Distance and knowledge separate two unlikely candidates from meeting, but in Netherworld, all things are possible. Whether a dream or waking reality, two hearts find themselves meshed by circumstance. The night stirs upon them both creating a magick or magnet of sorts thereby making the dream real.
Henry is an artist who although poor in pocket is rich in heart. His paintings are deep with heart drawn emotion of a faceless woman who faces tragedy. His vision haunts his canvas.
Each night he has followed her fascinated in his dream yet each night her face escapes him in a fleeting moment. Upon his canvas, he captures a creature seemingly in pain wildly roaming the darkened streets of London in search of he knows not what.
Within his work one can make out the cobblestone lined alleys, buildings, shadowed doorways, and reflections of moon in puddles, but of her lies just a shadow of a figure with a featureless white face glowing hazily in the night. Tis but a blur of a woman who blends well into the landscape of brick and stone. He so blends her that one can mistake her supposed face for a gas lamp without the illustration of the lamp. Upon each dream he searches her out only to find her not.
Adorning the walls of his modest loft lie much of his recent works depicting this ghost of a woman in near replication of each other. Perhaps with each new canvas and each new stroke of his brush he wishes to fulfill the vision, however, each time the canvas is left void of clarity.
His ill begotten sleep leaves him weary thus he decides to abandon his work for this day. Instead, he chooses to journal his dream trying to grasp a better glimpse of her. Although the hours pass, he takes no notice to the darkness. Alas, he scripts in the dark.
In darkness he rises and stretches out his stiff body and lights a lamp. In the glow of it all, the ghost who haunts his nights and occupies his days surrounds him. Pacing to and fro within the confines of his ghost begotten loft, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his key and upon locking his door, he returns it to the safety of his pants and descends the staircase. The air is crisp this night and the streets are wet. However, he does not heed what is present in illustration and thus walks unknowingly.
Darkened are the streets purposefully wet and splendid for the walk. Air crisp lets off puffs of smoke as she breathes through her mouth. The rustle of her skirt and the click of her shoes break the silence of the October night as she rushes the narrow cobblestone alleys. She hears not the silent steps behind her nor the breath breathed heavy by him who follows.
From behind her she hears the words "Lady, please wait." Turning to the voice she maintains her stride reverting her glance to the direction before her. Calling to her, he quickens his pace trying to catch the lady, but upon reaching her, she vanishes through a wall.
He had seen her often and followed her without giving notice of his presence. The radiance that she emitted was a glow not seen on mere mortals. He viewed what flesh he could detect on the darkened street as translucent white. Her raven colored hair loose to the wind flew equally to that of her cape.
Who is she? Why does she rush off so? He thinks to himself. Wanting to find out more about the mysterious lady, he decides to follow her the full length of her distance without making himself known.
Upon the hour, he gathers himself to the task and readies himself for the quest. Standing silently in the doorway in the chill of the night, he waits until he hears the rustle of her skirt and the click of her shoes. As usual, she is dashing off into the night toward a destination of which he knows not. Keeping his pace far enough behind so as not to be heard, but close enough to see her, he follows her in stealth.
Alley though alley she goes heading toward the Thames. As she reaches the river, he sees her silhouette form drop to her knees by the bank and hears her distant sobs. He moves silently ever closer maintaining himself in the shadow.
The full moon throws enough light and he can now see that she has laid a large stone before her and is fastening something around it. With his wretched gut, he wishes to stop her, but he has seen that she can disappear so he waits to see her end result in hope for resolve.
Once she has fastened the chord to the stone, he watches in horror as she fastens it to her neck. He screams aloud "Lady...NO!" His shout goes unheard even as he runs toward her, she casts the stone into the water and quickly follows suit. She is again gone. This time she disappears into the murky depths.
With a sick heart he heads back home and attempts to find reason for her actions, but alas he comes up empty. He has seen the ghost of a woman, but heard her reality. Who is she? He again thinks to himself.
After a night of restless sleep he heads to the dock to make inquiry as to a suicide of a woman. Although he asks all in the area, no one is aware of any such incident. One man even asked whether he was daft or had one pint too many.
Back in his loft, he ponders the night's event and the day's answers and is left in dismay. As he has only always followed behind the lady, he decides that on this night he will leap before her and stop her action or at best try.
He carefully plans the hour and waits in a doorway to hear her approach. As usual he hears her quick pace and rustling skirt and leaps out at her before she can pass him by. To his surprise he grabs her in solidity and feels a hard object against his abdomen only to look down and discover the stone.
His mind screams wildly that she is real. "Lady, why do you go to the Thames each night and sob before throwing the stone and yourself into the river?" For the first time he looks upon her face and onto her downcast eyes. He notes her tear stained face and long soft raven hair and even the smell of her lavender laced body. Eagerly his ears await a reply. After a bit she raises her troubled eyes to his and states "Dear Sir, I know not of what you speak as this night is the only night I venture out." "No Lady, I have seen you for many a night and once I called you and you vanished into a wall before my eyes. Other nights I had only followed you for a bit, but last eve I followed you for the length of your journey only to hear you cry and see you die."
Her sobbing ceases and the stone falls to the ground while her body falls faint into his arms. As he knows only the safeness of his loft, he carries the sad limp lady to the softness of his couch and studies her features. Pale is her flesh barely flush at cheek. Her lips are supple and lightly rouged and her long raven colored hair bears stark contrast against her skin. Her cloak is as black as are her garments as though she were in mourning. Again his eyes soak in her features and he watches her eyes flutter to open.
She gazes her new surroundings mindlessly as if not within herself, but before long her eyes reach his. They connect and lock in place. Both of them are speechless as their heads nod to and fro in exploration only to gain different points of the same object. His hands reach out to her cold hands and he cups them warm. Neither of them says a word, yet their eyes speak volumes.
Finally, with the courage to speak, she asks him how he could have seen her before this night. Unfortunately, he does not have an answer for her now human ghost. Confiding in his eyes, her words escape her flowing like a stream in a quiet garden. Her whispering explains to him that for many a night she dreamed of this venture and on one such night she heard a voice call out to her: a voice that broke the spell of the dream and caused her to wake.
"Dear Lady, that was I. Perhaps we had been dreaming the same dream. When it was that I first saw you, my heart fell for you and I followed you. In an effort to know you, I called out, but you vanished. When it was that I saw the deed you intended to carry out this night, I questioned the dock workers as I had thought you to be a lady from the past. It was only this eve that I decided to leap before you rather than follow you through to your deed."
Her eyes softened to his expression as she gripped his hands. At last in a soft whisper she stated "you have saved me from myself." He replied, "no dear Lady, I have saved you for myself." ~ Maggie ~ Penned September 13, 2008 before 3:00 p.m. EST
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