• As the sun rose up again and gave light to Raeyunna it awaked Menispermum. She arose drowsily, stumbling to obtain control of her lanky body. Once mostly secure atop her own legs she walked slowly over to Drosera’s crib. She rubbed her eyes and peered, yawning into the crib. Red colour splashed across the white blankets, confused, she removed her hand from her eye and let things come into focus. The psychedelic unreality of it all took the strength from her body and brought her mind to a dizzy.

    Colour still remained across the blankets, but the black-skinned infant was left unseen. Menispermum’s legs became weak and began to shake. She clutched the bars on the crib to steady herself. Eyes gone blurry with tears and out-of-focus with panic she ran one hand into the crib and felt around the in the blankets. A cool dampness of blood was all that remained. The lack of warmth from her daughter’s skin snapped everything back into reality and things became blindingly clear.

    She nearly fainted and questioned her ability to stand despite the tremors in her legs. Just before the bar of Drosera’s crib snapped under her weight she tried to turn, to run, to speak. Her body slammed the floor, the sound of her head against the rough wooden floors was a terrible knock. For a long while her mind left her body, she could not register sound not sight, not the terrible pain wracking her body from the fall or the disjointed position in which she landed.

    Her lavender eyes stared off blankly and her pale green hair sprawled out in every direction. Despite the strange emptiness and serenity it was the worst reality she had ever felt. Like a happy, calm feeling when the drugs set in during an execution. Not able to help but feel lovely, to feel Shambhala even in the very end.

    After a while the drug-like affect wore off. Menispermum began to hear an echo; it itched at her ears and begged her to listen more. She felt a tear run down her cheek and her body ached. Her knees pulled up into a ball and she ached, a searing pain through the back of her skull and a throbbing in her back. The echo, like a fly, became clearer and clearer until it became a choked scream. The young faerie bawled and yelled, gasping for breath.

    Others in the village had long since begun awakening. They flocked to the home of Menispermum, hearing her cries and bursted through the front door. They called to her, but she ignored them. She ignored it all. They scrambled around, futilely searching for Drosera and examining the blanket. News traveled fast within the small village and soon the entire town had woken.

    Aristolochia stood over Menispermum’s seemingly dead body. Her eyes were red from tears and cheeks blemished by saltwater. Her gaze was empty and dazed. Aristolochia bent down trying to follow it and speaking softly to her, begging her to respond. It was then when a knock sounded throughout the room. All head turned and everyone stepped away at the sight of the witch-doctor.

    Her walked stick tapped with each step and her many jewels and piercings clinked together. She stepped through the aisle between the other faeries and jabbed Menispermum with her walking stick and pushed one of her arms. Menispermum let it fall freely and turned her head up to the doctor.

    “Get up, get up,” the antique woman said, her voice high and brusque, “You can’t mourn all day. Not with a murderer on the loose,” she joked.

    “Come now, Doll. I have some very precious information derived from a friend of your daughter’s own killer. I know you wish to-,” she took a look around the room, “Get out of here. Go on, out,” she commanded. The crowd slowly dissipated and only the doctor, Menispermum and Aristolochia lingered about.

    The doctor continued to prod her until she pulled herself from the ground. She appeared sick, as was her right and the doctor made a bellowing laugh at her windswept hair. She coughed when she saw Menispermum’s sad frown and lack of whimsy. She then stared into Menispermum’s eyes, motioned her and Aristolochia to take a seat at the table. They did so and waited for the wrinkled lady to find her words.

    “Being…. Jealous,” she explained, “Of the fact that you must wait until your chance on the council of elders to eat Stygian flesh this person…. Decided to take his thirst to the one, which he felt was most responsible. He was finally at an age where he comprehended the taste for our own kind, the tantalizing smell of our blood. Once old enough to remember it long enough to care. It was at the ceremony for Coriandrun,” she stopped to take in Menispermum’s expression. Confusion and anger and sadness all in one.

    “As you can tell he took it out upon your daughter. Coriandrun’s reincarnation.”

    “Who did it?” Menispermum and Aristolochia asked in harmony.

    She responded quietly, as though ashamed, “Anethum.”


    To read chapter one: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100708989
    To read chapter three: {{Not posted yet. Will be put up tomorrow!}}
    To read the entire story: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100679491