Still, she haunted him. Her pale, blonde hair, like strands of delicate moonbeams. Her eyes, clear, crystal and blue. Her hips, slender yet broad: her curves were his undoing. Many times he had pictured peeling off those layers and running his fingers over her rosy skin. He ran a hand through his hair as she danced through his thoughts. Her first smile, after all she had been through. Her tiny hand holding tight to his, afraid to let go. His heart swelling with the need to protect her. He slammed his fist against the bar, startling the other patrons who murmured, shooting him glances.
He lost her. He lost everything. He couldn't forget her. He couldn't forgive her for haunting him. His heart ached, his stomache clenched. He threw back his ale, downing the pint, sputtering as he drank it a little too fast.
He slammed coins on the counter then exited the bar, ignoring the looks shot his way. None of them knew loss. The guilt of it. Caelus stalked the streets. It had been centuries and he hadn't found her. She was long gone. But something in his heart couldn't let go.
Night fell and he found the inn he was visiting. He had his moment of weakness, now he needed to shake her from his thoughts and think about his next moves.
As he sat on the inn's bed, he took a whetstone to his blade. The metal glinted, the stones inlaid in the hilt shimmering as it sang. He closed his eyes, his fingers acquainted with the act he'd done time and again. She flashed in his mind again and he sighed, determined to focus.
Caelus felt a familiar tingling running down his arms and he ran his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, rising. It needed to be let out, it had been too long. He paused at the door, though, as a muffled sound drew his attention. He went to his window, opening it softly and peered out into the night just as the sound stopped. He waited, and just as he was about to go, he heard it again. Crying?
He threw the window open wider and climbed out. Sure, he could take the door, then the stairs, then walk out back, but with how faint it was, he didn't want to miss it. There was something about it that intrigued his senses and it might let him blow off some steam. Landing with a grunt, Caelus stuck to the shadows as he approached the sound.
It wasn't crying. It was feeding. His fingers flexed as he approached the alley, one of those creatures poised over a drunk from the bar. His throat was slashed open and the creature was giggling as it lapped at the wound. Caelus cleared his throat, but the creature didn't stop. It didn't think it could be seen. They always thought they were safe.
As a child, Caelus once had a cat with a fat ass. She hid herself behind the tiniest of table legs, thinking she was undiscovered. She was so clever, and so shocked each time he had yanked her up by her very visible butt.
These creatures were clever like that. Caelus cleared his throat, "excuse me, would you like to drop your victim? I'd like to turn in early tonight." The creature flinched, took a moment to process his words, then turned slowly. It's pupil-less eyes - or rather, pupil only? - turned to him, dumbfounded, its mouth hanging open and dribbling the blood it was slurping down its chin. Its sunken, ashy skin looked like it would crumble, and finally it hissed. Caelus gestured, "c'mere, away from him." The creature, barely comprehending as it took its time to think, did indeed step away from its victim. Realization took it as it hissed again, then lunged at Caelus with its talons. He raised his palms, a blinding blue-white light surrounding it as he froze it solid. He flicked the ice and the creature shattered as he went to the man, his head lolling. Caelus squatted and ran his fingertips over the wound, a line of ice following his movement. The bleeding was halted, but the guy needed attention to survive. Caelus hauled him over his shoulders and headed for the medic, dumping him at the threshold, knocking on the door, and slipping away unseen.
Taking out the creature hadn't quite scratched the itch he felt, but at least he had expelled the ice building up in his veins.
As he strolled back to his room, enjoying the crisp, night air, the edge finally settling, he paused as he heard the laughter and singing of children. He followed the sound, wanting to take a quick peek at their mischief before he turned in.
They held hands in a ring, dancing around a fairy circle made of rocks and mushrooms. He smiled, leaning on a tree as he watched. It wasn’t really a fairy circle: mushrooms often grew in rings like this one. But they didn’t need to be told that. Their belief in the improbable was all they needed. It was beyond reason, the way these human creatures hoped, and longed, and loved. But was Caelus really any different? There was, after all, a reason he couldn’t let go. No matter how improbable.
One of the little girls tripped, breaking hands with the others and landing on the doll nestled lovingly in her pocket. She began to cry, the doll’s arm torn and her stuffing spilling from its little battle wound. Caelus approached as the other kids laughed at her tears.
”You’re always so clumsy, Luna!”
”Looney Luna!”
”You’re too old for dolls anyways!”
Caelus did not remark that if this were the case, they would all be too old to be dancing around supposed fairy rings. “Here, can I see her?” He asked softly, sitting in the dirt next to her. She sniffled, then handed him the doll. “What’s her name, Luna?”
”Princess Twinkle Priscilla,” she muttered softly, her big, doe eyes staring up at him as the tears continued to fall.
”What a lovely name. Well, I bet I can fix her, what do you think?”
Luna gasped, her eyes pleading and hopeful, “really, mister?”
He nodded, then plucked a couple of dandelions from the grass beside them. They were at the edges of town, where the forest was beginning to come alive. “Yeah, a fairy taught me this trick, watch closely.”
He split the stem with his fingers into long strips, then twisted the strips together to form a living rope. This would be the part where the dandelion stalks would need to be sun-dried, but a little flash freezing would also dehydrate the fibres. He hid the stems in his hands and let his ice do the trick, then showed the little girl the thin, fibrous rope he had made. He pretended to fish in his pocket, creating a little shard of ice in the shape of a needle, then he threaded the eye and got to work stitching the doll.
She gasped again when he was finished, clutching the doll to her as she began to bawl, “it’s magic! She’s okay now!” She threw her arms around him in a hug, almost knocking him over.
He laughed, patting her head, then got to his feet, looking sternly at the other children, “aren’t you all out much too late? It’s dark already. I bet your mothers are worried, don’t you?”
The kids groaned, shooting him dirty looks, but a couple looked worried and scampered off.
Caelus held his hand out to the little girl and she took it as he walked her home. She chattered on about fairies and their magic, at how wonderful it was that they could make anything out of plants. She told him how she believed they could even build castles out of toadstools.
Her theories were entertaining, to say the least, but a stretch. He went along with it anyways. Once she spotted her home, she took off, waving goodbye, and he went on his own way back to the Inn.
He would never see Luna again. He was leaving tomorrow for another lead, one of many, that might take him home. This morning, he couldn’t spare the optimism and he had been prepared for yet another let-down. But now a dangerous hope threatened to bloom.
Like Luna’s broken doll, maybe one day, someone might come along and stitch him back together too.
