Writing Challenge ~ November 2012

[Britwitch]

WRITING CHALLENGE ~ NOVEMBER 2012​

Here are this month’s prompts...after some suggestions and discussions I’m going to offer you two prompts to work with.

You can involve the prompts themselves in your piece and make your link to the prompts as obvious or as subtle as you like or use them simply as inspiration for something else. You can use part of the prompts, just one aspect of the images, or use them in their entirety.

As there are two prompts you can of course chose to use both in one piece or write one for each…again, it’s your writing, your challenge. You write whatever you’re inspired to write!

The word limit for this challenge is 3,500 words and your submission can take whatever form you desire – poetry or prose, complete story or a vignette. Erotic or not, serious or light hearted, it’s whatever you want it to be!!

Post only your submissions in this thread, constructive comments and reviews are to be posted in the appropriately named – Comment and Review Thread

The deadline for this month’s challenge is Friday 30th November 2012, with December’s challenge ‘going live’ on Saturday 1st!

Previous challenges and reviews can be found here.

Happy writing!

 

[DarkWarrioress]

The Meeting Place

It was fecking cold out tonight. For the third time she wondered why in bloody hell she had agreed to meet him on this day, at this time, during this season. It was beautiful as only New York could be in the winter. Tree branches with pure white snow resting on them. The trees, now divested of leaves, were decorated with Christmas twinkle lights. The ground was covered in snow, but it wasn’t very deep, thank god for small mercies. As she stood there, huddled in her coat, shivering like a fool, she also wondered why he picked their first meeting to be a church of all places? Glancing around, she had to admit though, it was all quite romantic. It was quiet. Out of the way. An occasional person bustled by. She glanced up at the sky and tiny snowflakes fell on her face, sticking to her eyelashes. She pulled back the sleeve of her coat and glanced at her wristwatch. Five twenty. He had said, five thirty. What if he stood her up? Had she really just flown all those miles to meet a man face to face, that she didn’t know? Correction. She did know him. Years of conversation. Of sharing good times and bad. The internet was what we chose to make it. We could cover it in lies or we could be ourselves and be truthful. Whatever path we chose to follow, would determine the outcome.

She pressed a hand to her coat covered stomach. Butterflies were fluttering. She didn’t really know why. She knew him. He knew her. This should be a piece of cake and just another stepping stone in their ongoing friendship. Regardless of what she told herself, she knew the truth of the matter. It didn’t matter what kind of chemistry you developed with a person over electronic wires or eventually through phone lines, when it came to actually looking someone in the eyes? That chemistry could fizzle. Wink out, in just a glance. She didn’t want it to. She had been wanting to hug him for a long time. She wanted to feel his arms around her, pull her tightly to his frame and squeeze her until she laughed for reprieve. She wanted this time together to go smoothly and happily. To be able to sit across from him and watch his face become animated by emotions and thoughts. To actually experience his smile. To see if he was at all like her perceptions. She knew he had similar thoughts. She started to pace the small area between tree and bench. There was no way she could sit down to wait for him. She was too nervous. Too wound up to calmly sit.

Time ticked by. Too slowly. A glance at the nearby outdoor clock and she saw it was almost that time. Sharp pains stabbed her belly. Her heart was beating so hard, it became hard to breathe. Instead of pacing, she walked, admiring the architecture of the church. Its simplicity and beauty. They really were buildings of beauty. They housed the beliefs of the masses and in those beliefs, was the power of spirit. It didn’t matter what those beliefs were, the power of spirit did. She glanced swiftly over her shoulder, at the clock. Five thirty. He wasn’t coming. He was a man who was prompt. If he wasn’t five minutes early, he was late. She liked that about him because she was the same way. He was dependable. But apparently not this time. He wasn’t going to show and the pains in her stomach increased when she realized she had been an utter fool. She hunched down in her coat and silently wondered what she should do now. Go back to her hotel room and see if she could book an early return flight? Only she would know of her humiliation. Well, only the two of them would. That was such a minor number. She felt the sudden urge to cry. How could she have been so wrong about him after all these years? Maybe she hadn’t been as good a judge of human nature as she thought. Another glance over her shoulder. Ten minutes past their appointed meeting time. She should go.

She started away from the side of the church she had been admiring, giving the front doors a cursory glance as she passed by before she lowered her head again. Her eyes turned away from everything. Disappointment flooded her. Anger, at herself, roiled through her. She felt foolish to believe so much in a person she had never met before but someone she had given a great deal of time and effort into knowing. Or so she thought.

Snow crunched softly under her boots. Hands shoved into the pockets of her coat to keep them warm. The top of her head was wet from the softly falling snow, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her disappointment.

“Going somewhere?”

She halted. Her heart rippled. Her shoulders straightened. Her head came up and her tongue moistened her lips. Pearly white teeth clamped down at the inside corner of her bottom lip as she turned, her eyes lifting in the direction the voice had come. Somewhere behind her. Eyes, she had only seen from a camera before now, were ready for her, meeting her own straight on and steady. There was an apology in them if she cared to acknowledge it.

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

“You should have known better.”

“You’re late. You’re never late. For anything.”

He stepped closer, not stopping until he was right in front of her and reached for her hands, tugging them free of her pockets, letting his fingers wrap around hers.

“No, I’m not. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and explain?”

There it was. The choice. To believe or not to. To a take chance or pass it up.

It came then. The smile. It curled her lips upward and lit up her eyes. Animating her face. She squeezed his hands.

“Of course.”

In reward, he dropped one of her hands but retained the other. They started walking. The sound of their footfalls were the only sound between them for awhile. Then he stopped abruptly and the action tugged her to a stop too. Her head turned, her eyes questioning. He didn’t give her a chance to say a thing. There was a quick tug on her hand, a bit of direction and she found herself standing in front of him. Her face pressed to his chest. His arms like steel bands around her. Squeezing her. She felt her body relax against his. Her own arms surrounding him, holding him tight.

It felt exactly as she had imagined it would.

 

[yeishia]

It was Christmas Eve and the midnight mass in the beautiful almost cathedral-like church was already underway, she would be giving birth if all went well in less than an hour. The blessed virgin who would re-enact this sacrilege of sorts was in fact already in labor somewhere in the bowels of the spectacular church.

“Remember your breathing Mary, slow and easy we are almost there, do not push until I tell you."

Mary had lived in the catacombs of St. Augustintine for most of her young life, untouched by man. The baby growing inside her womb, he who craved entry to this world would be the one to rip her virginity from her, not the man who stood over her mopping the beads of perspiration from her forehead. His demeanor was that of a religious zealot. She would eventually become his in the carnal sense...but not this night and if she were lucky, if she survived, not for many nights to come.

Nevertheless this great hulk of a man knew her intimately, his gaze, his covetous touch made her young skin crawl.

How Mary had actually gotten pregnant she couldn't have told you; the logistics of the heinous re-enactment which was about to occur were simply beyond her understanding.

The blessed virgin she was, and was not...

He had willed it so.

She was the creation of the religious madman standing between her bent legs the one who looked with relish at the gaping maw from which the child would eventually be pushed forth.

Mary's long blond hair was slick with perspiration it was plastered to her childlike face which was at the moment full of fear, her blue eyes wide and startled at the thought of what would come. I am not prepared, she thought, the beast will rip me apart, the beast will kill me. That is how she thought of the invader which had been cruelly forced upon her young body...

Her full breasts held nipples which looked like over ripe cherries as they stood out in stark relief, the huge glands looking like they were about to burst so full with sustenance were they.

"Breathe," he told her almost soothingly as he latched on to one ripe teat and began to suck with relish. The girl moaned out her discomfort as he began to suckle, one hand rhythmically squeezing her sensitive breast as if she were simply some stable animal.

Another contraction tore through her slight form causing him to release her nipple his teeth scraping across the sensitive flesh as he allowed it to plop free.

"Tastes good Mary, our little Jesus is going to like these almost as much as I do. Breathe like a good girl you only have a few minutes more and your work is here will be done."

The dark haired priest smiled into her eyes before claiming her second breast sucking it hard enough to cause her to arch up off the small cot as she became caught between the pain he was inflicting and that of the horror writhing inside her.

Mary ineffectually tried to push him away until finally to her relief he lifted his head slightly his tongue lashing across her engorged nipples a final time before traveling slowly down across her swollen belly his raspy tongue leaving a slick pathway of saliva and colostrum in its wake like it was some salacious overstuffed slug.

Mary's small hands were clenched around the sheets soaked from when her waters had broken, knuckle white as she tried to hold her screams of terror inside as she had been previously instructed.

" Let’s see shall we? "

His excited voice was laced with lust and something more as he lifted her legs and fixed them in the stirrups before he almost reverently spread her labia apart to check the progress of her dilation. His sibilant tongue flicked in and out as he leaned in closer.

Soon, he thought, the life I have created will be born, born of this virgin…a true personification of what had gone before.

His miraculous conception!

His thoughts became voice as he addressed the heavens almost as if he were in his upstairs pulpit giving his sermon.

"They denied me the bishop-hood but now I shall have so much more...

God like I shall rise above them all.

My will be done!"

As if on cue the massive church bells began to ring out heralding the birth of Christ.

His eyes glowed with a maniacal light. "Push girl it is time..."

 

[marauder13]

Anniversary

~||~​

If anyone who knew Sandra saw her as she left her small home, they would have done a double take. Gone was her Gothic chick wear, and in it's place she wore a dress of pure white. Only her dark eyes and her raven hair stood out from her otherwise pale appearance.

She walked through the snow, barely acknowledging the fluttering touch of the slivers of ice that drifted onto her skin. She didn't look around her as she walked toward her destination. Each passing step saw her expression shift, becoming more absent the further she got from home.

The trees that flanked her path were tall, stark and barren. Each of them looked vicious, resentful of the mobility she possessed, as well as the life that glowed within her. They slept, bitterly, through the icy night of the year long day. But she didn't look at them for the memories they would bring; memories she wanted to forget, but could never bring herself to remove.

Her eyes welled with salty water when she reached the edge of the frozen lake. She absently pooled all the saliva in her mouth, swallowing loudly as she closed her eyes.

It was the same every year. She stood at the lakes edge, pondering the value of taking the steps out over the hardened skin of the lake's body. Her heart slowed but hammered in her chest. Everything slowed down as the first memories started to flood back.

"This is not your time, child."

Sandra turned to look at the source of the voice. A thin, cadaverous man wearing a plain black suit that hung from his shoulders and hips stared at her with his night like sunken eyes. His elongated body look painfully stretched, and could be easily broken as if it were a twig.

"Fuck off. It's not your job to decide these things."

The smile that returned was thin, bloodless and carried no warmth at all.

"Correct. But I have seen what will happen, and you wont be dying just yet. Well, not permanently."

"You bring me back, and I'll fucking kill you before I do myself again."

"Go ahead, child. I'll be waiting here for when you get back."

Sandra took a step out onto the ice, heading out to the spot where she came the year before. One day each year, she wore white. One day each year, she returned to that place. One day each year, she recalled everything she dearly wanted to forget. One day, each year, she was reminded why she couldn't forget.

Sandra's lungs exploded, expelling the dark, brackish water all over the ashen, lifeless soil. She screamed in pain and anguish, curling up into a ball as her body fought to cleanse itself of the muck that invaded her.

"As was shown, you have died and have returned. I have not touched you, Sandra Roschild. Your soul knew it was not your time, but your death was necessary for you to continue living."

Shivering, she turned her head enough to glare at him, her mind screaming of his madness.

"No, Sandra, I am not mad, just more knowledgeable of where your life has turned. You have been gifted, as I was gifted, and you shall take your gift and make the world a better place."

'Yes,' she thought, 'he's completely fucking nuts.'

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she thought of the time she spent with Pyotr, her master and teacher of the ways of the Euthanatoi. He was distant, objective, calm to the point of being cold. At first, that is how she saw him. But the more she got to know him, and and learn from him, the more she came to see the real him. The depth of his compassion and love for people amazed her. She drew more from his ways than either realized, becoming a person who loved others more after her death.

"She suffers greatly, Master. That suffering is polluting her soul."

Pyotr's eyes turned to hers. She saw the light within them, but this time there was something different to them. Something that sent shivers down her spine instead of the warmth she normally felt.

"Yes. Give her the Good Death, so her soul will be freed and able to return to the Wheel without the blight is carries now."

Sandra laid a hand on the woman's forehead, stroking her brow with a gentle hand. The soft whisper of power that passed from the hale to the dying was enough to make the weakened blood vessel within the woman's brain to rupture and kill her painlessly and quickly. Sandra closed her eyes, willing the departing soul the passage that would allow it to heal, and return afresh to the Wheel.

"Good, Sandra. Another step closer to righting the motion of the Wheel. Mourn every death equally, never put one greater than another. Each one we free is one that removes a burden form the Wheel, making the world a better place in the long run."

"Yes, Master."

She paused at the spot. Her body shook for a minute while she brought it under control. The tears flowed freely down her cheeks, but she let no other sign of her pain and anguish show. She didn't when it happened, she wouldn't then either. She raised her hand, fingers curled as if holding something. As she willed it, a fresh apple came into being in her hand, filling the space perfectly. She slowly sank to the ice, bringing the apple to her cheek.

"Master, it is wrong! It is not our way!"

"You are wrong, my disciple. It must be done. There are too many to remove one at a time. They must be removed as quickly as possible, and set free before the Wheel is damaged to greatly and all is lost."

"But Master! How does it help the Wheel to take those that are not upsetting the rotation? What if we remove one that is actually keeping the balance?"

"Enough! I will not have you question my judgement again. You have little understanding of the flow of Fate, and the turning of the Wheel. Your understanding is less than mine. Yours is the knowledge of a child compared to the wisdom of an Elder."

She saw the light again in his eyes. The fire there was out of control, burning blue where it had once burned white. Deep in her gut, in her soul, she felt a fear that surpassed any that she had ever known before. She opened her eyes to him, seeing his soul and his fate as best she could. he sensed it, slamming her extrasensory sight black, as if he put a hand over her eyes.

"How dare you violate my sanctity with your pitiful powers and talents. Your actions once more question my decision and I will not allow it. You will obey your Master or you will be set free."

Sandra dropped to her knees, her hands touching his suit legs, imploring him with every fibre of her being. "Forgive me, Master. I am scared and frightened, mostly for you. I... see that your fate will take you to places where you will not return, and great wrongs will be wrought."

"That is because you have not the wisdom that I have, and cannot see the subtle thread that the fates have shown me." He smiled to her, as he had every time she felt nervous or scared and sought his reassurance. He took an apple from his jacket, handing it to her. "Calm your nerves, my disciple. Eat and let the food settle your stomach, and soothe your nerves."

Sandra looked at the apple in her hand, bringing the shining skin to her lips, kissing it tenderly. The tears flowed freely, wetting her cheeks before the cold ripped away what little warmth was there, leaving a icy trail on her skin. She pulled the fruit away a little, then lunged to take a large, terrible bite from it.

Under his close scrutiny, she took the apple, bringing it to her lips. She knew in her heart what would happen. One bite would flood her body with a toxin that would kill her before her teeth were embedded in the flesh underneath. He cared only for death, good or not. He was no longer an agent of mercy, but an angel of death.

She worked swiftly. Her mind was split in two, one part showing her normal thoughts while the other worked behind the flimsy shield preparing for her one chance of saving those who were not destined to die.

She felt him touch her mind, sensing her facade as she prepared the other effects she needed. But he sensed her deception, mustering his strength and brushing aside the facade and exposing her true intentions.

As as he did, she retaliated. She used the same talent he was using to flood his mind with a cloud of random thoughts. It would do little to stop him, but the time he spent focused on removing her efforts, she would make her main assault.

She snapped a large chunk of the apple with a vicious bite. Pooling every talent he had taught her, she sent the toxins from her body to his, planting them in the weakest parts of his body. Pyotr howled in terrible pain, even as Sandra was wracked with the same pain from what she was unable to rid her self of. Again, he turned his considerable power to countering the toxins she arcanely placed within him. She scrambled from him, desperately trying to think of what else she could use to stop him.

Together they slid on the ice of the lake, both of them struck low by the toxins Pyotr had placed in the apple to kill his student. He snarled as he unleashed the entropy they both controlled to weaken the ice beneath her. It groaned ominously around her as she looked back at her Master. He laughed at the fear that shone in her eyes, pulling himself up to his full impressive height.

"This is why I am the Master, and you are merely a Disciple, little more than a student. You will take the lesson of your treachery to the next turning of the Wheel."

Sandra looked at him, remembering one of his earliest lessons. 'We are the cartographers of Chaos, Sandra. We see the flows of Entropy, gain wisdom from them and use it to guide us. We are most feared in a fight, because we can easily see the enemy's weaknesses, and use that knowledge to strike them and bring them low.' She looked at him, opening her eyes again to the entropic flows about him. His Mastery of them made it harder to see what she needed to see, but she trusted in the guidance of the chaos to show her the right place.

The long sliver of metal designed to be thrown and hit precise points slipped into her hand. Her wrist flicked just so, sending the point toward him. The chaos about him indeed guided the path, and the point sailed up through a nostril, bouncing just the right way off the bones to finally tear through his brain.

Sandra wept openly. Her sobbing sent fragments of apple flying about her. The pain she felt taking her beloved Master's life tore through her fresh, again as it had every time she came to that place. Her hand swept aide the new layer of snow, her command of the flows of entropy making the frosted surface clear as glass. She could see, clearly, the earthly remains of her Master at rest in the very place were he fell eight years before.

Her chest was heaving after her crying passed. The apple dropped, Sandra hooked her raven hair behind her ears, still looking at what remained of her Master.

"You promised me that I would learn all I needed to know of our kind from you, Pyotr. I thought you meant those who had the same talents as we have. But it was about those like us. Those that helped the Wheel turn. Up to the very end, I learned so much from you. I know how seductive Death is, because of you. I learned I was a cold blooded killer like you... if I forgot who I was."

She picked up the apple and held it before her eyes, watching the juice turn to crystals on the exposed flesh of the fruit. "But only now, Pyotr, have I realized that there was one lesson that I forgot, because of your treachery... your hubris... your simple human weakness. I have not mourned you like I have mourned every other I have given the Good Death to."

She bowed her head, pressing her eyelids together to rid herself of the last of the tears caught within. "I have shed my last tears for you, Master Pyotr. I did what I needed to do to protect the Wheel from you. The moment I took your life from you, I loved you more than anyone else I knew. I love you now, for who you were for me. I do what is needed, the way it should be done. Fare well, Master. I know you will return to the wheel, with the wisdom gained from your last time upon it, and you will aid in the turning of it once more."

The apple dropped form her fingers as she stood up. She took one look down under the ice before turning and walking back to her home. Sandra decided that the dress would never be worn again, and no more trips would be made to the spot, as they were no longer needed.

On the cleared ice, a spectral form appeared. A tall, thin man in an ill fitting dark suit gazed at Sandra's retreating form. One arm extended to her, in beckoning. The cadaverous face looked immensely sad, pained as she disappeared from its sight. The head drooped for a few seconds before it returned to a posture of pride and determination. A smile of warmth lit up the face as it faded, finally released from its earthly prison and journeyed to the ready itself for its next cycle upon the Wheel.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

It was cold. The snow had stopped falling earlier in the day, leaving the ground covered and most of the city shut down. The streets were empty, his breath rhythmically fogging out into a still and quiet air, broken only by the pass of the occasional dog walker or couple walking arm-in-arm. He avoided eye contact, keeping them instead on the salted pavement, acknowledging the presence of others only to the level necessary to avoid walking into them.

Gloved hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat, the wool cap he wore making his head itch. He kept it on, but only because she would give him that look when she'd see him without it.

Most of your body heat escapes through your head, you know.

He smiled through a fog of exhaled breath, glancing only momentarily at a small Shih Tzu wearing a red and black sweater as they passed each other. He was approaching his destination, their meeting place, which seemed to somehow be more sharply in focus in the cold night air. Globe lights around the perimeter cast an other-worldly glow on park benches and snow-covered lawns, a circle of artificial white spread across a sea of pure and frozen natural white.

His eyes, watering a bit from the cold and an occasional breeze that had crept up, didn't even have to lift to find the right place. They met here every year, on this day, at this time, on this bench, for the last four years. It was a trip he shared with no one but her, a few fleeting moments spent sharing laughs and memories, stories of what was and what could've been. That she always would be here waiting for him when he arrived, he never questioned. She always was the punctual one.

Hands still deep in his pockets, he lowered himself onto the bench, thankful she'd arrived in time to sweep away the snow. Still, his nose scrunched a bit as the cold material of his pants was now more fully against him, something he'd always hated about the cold.

"Hey," he said, a ghost of vapor fleeing the warmth of his mouth.

She was resplendent in the snow, a dark wool coat that hung to her calves and hugged her body close, red scarf snug around her neck, gloves of soft black leather to keep her long and graceful fingers warm. She played the piano, beautifully, and he realized how much he missed watching her as she sat before the keys, each note reaching deeper into his soul, ensnaring him in her that much more. She'd written him a song, it must've been six years ago now, before things had gotten bad, and he'd not heard it played since she left. It was short, and simple, and devastating, and remembering it now made him fight back tears.

"Things are..." he paused, brow furrowing slightly, eyes fixed on the snow, "Things are good. They're getting better, I think. School is out for break right now, of course."

His expression lightened, a smile passing across dry and cold lips.

"But I could always use help grading papers, if you're... bored or something."

He was grinning now, even laughing a little in spite of himself, and it felt good. It felt right. He hadn't done enough of that lately, and he knew she'd agree. Much as it bothered him, she always said she liked his laugh. Just the right mix of manly and playful, she told him. That look in her eye, the one that said I love you, you big, crazy fool, whether you can believe it or not was enough to shut him up. He had a feeling it's the same look he'd find there now.

His eyes remain fixed on the snow, instead.

Silence fell. Distantly, cars drove on wet pavement. A dog barked on the other side of the small park, upset it was not allowed off the leash to play in the wet snow. Someone else hurried by, anxious to get out of the cold, and he paid them as little mind as he did the others he'd passed on the way here. His mind was elsewhere.

"I..." he stopped. Swallowed. Gathered thoughts. Gathered resolve. Turned his eyes away from the snow finally, turned his head to the side, and said quietly, "I miss you. I'm sorry I couldn't... stop it. Or see it coming. I should've seen something was wrong. I shouldn't have worked so much. I should've... paid more attention. Known it was growing inside you. Maybe, if I'd noticed sooner, we could... we would still..."

He fell silent again, eyes closing, the air in front of him colored momentarily white as he exhaled heavily. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, he again fought back tears that stung his eyes, wishing desperately to feel her reach out and slip her gloved hand into his. Lean her head on his shoulder and tell him everything would be okay. He got no such comfort, and at last he nodded to himself. Understanding.

This is simply how it was now.

Silence, where once there was laughter.

Coldness, where once there was a touch.

Eyes open, he stared at his wet shoes for a minute, breathing in cold air, pushing out warm. Listened to the rhythm of his own heartbeat in his ears, drowning out the sounds of a city that felt empty and bleak and utterly devoid of anything for him now.

Head bowed, looking to any that may seem him there, he looked like a man alone in prayer.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Exhaling deeply, gathering his strength, he stood and turned to go back the way he came. Pausing, just to cast a glance at the empty bench behind him, he said, "Same time next year?"

Without waiting for an answer that would never come, he left, following the lone set of tracks that led to the bench.

 

[choklatekoneko]

So....I saw this picture....and I just started writing...I know it's not a story...and I'll be happy to take it down. But I saw the snow and things....so....here it is. It's pretty short. ~CK.

Letters to My Mother.​

Dear Mama....

I'm sorry. I don't think...any of us wanted it to end this way.

I know I didn't.

I know things happen for a reason, and I know you're happy up there. With your mom, and my grandmom....your cousins that died in that reck coming to see us.

Do they play music up there, Mama? It's almost Thanksgiving..I remember when everybody came down to see us...and you were fine....up..moving. Even have the picture at my dorm.

.......


They already started playing Christmas music already. They're playing all of your favorites. I can see you dancing in the living room now.


.........



Daddy cried the other day. He pretended something was in his eyes...but I saw the sadness in his eyes. He thinks of you all the time. I know he does...he was with you almost 50 years.


I think about you all the time too.

I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry Mama. I used to love the snow....I want to come visit you soon...for the holidays.

I'm....
.


.


.


so.........




.

.



.


Sorry.

 

[sodalitas]

The walls of Jacob’s keep were thick stone; heavy furs hung over the windows and more were piled atop him, but even so he felt the chill of the night. Luckily, the servants had lit the fire in his hearth and by the time he did awaken late in the morning, he was passably warm.

He heard his wife Lisa ascending the stairs as he was getting dressed, and she smiled warmly at him as she entered the chamber.

“You look particularly pleased with yourself today,” he remarked.

She smiled. “Oh, I just won an argument with Old Ava.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That is something to be proud of,” he agreed. He finished pulling on his boots and strode to the window, looking out onto the snow covered courtyard and the white woods beyond. He smiled at his wife and slapped her playfully on the behind. She tsked at him as was her custom, and dusted the flour off of her hands onto her apron as she let him kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you later tonight” he promised.

“Are you sure you need to go out in this weather?” she asked him, concerned. “I worry for you out there, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.” he called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. She seemed sad to watch him go, but she made no further attempt to stop him.

He passed by some of the kitchen staff on his way out – they were busy canning and baking, using up the last of the autumn’s harvest . Old Ava seemed upset and wouldn’t meet his eye, but the rest of them paid him no mind as he scooped up a hot tart along with his coat and pushed his way out of the keep into the courtyard. The day smelled of baked apples and snow.

He saddled his horse and led it through the gates, calling friendly to the guards who responded to the frost of his breath with nods and waves. Once away from their sight, he mounted and rode into the forest to where she was waiting for him.
She had laid out a blanket in the clearing and was kneeling on it underneath a bulky fur coat. As she saw him, her face lit up with joy and she shrugged it off, standing with her arms held wide for him.

He dropped from his mount and ran to her, enveloping her in his embrace and breathing into her hair “Sarah, I have missed you so…”

She laughed, and took his hand, pulling him back towards the blanket. He saw now that she had a basket with her, and she began to remove from it breads and cheeses, a pie, and other dishes, along with a bottle of wine and two goblets.

“What’s all this?” he smiled, motioning to the feast.

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “As if you didn’t’ know…” She pulled him down and stuffed a handful of apple pie into his mouth, followed closely by her own mouth. As they kissed, he reached for her, but she broke away and filled the cups. Offering him one, she toasted “To us.”

She was beautiful. The guilt he felt at betraying Lisa ate at his heart, but it was not as strong as the love he felt for Sarah. She was innocent, free, joyous. When he was with her, he forgot all about the responsibilities and burdens of work and family, and he just lived. “To us,” he replied.

For half an hour they ate, they talked, they laughed. His desire waxed as his hunger waned. He didn’t notice the cold anymore - his blood felt as if it were on fire. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her. He reached out and grabbed her, and she smiled with every muscle in her body. They kissed, passionately, and began laughing for no reason other than that they were happy. She broke away from him, pushed the food off of the blanket and leaned back on her elbows.

“Kiss me again,” she said. Jacob had never heard her voice so deep and sultry. His body radiated heat, his heart beat faster than he could ever have remembered. He took her on the blanket, the sounds of their lovemaking muffled by the wind and the snow.

Afterwards, they lie entwined, panting heavily, and he waited for his heart and breath to settle.

“Jacob,” she asked after a moment, “I was wondering, why did you bake me a pie, and how ever did you manage to get it into my picnic basket?”

Dizzily he looked at her, confusion muddying his reply. “The pie? What do you mean? You mean you didn’t bake it? But how…”

A half-formed thought : Lisa had been dusting flour off of her hands…

Sarah grabbed her chest. “I don’t feel…” she began, her voice gone from raspy to wheezy. Before she could finish her sentence, she doubled over in pain and began to vomit blood.

“Lisa…” he muttered. Sarah heard the name over her troubles, and her eyes widened in realization and horror. She sobbed, tried to crawl to Jacob, but all strength had been stricken from them, and they collapsed onto the blanket.

It took them hours to die, wheezing and coughing, their limbs too heavy to lift them off the snow. Jacob tried to soothe her, to bring some comfort to her in her final moments, but each time he opened his mouth he succumbed to another coughing fit, spitting red flecks of blood on the pure white snow.

As he drifted out of consciousness for the last time, he heard the crunch of slowly approaching footsteps followed by a pause. Then, in a familiar voice, “Tsk tsk…”