In a Name, pt 2 End

How many days had past him by with out his notice? He had lost track of the simple passing of days since he fell into his delirium. He lay in his bed and ignored the world around him. Friends had tried to conjole him out of his self imposed hibernation but they failed to budge him. His childhood friend let himself in the barred door with a trick her learned long ago, something he used to break into the bakers shop when they were boys. He found the place in ruins. Precious painting his friend painted of familiar faces were broken and laid forgotten under cloths and dishes of all sorts. What horrid misery had befallen his friend to make him lose sanity so sharply? He never got the chance to ask. When he pushed the door to his friends bedroom open he found much of the same destruction in the small space along with the odder of unwashed skin. he called to his friend of many years only to get a slow turning of a head hidden deep with in the bed cloths1

"Who is it?" The voice was harsh for the time it had spent not being used. His friend's worry, which had dissipated some in his search of the house, redoubled. How could he not recognize him?2

"It's me! Your best friend! Where have you been? Hiding in this room? Whatever for! You've had me worried that-"3

"Leave me alone." the head turned back towards the wall as if dismissing the friends worry as well as the friend. Shocked the friend reached out to pull the covers back from the rumpled bed.4

"Don't." The voice was full of warning, as if the friend was moving to harm this depressed mess of a man.5

"You cant do this to your self. Whatever happened you have to let it pass you by." All his friend had tried to do fell on deaf ears. He left angered by the man utter lack of care and the feelings of helplessness.6

The man didn't care. He had more important things to do. Like memorise his lost loves jawline and the way it felt when he traced it ever so gently with his calloused fingertips. He tormented himself with visions of her, his shadow queen, his lovely girl.7

And he punished himself for his foolishness. Falling in love so recklessly. True love, love at first sight, the words now tasted bitter in his mouth, like some unripened fruit. He played his visions over again, meeting death once more. he didn't know her, and that in itself made her a treasure. There were few unfamiliar faces in the village. She sat on a rotting fallen log just on the out reaches of the village, watching the people do their daily routines. How beautiful she was, just siting there and observing, as if she never saw such things in her life. He took out his pad and did sketch after sketch, trying to catch her simplistic beauty, with charcoal and paper. After a few hours of drawing his new muse, he decided to give her one of the drawing. It was his way to say thanks, to give his muse a drawing. Almost everyone in the village had one.8

Her reaction had seemed strange when he gave her the drawing. He had not intentionally snuck up upon her yet she was startled when hey laid the paper in her hands. Something akin to panic flashed in her eyes when she saw the drawing.9

"Do you not like it?"10

"You drew me?" She asked without emotion, as if she were asking about the weather, yet her jaw was clenched and that small action told him that she was upset by the drawing.11

"Yes, it is of you. Do you not like it?"12

"I did not come here to be seen." Her wording was careful, but he did not understand why she put so much stress on those words. He of course knew now that she had come to the village edge to watch the life there. She had not meant to be seen by mortal eyes. And yet for some reason he saw her.13

They spent the day walking through the fall forest. She had so many questions about the people of the village, wondering about the simplest chores. he had asked after her life, asking how could she not know of washing cloths and collecting eggs. Her answer demanded that he refrain from such questions. She didn't not want him to know about her for fear that it would bring him harm. He didn't understand what danger there was in a name. He knew now, knew that her name was death and that her name, her true name, is the last thing a mortal says.14

"To know my name is to die." She had said these word on the last night he had seen her, and he knew also the pain it had inflicted upon her to say them. He fiercely shoved those scalding memories away, as if he could toss them from his memory if he thought hard enough about anything else. He chose to remember the way her skin seemed to shine under the moonlight, thinking the stray thought that the moon must love her as he did, completely a fool for this girl. Only a fool would make love to a girl he didn't know the name. He remembered the first time their bodies gave in to the attraction of their hearts. It felt as if the world move only for them, in that forgotten valley. They had once again talked the day away, and had laid in silence watching the stars shine against the sky. They looked so much like a dusting of silver across spilt ink. And the moon sailed about them smiling down at his earthly crush. He kissed her there, in that valley not a mile from his home. And loved her with his whole being.15

He didn't not expect her to cry. He was frantic with worry as he held her nude in his arms, worried he hurt her. She told him that it was not his love that made her weep, but had his doubts. He held her till she stopped crying. Held her so protectively that the gods would have felt safe if it were they he held. She left him them, and didn't return for days. It drove him insane slightly. He slept in the valley night after night, waiting for her to return. And when she finally came back he was over joyed, he made a 1000 promises, if only she would promise not to leave him again. She refused them all and kissed him gently on the lips, a trembling uncertain kiss that ended with them once again nude under the jealous moon.16

His memories were like blades bleeding him of anything but there sweet pain. Each time he thought that he had no more room to cry he would begin to softly weep again. He couldn't stand it anymore. He was no long the person he once was, strong enough to return to life and her bright days. He grabbed a blade from the kitchen, not bothering to care if it was clean or not, and ran from the house. He wondered briefly if he was running towards something or if he was running from it. He didn't care.17