By Amber Michelle K.
myaru@etherealvoid.net

I've missed you... I've always missed you...

The sky was gray with rain, the world misted into a dream-scape through the drizzling downpour. The chill of its remote sadness dribbled through the pine branches overhead, skating along their intertwined arms to fall heedlessly to the ground in a soft patter. Now and again it would fall to splatter upon the head of a stone angel, and the crystalline drops would glide along the curves of its face, as tears might have, were it a living creature.

Its hands, pale marble spread in a gesture of angelic acceptance, held nothing but water filtered from the downpour, though the red marking of rust along its fingers indicated something was... missing.

Yes, missing... Stolen, one would think, though of course it had been expected. No matter that this place was important to someone, that it held the memory of a woman never known by any but her son... and that even little more than a dream. What poor, destitute thief would hesitate to take such a precious treasure from this angel's hands, when it seemed to be offered so kindly?

What poor, destitute thief would dare set foot in this ancient, sacred land?

Metal clinked; a chain, glittering like molten gold in the sunset filtering through the rain, sifted through fingers almost as delicate and pale as those of the angel beneath the bows of the tree. It was lighter, more beautiful than the one that had been stolen... As fanciful as his imagination of this woman had been, all of his life, and made all the more sacred for being crafted in her memory.

It was a gift of love, from one who no longer knew any love to give.

I never knew you... Never truly knew you. The man's fingers closed over the chain, stilling its impartial song, and bent knee before the glistening marble of the figure crafted into the likeness of an angel. He was a supplicant, of sorts, though he could not imagine the forgiveness he sought would be given, even if she were here to see him. He was of the damned... Yet the damned could still love, without loving... could they not?

Reverently, his slender hands lifted the golden chain, fingers twining about those of the angel in a delicate caress. The metal slid from his grip, entwined itself around the carven marble with a shivering chime.

A gift to you, Mother, for your gift to me. If I have ever found comfort in this life, away from my studies, it was in your gift.

The metal links glittered from her fingers enticingly, shaped into a flowing pattern of musical notes and rests. It was the fourth symphony of an unknown and long-dead composer, but something it was said she had favored, during her short life in this region. A memento only, he supposed... and far less than what she was worthy of.

He loved her... yes, he still loved her... He had been told more than once that it was foolish to love a woman he'd never met, and yet... and yet...

"You have her eyes, young one. And I have never heard a voice so beautiful... Erazel's gift was surely passed on to you. Will you sing for us?"

Sing? He had never raised his voice in song, without her. Perhaps it was irony that she had died before he could so much as utter his first sound... or again, God's whimsical sense of humor intruding upon his peace of mind.

Erazel. His fingers brushed the pale robes smoothed over the angel's wrists, tracing their gentle contours a moment before again falling to his side. She was his one true love, ridiculous as it might be... The woman etched into his heart by the power of her voice alone.

Moments passed; silent moments, of dripping rain and a mourning breeze, of knees cold and soaked through with the endless precipitation. Moments filled by the memory of a voice like silvery rays of sunshine, faded not a bit by the endless five hundred years of his life. A child's memories... An ideal he had never managed to touch, except in song.

The man rose, quietly, fingers pressing to his lips, and then to the forehead of the angel. The necklace glittered from its fingers, catching the last rays of filtered sunshine by impossible chance to flash like fire as it wavered in the wind.

Perhaps she had misnamed him... for these were not the actions of a wise man. As his life had proven, many times over. But she was Mother... he would always love her, somehow.

He turned, finally, ripping his gaze from the fiery gleam of the golden chain. It had worked out, in the end... he had never known his mother, but she had never known the horror of what he was. An even trade, he thought, and the factor that had finally driven him to change his name when he had traded his soul for his knowledge.

'Karellen' had been a wise man... but 'Krelian' was a demon.