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{Ginevra:}
Have you forgotten?
The burning rooms and wordless conversations,
The magic and the physical starvation
That gathered at our beds each morn with pleas
To feel and be felt by our weakening resolutions?
Have you mistaken me for nothing but a dream?
Am I not as vivid in your memory as on these sheets?
Am I not lively in your grey landscape of a life?
{Draco:}
That is not the matter and you know it well
You came, you dwelled, you cast a spell,
And here I stand now, waiting for a cure
Irritated, degraded, lost – obscure!
Obscure yourself from my poor sight
For I cannot conceive a single thing beside your light!
What have you done, you selfish witch?
I am collapsing and you are seemed to be the goddess I beseech
For my salvation!
What memories of physical starvation you might talk of?
I have them all imbedded in my chest!
Not memories these are, nor dreams!
For I myself enjoy this fast.
And damned be all your light
Be damn, you witch, for forcing me to fight
Those that I have sworn my soul to!
{Ginevra:}
Those are the ones I cast your faults to!
They’ve bred you like a horse, a cur of breeding and of wealth
But they have not foresaw my stealth,
For I have stolen that possession which they wished to break to shards.
I have now what you might recognize as your own heart.
{Draco:}
Oh, wicked creature, you are foul!
{Ginevra:}
And you are nothing but a scowl, mi lord!
Dare not blame me for my love, for you have reveled in it in the night
And it is my name you spoke as tender as a breeze when you had reached your heights!
It is me, who brought you blood and news and winds of high,
And it is I, by whose desires you should now abide!
Not a serpent, not that devil with the eyes as red as my own locks
Yes, I know well of all your doings, do not be as shocked.
The carving on your arm, the pallor on your skin
You’ve dabbled with the evil, bathing in his sin!
But I! I’ve come to hold you tighter than a mother ever would.
As a lover I traipsed your life, and as I savior I still could!
Forsake! Forsake, beloved, all that black around your name,
Give in and let me show you it cannot be the same
With me beside you and my love inside your heart!
Forsake, I beg of you! Don’t let us part!
{Draco:}
You’ve spoken words and weaved your tales,
Now let me tell you, I have found them stale.
You think you hold my heart, but if ‘tis so,
A piece of coal you hold with you and nothing more.
You thought your hands could break the sting I have
Pardon my scorn, but you don’t worth a half
A tramp I pick for a mere coin!
Do not beguile yourself; you’re merely passing to my loins.
A filth, so poor, so rank, so sickly I have yet to see
My dearest wench, you were but a meal to me.
Dare not claim to have some power over me,
For I might laugh and further wound your meager dignity
Alas, poor girl, you were barely more than a dog
To my amusement I have fed and patted you, and now, return to bogs
Where you so luridly belong!
Don’t deem yourself to be as strong
As to entrap me in your tasteless charms.
Be gone before I cause you harm!
A meaningless jest you were to me,
And meaningless you have remained after this entreaty.
Away! Away with you, I said!
{Ginevra:}
So I was naught, but a warmer to your bed?
And I meant nothing to your heart, this piece of coal?
And I had not a-touched your soul?
Meaningless, you say?
{Draco:}
‘Tis so.
{Ginevra:}
Then I shall go.
I shan’t tire you with words of grief
For now I see I was as permanent as leaves
Oh, cursed feet, they bare not lead me off your sight
What had become of proclamations of my light?
{Draco:}
They’ve dissipated with the darkness that is perched within.
And it is anchored strongly than you might have seen.
Don’t waste another moment of my sight,
Be gone! Be gone, you blight!
[Weeping, she leaves.]
{Draco:}
What has become of my poor heart?
This lump of coal has something to impart,
And Merlin, it is too horrid to withstand,
For it is seem to vastly understand
The amount and intensity in which I’ve lied just now.
Oh, what a wretched deal, what can I do and how?
It is most comical how the room darkens around myself.
Is it my sight or have I chased my pride into this hell?
Be still. Be still, you foolish heart, you’ll make these matters worse!
What do you know of father’s rules weighing on you like a curse?
You know naught of these things! Not laws, nor obligations—
Don’t speak again of physical starvations!
You’re like an insolent child, wailing when it’s favorite toy
Is ripped away with latest specks of joy
But you are not a child, even though you wail as loudly
And I remind you stoutly,
I shall not be moved from this position!
It is you who reduced me to such a sick condition,
And you shall keep it down while I recollect myself,
And heal this rip within my chest, returning you to shelf
To never to be used again! You blasted thing,
You ruined every single bit of everything!
No, do not show me the quailing moon in all her glory!
No, I do care she weeps at the ending of this story!
I was not placed upon this earth to entertain this lady
And not to surrender to a girl when things got shady!
Stop crying, heart! I beg of you, or I shall join your wails as well.
Oh what a horrid, wretched, blasted spell!
Meaningless she was and meaningless your pain is now!
Oh, you damned creation, I shan’t bow!
You bear no conviction in my mind and you are nothing but a voice,
A feeble voice that speaks as if I have a single choice
In all of this!
Do you forget the pain and hiss?
It will not do to beg and wrench,
I will not go after that wench!
Lo’, the darkness once again surrounds the room.
The room, this room that barely today has burned and bloomed
With cries of souls and tears of joy, bodies’ release,
And on this bed, where first I felt this peace,
I’ve slumbered years of past and never knew such quietness existed
The giddy gales of laugh as light persisted
And have failed to chase us off our lodge.
Oh, this strike, how can I dodge?
For now I see an open gush within my chest
And it is bleeding red on this foul crest -
The sign of family and obligations
Is marred by hues of her and thoughts of that starvation!
That was not meaningless, alas!
Oh, how could I have been so harsh and crass?
What have I done? Or better yet, how do I mend it?
For surely I will not oblige to live this wretched life pretending
That once I have not lived, held tight between those arms and locks and thighs
That once I have not fallen, drowned and roused in those brown eyes.
Like birds of myth, I merged with soil and came back bursting in the fire
And now, again, I’m famished with desire
And all I see is red and gold and her!
Oh, foolish heart, you will not be deterred!
Oh, bless you, you miserable thing! Bless you for pouring acid on the open cut
To draw the blood and paint her face, oh, thank you, thank you, heart!
The End.
Lirie Halliwell is the author of 16 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 1 members. Members who liked A Midwinter's Nightmare also liked 35 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 1 members. Members who liked A Midwinter's Nightmare also liked 35 other stories.
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