I had slain the unicorn. Her shadow now stood before me, watching me with eyes that glowed the murky red-orange of dying embers. This creature she had become in death was breathtaking, beguiling, and yet…she lacked the hypnotic warmth and beauty of my unicorn.
A wicked, curving horn jutted from her forehead, fire crackling upwards along its ebony surface. Her skin was a dusky hue I had never seen, and her hair, pure ivory, spiraled down to her waist, whirling in the wind.
She watched me; her gaze devoid of the malice I wish had resided in it. She waited. Patiently. Knowingly.
The fingers of grass that she stepped through recoiled at her touch: blackening, crinkling, withering—dying. Her smile was serene. She did not speak a word.
The dead unicorn's tail cracked behind her like a whip, its darkly opalescent scales catching the dappled moonlight that shifted with the winds. I watched her. Afraid. Fear had never been something I had felt in her presence. Not when she was alive.
The blade in my hand was heavy as lead, its surface black with her blood. My hand felt frozen, and I could smell the cloying sweetness of her heart's blood, which coated the dagger blade…my fingers…the grass before me.
Then the wind shifted from me, washing away the horrible stench. I was offered, instead, the smell of freesias and wildflowers, and I remembered.
Fae was an oddity in this world. I remember thinking that when I first laid eyes on her. She was beautiful in some unidentifiable way: a way that was somehow highly appealing to me. Her skin was stark white, her hair a deep black, she was tall and willowy and graceful in her movements. I was normally drawn to curvy blondes, loud confidence, and somewhat scanty apparel. But there she was: quiet, lean, mysterious, and with her own sort of understated confidence. Elegant.
“Go on, ask her out.”
I glanced at David. He had been watching me watch her for the entire week, and this was not the first time he had prompted me to make a move. At first, his urgings had been entirely joking, but then he seemed to observe my obsession spring into full bloom and was now utterly enthralled by the mini-soap that played out before him
“You should—before someone else does.”
I glanced at him doubtfully before returning my gaze to Fae.
Fae. Her name was one of the few things I had learned about her. For the most part she remained a mysterious entity. One I feared I had romanticized far too much.
“Do it.”
The shove he gave me came out of nowhere, unbalancing me and sending me tumbling onto the grass. Reproachfully, I glanced at him. He returned the look, turning it into a staring contest that went on for a full minute before I blinked.
“Hah! I won. Now ask her. Go on, man.” A smirk spread across his face; the smug, immature bastard. And yet it was because of him that I asked her out. When I awkwardly requested her company she gave me a smile that lacked the shyness I had expected. Her acceptance was quiet but assured, and the warmth in her blue eyes soothed any doubts I had been harboring. It was almost as if she had been expecting me.
I stifled a cry, biting my lip as the dagger tore through her flesh. The resistance against the blade was minimal and it went in smoothly to cut through her very heart. Blood oozed down, staining her clothes and my hands, which shook as they clutched the knife's handle.
When I pulled the dagger free she toppled and crumpled into a still heap upon the forest floor. The only movement in the sheltered glade was the wind, which stirred strands of her dark hair.
I watched her: eyes wide, chest heaving, the dagger in my hand dripping…Blood pounded in my ears and for the moment that was all I could hear.
Then I watched, in horror and shock, as the color slowly bleached from her hair and oozed across her skin like a shadow. Her colors rearranged themselves as her horn seemed to crackle and chip, revealing a smooth black substance beneath its spiraling surface. It was like watching a cicada shed its skin, or watching a log crumble to ash in the fire. She changed before my eyes and all that was good and pure in the world suddenly seemed very, very dark.
Then she rose to her feet…
I remember our first date. We went to a small café—one she had chosen herself. It was a nice place with strange music, Celtic-inspired, perhaps, and full of pipes and trills and earthy, wild-sounding beats. The inside was dimly lit and full of cushy chairs and low, small wooden tables that gleamed: worn and polished from use. The place had a very relaxed atmosphere to it, and at the same time felt a little bit unreal and removed from the bustling city just beyond its glass doors.
I should have felt nervous, it being the first date and all, but somehow I did not. It felt as if we had known each other for years as she easily followed my conversation, occasionally laughing softly at my stories and comments. Of herself she mentioned little, though I did learn she was a student at the local community college and had recently relocated here from Tennessee.
The date ended smoothly as I dropped her off at her apartment, and only a moment of awkwardness preceded the chaste goodnight kiss I received from her. She blushed slightly, but smiled before disappearing inside the building. I couldn't keep a stupid grin from forming on my face.
My time with Fae felt simultaneously like an eternity and like little more than a day. It lacked the open passion that had marked many of my past relationships, and yet I was content without the sexual nature of things that had so often led to complications in the past. This time everything was pure and simple and open. I feel as though it would have remained as such forever, if Kirsten had not returned.
“Them woods is haunted by a spirit. A white unicorn, thems who sees her says. Beautiful as the moon, but not natural. Still, tis ill luck to harm a unicorn, milord.” The old man leered at me, showing off a set of decrepit teeth. I smothered the urge to grimace and instead offered him a strained smile. The darkened woods were still and unnaturally silent, as if nature itself knew of my plans. My stomach churned with anxiety, guilt, and melancholy. She awaited me in the shelter of the trees as she had every night for the past year. She was naïve to the change in the world outside of the forest—to the change in me.
“Your master has sent me to remedy this…haunting. Ill luck or no.” I muttered, aware of the old man's bright eyes upon me. He made a noncommittal grunt and dubiously eyed the dagger sheathed at my side: no doubt he wondered how I thought to rid the world of a monster without a horse and shining armor. I knew, however, in my heart, which now clenched with dread, that I would need no other tools to destroy the unicorn.
When I entered the woods I could feel her presence long before she made herself known to me. Her form was the embodiment of all that was good and true and pure. I felt my determination waver like a candle flame flickering in the wind.
Her steps were quiet as she approached, extending a pale, slender hand in greeting and smiling softly at me. The horn spiraling from her forehead glowed soft and luminescent—captured moonlight. As always, she did not speak, but watched me solemnly with eyes like crystal. No pupils were discernable in their depths, but rainbows occasionally flickered through them. Her dark hair ran in waves down her back, falling against the pale white of her robes.
“My lady.” I bowed slightly, feeling her grave gaze upon me.
When I drew the dagger she did not move a muscle. She stood there, watching me with eyes that were simultaneously as innocent as a child's and yet wise beyond what I could imagine.
My hand shook and the dagger, which had previously felt light and strong to the touch, now felt like a lump of unshaped iron in my hand.
I will always regret this. I've looked back upon it now and cursed what many would call “fate.” If only it hadn't been raining. If only I had remembered my umbrella. If only I hadn't had $3.23 for a cup of coffee. If only, if only, if only.
Unfortunately it was raining that day, and I had forgotten my umbrella, and I had more than enough for a cup of coffee. I ordered, retrieved my Styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee, and settled in one of the large chairs that was situated around a small table overflowing with magazines.
I remember being utterly unaware of her until the smell of her perfume reached me. It was that sweet, freesia smell that I had adored when we dated. Kirsten was my type: blonde, bold—one tough cookie. Her make-up was immaculate but not over done, and her clothes were dry despite the rain—as always they seemed to cling to her curves just so, managing not to reveal too much or too little. It was no wonder I'd fallen for her the first time around.
“Daniel.” Her voice was sweet, her greeting as familiar as if we'd actually kept in touch since our break-up over half a year prior.
“Kirsten…” I placed my cup down on the table with more force than intended and grimaced as hot coffee sloshed over its rim and all over my hand.
“Oh!” Her cry of surprise was deceptively cute as she began mopping my hand with a napkin from one of the dispensers. I allowed her to, numbly staring at her slightly curled hair, which was arranged in a purposefully messy ponytail. At the very back of my mind I registered the throbbing pain in my hand, but it seemed very distant and removed.
“Thank you…” I mumbled at last, removing her hand gently with my intact one and finishing the job myself. She flashed me a smile and I felt my personal resolve to stay distant begin to soften.
“Oh, it's nothing. Are you all right? I was just stopping in for some coffee and…Oh! What a coincidence! I've missed you so much, Daniel!” She smiled brightly and leaned over to envelope me in a warm hug.
This was, as they say, the beginning of the end. We got to talking, and the talking turned into an invitation to dinner “as friends.” I spoke of my graduate work at the hospital, of my parents who often said they missed her, of the little apartment I had moved into…I did not mention Fae. I look back at that time now and wonder if I hadn't expected it to happen, if I hadn't already realized my weakness. If my betrayal hadn't been somehow…inevitable.
“I can not do this…” My protest was soft, barely audible above the crackling of the fire that danced in the hearth. Despite the heat of the flames, the room felt dark and cold, as if its walls absorbed all heat and light and smothered them within.
“If you love me, you'll do this. My father will accept you if you can do this one thing.” Her eyes, wide and tearful, captured me. I felt torn in two, right then, watching my lady on the verge of weeping. Maeb's father would deny me the right to his daughter's hand unless I slew the forest spirit that had lately been haunting the woods. Immediately, and with a sinking feeling, I had known what…who…the spirit was.
“I can not…”
“Are you a man? Will you not protect me and my people from this…this monster? Am I not worth this?” Her words were challenging, her gaze, still teary, now silently pleaded with me as she stepped forward. I held her close to me, resting my chin atop her head and breathing in the light, airy scent of freesias. For a moment all that I could hear were her breathy sobs and the light snoring of Maeb's nursemaid, who was supposed to be watching us.
“I…”
“If you love me, you will do this, Astrophel.”
Love. The use of that word is what finally convinced me. Had the land been all I was offered, the gold, the title, I would not have accepted…but now I would go the following night, the night of the full moon, and slay my unicorn. For her. For love.
“Damn door…” I fumbled clumsily with the lock, distracted by Kirsten's hands, which were all over me, caressing my skin.
When the lock at last turned, I forced the door open hard enough to slam it into the opposing wall. I ignored that, however, as we entered together to clumsily flop down upon the sofa. My fingers regained some of their previous dexterity as I unbuttoned her blouse, quickly casting it aside and onto the floor where it was soon joined by her bra, belt, and pants.
The apartment was unlit, as if to hide the betrayal going on within its walls. Only the moon bore witness to our attentions, its silver light a beacon in the dark, cold living room.
I sat idly in the forest glade, staring up at the sky, which could barely be made out through the dense canopy of the trees. The night was dark and still, save for the occasional breeze that stirred the foliage and made it rustle. I had hobbled my horse to a slender birch tree and now he stood there, content to crop the grass within his reach.
As the second son, the back up son, I could expect little more from life than these periods of idleness between battle after battle. While my brother was taught to manage the estate, I was trained in the art of war. I could fence and spar with the best of them, but I could hope for little better than the life of a titled soldier. The brother of a minor nobleman.
I stretched out on the grass, brushing road dust from my battered leather armor and loosening the sword belt about my waist. The rest of my equipment lay in a carefully arranged pile a few yards away. I had not bothered to light a fire at my temporary encampment. This was my life: slaying men for my country, guarding the family estate for my brother, acting as little better than a well-trained mercenary. My ambitions and dreams would come to nothing.
We were on the couch; our clothes strewn on the floor, our bare limbs tangled together. My hand explored the length of Kirsten's thigh as she pressed me into the sofa's plush cushions. She moaned above me, eagerly running manicured fingers through my hair as she straddled my waist and shifted so her free hand could work to unbuckle the belt holding my jeans in place.
Her skin was smooth to the touch, her smell just as I remembered it. Freesias. My fingers traced the curve of her breasts, the line of her jaw…I ran my fingers through her soft, wavy gold hair. It fell through my fingers like strands of silk, catching the moonlight, which gave it an unearthly, ghostly glow. Everything around us seemed spectral and indistinct. Unreal.
The feeling of being watched stirred me from my thoughts; a slight tingle ran down my spine. I sat up, scanning the vegetation for the cause of the feeling. The horse had ceased grazing and nickered softly, raising his head. His ears were pricked forward and occasionally swiveled about, apparently trying to catch some elusive sound.
The light breeze, which lent the night a pleasant briskness, abruptly shifted direction and carried with it the scent of wildflowers. I inhaled, trying to appear casual and relaxed from where I sat upon the ground. When she came, she seemed to come out of nowhere, abruptly appearing: a ghostly figure in white. Somehow though, I was unafraid.
She made no sound at first, I realized later, and the only reason her presence became known to us…to me, was because of the phone. It rang abruptly, knocking me from the lustful haze that had clouded my mind.
A slight movement from the doorway drew my eyes there, and I sat up with a choked curse, sending Kirsten tumbling to the floor in her essentially naked state. Fae was there, one hand grasping the doorframe, eyes on us.
Her face seemed even paler than usual, and I thought her lower lip trembled though she did not speak a word. She was transformed from the serene person I had known, her emotions clearly visible in her eyes. I saw pain there, yet no anger. Resignation, a terrible acceptance, and a question: Why?
My eyes were drawn immediately to the horn crowning her forehead and then to the lion-tufted tail that swished slowly behind her as she glided towards me, stopping just out of reach. She was lovely in an alien way, and she smiled at me with a mixture of sweetness and sorrow. Her frame was tall and willowy, more human than beast, and her clothes flowed down her like water; cascading and weaving around her body in a way that was foreign yet elegant. Her eyes met and held my gaze—for a moment, I forgot even to breathe.
It's the last memory I have of her, standing there and watching us unflinchingly. No accusation lay in those wide eyes of hers, only acceptance and melancholy. No word of goodbye was uttered, no tears shed; she simply walked out of my life and let the door to my apartment click gently shut behind her. That was the last I ever saw of her. She had vanished.
We might have stayed like that for seconds or for hours. Time seemed to warp, reality shattering before her bewitching presence. An eternity. Infinite possibilities. It seemed to me that she emanated both joy and sadness, and I felt, in that moment, as if I knew her. Had known her. Would know her.
When at last she turned—slowly, deliberately—to leave, time seemed to come back into focus. And as I watched her walk away through the forest, I knew that this was not the first time or the last time, the beginning or the end, but that we would meet again—had met again. She vanished at last, but hanging in the air remained the sweet promise, the inevitability, of her return to me.