A Tryst In The Sight of Moonlight

A chilling breeze had been stirring about in the congested skies overhead for several hours. An argent moon peered down from behind tenebrous clouds, every so often, upon the dark and ancient forest spread out below. In the deepest part of that wood was a lustrous concourse, open as a gaping mouth in the world's face. Mists swirled about the anomalously lit garden, wreathing the ivy-choked sculptures meted throughout it. The stars had silently watched the land change from behind a nebulous veil for aeons; however, the tryst to be beheld on this night would far surpass the greatest tale of love recorded in their memory.1

Her footsteps fell softly upon the fertile ground as she entered the clearing, parting the wisps of fog stirring in her path. She momentarily paused and let her gaze wander, taking in all that was before her. It was not chance nor caprice that led her to this moonlit grove, on this night. She recalled the many letters he had sent her, messages of passionate love and the deprivation thereof by distance. He had spoken of their meeting, and how nothing save for death could prevent it. This place where she now stood was the desired location, as requested in his last letter. She wrote him in response with one sentence: "I shall await thee." With that, she let the scarlet candle wax drip upon and seal the note, and left the impression of her signet ring within the seal.2

The slight breeze was gently carrying the gossamer dress which shifted around her naked ankles as she stood, remembering. Suddenly, she was pulled away from her reminiscing when she espied a movement to her left. Looking, she saw nothing but the eroding and worn statue of a seraph, posed with hands out as if to proffer a gift. The years spent unsheltered beneath a weeping sky had stained the sculpture, giving the illusion of sorrow and tears sluicing from its eyes.3

She stepped closer to the statue and saw in its upturned palms, a rose. It was not dead, nor was it withering; the pert rose had all the vivacity of one cut from the bush that morn. She picked it up and let the aroma drift into her lungs. After a deep breath, her eyes closed and a smile graced her countenance.4

"M'lady," a voice spoke softly from somewhere nearby. She turned to see a man step out from behind another statue, dark hair hanging over his eyes. He stood with one hand resting upon the statue, supporting his frame, and the other hand was crossed over his chest. The rings upon his fingers shone brightly in the periodical moonlight, as five captive stars. His legs were obscured by the fog which hovered about, until her began to walk towards her.5

Her gaze was enthralled by this figure; she had expected to see him, but could not shake her frozen stare. She began to doubt the reality before her. She had never known love, and was about to look it in the face. She clutched at her heart, and slowly stepped out to meet him.6

She approached him and, extending her arm, brushed away the raven hair which so resembled her own, exhuming his eyes. Set against his tan skin, the grey-blue irises were nearly glowing that night. He looked deep into her eyes, past them, into her spirit, and knew that his heart was no longer his. As she fell into the pallor of his sight, she felt her heart leap within her chest. She could do nothing to prevent the spreading frailty she felt in her legs, and she fell forward, only to be caught in his protective and warm embrace. Their gazes locked once more, and they both donned a bashful grin. "M'lady," he said again, and she responded," Indeed, for all eternity." They then sealed the tryst with a kiss, bathed in twilight, and swallowed by the creeping fog.