Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Gypsy Queen ❯ Light ( Chapter 1 )

This is a story I've had a lot of problems with- I can't seem to get it just right! Anyway, I thought I'd post it just to see what people made of it. The title really doesn't have any meaning to the plotline- I was just listening to Santana, saw this song name and thought it sounded like an interesting title. Anyvay, to the story…

 

The Gypsy Queen

 

Light

 

The cross of God was a shadow on her face in the stillness of the chapel. Darkness swirled thickly about her knees as she knelt: cruel nails of steel binding her heart; thorns twisting and mutilating a wounded conscience. The tears of humanity blinded her sight.

 

Tormented and hollow, she prostrated herself.

 

The moon, a serrated, wan sickle, hung motionless upon the air beyond abstract panes of emerald and crimson. A pale and strained light shed a melancholy, shifting glow to the space it touched. Dark shapes haunted the feral skies, clustering on the waxy leaves of sinister evergreens. The trees that kept their habitual guard in the brooding silence, casting monstrous, crooked shadows on the chapel at their feet.

 

Grief gnawed at her insides, guts burning with guilt and shame. Her eyes, disturbed by the same dark shadows that flittered eerily beyond the glass panes, climbed to the silver cross before her. Grey eyes clouded with forbidden hope. Purity streamed from the cross in a thickening, cloying aura that made her ashamed.

 

Could she not seize but a part of that flawlessness?

 

But as her shaking hands hovered before her ashen face, she knew the eyes of God were turned from her. She lay fallen, among the tainted and macabre paraphernalia of evil. Never to be saved, purified, forgiven. A creature bound by the tenebrous veneer of crimson: blood that caked her clothing, dusted her tawny curls, lay trapped beneath the jagged claws of her hands. The crimson stain coated her lips as rouge, a trickle here running down immaculate, corpse-white skin. Like a serpent, her tongue flicked out and tasted the metallic substance that corroded her cheeks. Even here, it seduced her, before the power and sanctity of God.

 

Wherever she tread it stormed and rained blood. Not two hours since, it had come down in great, lashing billows. Would she ever be free of the stench that swathed her almost as a second layer of skin? It was a part of her now.

 

Salvation was for the pure ones. The ones that bore the shining cross with grace, blue eyes whispering of untold miracles. Was there not one miracle left for her? No, she writhed in the dust left by their sandals, hoping for even a shred of their dignity; their purity. Dreaming of one insignificant miracle shed by their radiant forms.

 

Redemption was for those not of the Fallen. The darkness blinded such beings to her pathetic continuation of the sham of life. The broken ruin of her wings, relics from the light, was buried among the decomposing mass of life in the earth. The Angel of Darkness was flightless.

 

Yet she could not weep: blood painted her face like tears.

 

The rasp of paper set a vibration in the chapel's silence. A deck of cards, tattered and worn from the constant, desperate touch of her fingers. Yes, she shuffled them for what seemed the millionth time. Her grey eyes were closed in hope, whispered prayers a lullaby, as deft fingers stilled and turned over the card that lay atop the others.

 

Curses, despair heavy and thick as storm clouds, descended. The Lord did not deem her worthy of deliverance. The white angels ascended further beyond her reach. She remained in the dark, fiery bowels of the earth in wretchedness.

 

The card in her hands was the most worn of all: tattered, peeling edges; fading ink. A tower stood at its heart, crowned with lightning and storm clouds. The broken battlements rained upon the scorched earth below. Destruction. Catastrophe. Misery. Torment. Chains.

 

The chains of blood.

 

The cards fell to the marble tiles, with the same despondency as leaves that fall from their branches in autumn. And the Tower card lay atop them, sending out a ghostly twang in the silence of the chapel.

 

Face washed in shadows, tears of blood twinkled in the pallid moonlight like dejected stars.

 

 

This is the first part of the story- it's in two. The second is titled `Darkness' and will explain all about the blood etc.- cue evil scientist laugh now! I like to think she has a problem with split personalities :) Anyway, you know the drill- review please!