on or what he was about to do.

She should have listened to her instincts when the priest had asked her if she would take Matteo as her lawful husband. He mind had been screaming at her to say, “No” but she didn’t. She said, “Yes.” Why did she say, “Yes?”

Why couldn’t Lucien have approached her sooner? Why didn’t he tell her how he felt long before all those other children who thought themselves men did? She should’ve known sooner about him. Why didn’t she see it? All those times they spent talking together. All those gestures of kindness he had done for her without even wanting any payment in return. Lucien was just too perfect.

Tears began to well up in her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “Much too perfect.” A perfect gentleman. Chivalrous, polite, honorable. He always did the right thing. That was why they stayed so quiet about everything. It would have hurt too many people. Created too many complications.

She sniffed and dashed her tears away. There was no used crying over it now. Lucien was probably never coming back so she would just have to suck it up and move on. She would try to make things work between her and Matteo. If it didn’t, oh, well. She will move on.

Celesta took in a calming breath and blinked to clear her eyesight. She thought of Lucien again with his gentle smile and his soft spoken voice, of how easily embarrassed he would get every time she would tease him. She missed the cadence of his voice and the sound of his laughter. She missed being comforted by him and the feeling of being safe in his arms. She missed him so much.

She felt a wetness stain her cheeks and heard a soft hiccupping sound. Then she realized that it was her. She put her face into her hands and began to cry. Why did she say, “Yes?”

***

The resistance had been successful so far. As soon as word spread that a group of villagers lead by a knight had successfully driven off raider more people wanted to join.

Salris was not pleased.

Within the last year alone all of his purifications of select villages and towns had been turned aside by a mere handful of people. It was that damn knight that was getting in his way.

The reports he read seemed to describe him as some sort of demon. He certainly sounded like it, with his black armor and darkened blades. He moved with a speed and fluidity that few could ever hope to match. Oddly enough, the knight had a great sword strapped to his back but none had ever seen him use it. None of his troops were killed but some would return maimed or missing limbs. Those were the ones that didn’t give up attacking. As proud as he was of them, they were now useless to him as troops. He had a feeling that that was the point.

There had to be something he could do to squelch this offensive rebellion against his rule and pave the way for Omicron’s arrival to the mortal realm. Normally, if one took off the head of a snake the rest would die. But how? No one had been able to get in close enough to break his shield. There was always a chink in armor. There was just a matter of finding it.

“Sir?”

He looked up to see a soldier, fresh from battle, kneeling before him. He waved his hand to continue.

“Sir, the Dark Herald has sent a message.”

He raised his eyebrows. “’The Dark Herald?’”

The soldier cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. That’s what your men are calling ‘him’ now.” He picked up a sack that reeked of the sickly sweet smell of blood. He opened it up and presented to his general the head of his commander.

“So, now he is not above killing,” the paladin mused.

“He wouldn’t stop attacking the herald, sir,” the soldier explained. “Even after multiple warnings.”

“He warns them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How interesting…” He contemplated the head for a long moment before saying, ”Do as you see fit with your commander. I want a report of what happened presented to me in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched in mild interest as his soldier wrapped the head back up and depart the room.

Now this mighty knight had a name of sorts and he had just made his first kill of the rebellion. He was sure that many more were to follow. He wondered how long this herald could cling to his precious morals and codes. He would dearly love to see how far he could push this knight. See his limits and his own. Here was someone he could actually receive a challenge from and see what he was truly capable of.

Here was finally a test of his will.

 

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