Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Thorn Of Damnation ❯ Prologue

This story belongs to me and to me alone. It was formerly posted as a fanfiction under a different title and pen name, but it still belongs to me. You do not have permission what so ever to copy this story or the characters for any purpose.

 

 

 

Thorn Of Damnation

Prologue

 

 

 

France: 1790

 

A thundering clap of lightning flashed, instantly illuminating the couple sitting near the window in a pitch-black room. The man, young with long, impossibly black, waist length hair and deep, regal, green eyes had a stature worthy of royal bearing. The other was a young woman with similar hair and dark gray eyes. The man had an unreadable expression to the naked eye, but if one knew him well enough, then one could clearly see that he was in deep mourning.

 

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, thunder following shortly after, indicating that the location of the hit was further off in the distance. He looked out of the window into the pouring rain, thinking of the past week. Funny how the weather chose this day of all days to mirror his emotions.

 

`If time is supposed to heal all wounds,' he thought dryly to himself, `then why does mourning consume every moment of my life?'

 

She had died last week. The only person that he had ever cared about was dead and had been buried for a few days now. Not even the loss of his fiancé would make him feel this way—this feeling of living in a world of nothingness.

 

He had begged her to let him go in her place, to let him command the armed forces of France, but she had repeatedly denied him. She said he was too young and would be needed at home. Too young? That did not matter. Not if it could have prevented her death. Could have saved her.

 

His mind kept replaying the last moments of her life. He was sitting in the garden near the white roses when he saw everyone rush to the castle doors. All the highest-ranking officers rushed her back to the castle where the best healers worked on her, but it was no use. She had lost too much blood. She had too many deep wounds. She was a strong woman and trained to be a good warrior, but ultimately she was not strong enough to fight off her impending death. Too many attributes of a lady bled through, and in the end that was her downfall. Her last words still were fresh in his mind. He could never forget that conversation and the promise he made to her on her deathbed.

 

“I want you to have this,” she whispered weakly and slowly, holding out in her hand the pearl necklace that she always wore. He had never seen her without it. He gently took it out of her hand, not bothering to hide his tears.

 

“Promise me…Promise me that you will give it to the one you love. I want this to be given out of the deepest love, just as it was given to me. Promise me…” He could tell that her strength was fading from the way that her voice was losing what little volume it had.

 

“I promise. I will, I promise. Please just…please do not leave me…” he cried. He had no shame. She was dying and he no longer cared who saw his tears.

 

“Do not,” she said, raising a quivering hand to wipe the river of tears falling down his cheek. “Do not cry. I will not be in pain anymore when I leave…I will be with my dearest.” She dropped her hand and grabbed his own in her weakening grip. Then she drew in a raged breath and spoke her last words.

 

“I will love you even in death, my beautifu…”

 

He knew then that she was dead. Her grip was nonexistent.

 

“No, no, no, no!” he cried, shaking his head, each exclamation louder than the last.

 

`A week…just one week,' he thought to himself. `Funny. It does not feel like it. Her burial was a few days later and now, here I am…sitting here with a huge hole in my heart. In the end, France celebrated its victory, but it came at a price. My price.'

 

“Love…” the dark brown eyed woman next to him spoke, drawing him out of his memories and wrapping her arms around his chest. “You have to snap out of this…She would want you to move on with your life.”

 

“You do not know what she would have wanted,” he bitterly replied.

 

“No, but I do know that she would not have wanted you to be like this…”

 

He did not reply, remaining as still as ever. He just stared out the window.

 

“For God's sakes! It has been a week! Will you not at least make good on your promise to her?”

 

Snapping around to face her, he icily replied, “How do you know of what I promised her?”

 

He could feel the nervousness radiating off of her. He didn't have the patience for this. His nerves were shot.

 

“Well? Speak, damn it!” The lightning struck once more, adding to the intensity of his terrifying expression.

 

“I was at the door!” she cried, backing away. She knew that she had violated his trust. She knew that he asked to be alone with the dying woman, and he had been…to an extent…“I heard every word! I know of what you promised her! You are going to give the woman you love that necklace she always wore.” He was advancing on her now and she was trembling, visibly shaking. She had always known that he had a short temper, and she knew that she was pushing his limits now. She was deathly afraid of his strength. He was a good fighter even though he was not fighting in the war…but he would not strike a woman…would he?

 

“I just thought that the sooner you gave it to me, the sooner you could move on with your life…”

 

“Give it to you? Give it to you! Let me be very clear on this, dearest…” he said snidely, thunder crackling behind him. “I have never loved you. I never will love you. I cannot see us together in the future, so I think it would be best if we never wed.”

 

“No! You do not mean that!” she said, denying herself the truth. “You are just upset. That is all. You do not know what you are saying.”

 

“Oh, but I do. The only reason I agreed to this proposal was because I thought that you and your powers would be an asset to the kingdom. I do not love you, and for that reason I think that we should go our separate ways.”

 

“But…but I love you.”

 

“If you loved me, really loved me, you would have let me be that day. You would have left us alone during her last few moments of life. I cannot deal with this now. Please leave me. Go. Now!”

 

She fell to the ground from fear of the anger in his voice. She had gone too far and she knew it.

 

“For now I shall, my love,” she whispered as she ungracefully rose to her feet and quickly left the room.

 

He turned around and stared out the window once more, looking out into nothingness as he tried to calm himself from his verbal lashing. This time, he thought of the good things they had done together when he was younger. They would never be able to share those happy moments again due to her death. One time he kept very dear to him. It was the time in the garden.

 

He was very young at the time, about five years old. He was running up and down the pathways while chasing butterflies. Every time he got close enough to capture one, it would fly away, eluding his carefully practiced pounce. This time he heard her mirthful laugh though, as he had quite ungracefully fallen onto the dirt after using a little too much pounce. He looked up from the shrubbery on which he had landed, twigs and leaves sticking out this way and that. She called for him to come, and he did. She carefully picked out each and every twig and leaf that was in his hair, then lovingly smoothed his hair over. When she told him that perhaps it would be best to leave the butterflies alone for now, he pouted, invoking another mirthful laugh from her.

 

“Come. I want to show you something.”

 

“What is it?” he asked as he cocked his head to the side, allowing his curiosity to get the best of him.

 

“Come, and I will show you.” They did not go too far, but far enough away from the plants that attracted the butterflies. This disappointed him. What was the point of being in a garden if you couldn't attack the butterflies?

 

“Here. This is my favorite flower.” When he looked up he saw a bush of white flowers. Frilly looking things. Of course they were her favorite. Just look at them.

 

“Do you want to know why?” she then asked looking at him.

 

Shrugging, he simply said, “ `Cause they are frilly. You like frilly things.”

 

She must have found something he said funny again because she let out another mirthful laugh, though for the life of him he could not figure out what was so funny.

 

“Yes,” she said, looking at him again. “They are frilly. That is not the only reason though. How else would you describe them?”

 

He looked at them. Besides for the fact that they were frilly, in his opinion, there was nothing else to describe them. He kept staring at them for a while and then said,

 

“I guess they are kind of pretty. You like pretty things too.”

 

Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, they are very pretty. Some would call them beautiful and elegant. But they are also dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?” Now he was confused. How could a frilly flower be dangerous? It did not look dangerous.

 

“Yes.” She smiled, reaching out and picking one of the flowers while he tried to stop her. If they were dangerous, then he did not want her touching them. When she angled the flower so that he could see the stem, he knew what she meant.

 

Understanding, he said, “Thorns.”

 

“The rose is one of the most beautiful flowers, but it is also a powerful one. It has mighty thorns to protect its beauty and grace. One can easily be pricked by a rose if one is not careful—something that I hope you will take to heart. Even though a face may be pretty, there is still a powerful personality behind it. One day many women will fight over you because of your status as a prince.” She chose to ignore his wrinkled nose and scrunched up face at the thought of having girls fight over him. He was at the stage in which the fear of cooties was at its strongest. She continued by saying, “But do not choose the woman who is the prettiest. Choose the one who is the kindest. Choose the one with the most beautiful heart, or else you will regret your decision.”

 

He looked at the rose again, thinking, and finally declared that the white rose would be his favorite flower too from now on since it was so strong.

 

From that day forward, it was he who took care of the roses, not a gardener. And how they thrived! When she died, he picked every last white rose and put them on her coffin as they lowered her into the ground. He couldn't help but think that the roses were just like her—beautiful and strong at the same time.

 

He was so deep in thought that he did not notice how much time had passed or her presence until she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

 

“I do remember telling you to leave me.”

 

“You did.”

 

“Then would you care to enlighten me as to why are you now here?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

 

“I do believe I shall. I wanted to prove to you how wrong you are,” she said, slipping her hands into his loose white shirt and over his chest, enjoying the firm muscle that resided below her fingertips. “You are upset. I understand that. I also understand that means you are going to say things you do not mean.” She removed her hands, pressing up against him as she whispered into his ear. “So I am going to show you the truth—that you do love me.” She dragged her hands to the edge of his shirt, stopping to whisper “and I will do anything to prove it to you.” before pulling up. The shirt had barely gone an inch before she was quickly pushed away from him, landing on the floor.

 

“How dare you!” he hissed. “How dare you come here and try to do something like that! I had no idea you were that kind of woman. I will do no such thing with you.”

 

“But…but…”

 

“Leave this kingdom and never come back. That is a direct order from your prince.”

 

“You monster!” she cried, tears streaming down her face from both shame and inner anguish at the thought of her fate. A lady should not be treated in such a manner! “I love you! I gave you my heart, and this is how you treat me?” Love him…at one point she really had. No more. Not after how he had treated her. “You will regret the day you ever met me.”

 

“I already do.”

 

That was the last straw. No one ever insulted her and got away with it! Crying out in anger, she rose to her feet and harshly whispered, “You may be a handsome man on the outside, but on the inside you are as rotten to the core as a bad apple. People should not fall for your outer beauty. I will make sure that they never will from this moment on. People should see you for what you really are—a disgusting monster.”

 

With that, she began chanting “Anima malis impleta, canis ferave semper vives, donec, duobus ex illo amore elatis, osculum amoris accipies*.” It was a spell directed at him. The lightning struck once more, adding effect to his transformation. He crouched down in pain, feeling his body change. He felt his muscles expanding and contracting. His body was morphing into that of something else. He felt his leg's width expand, the sensation and sound of the legs' of his pants splitting under the pressure hardly registered. His hearing and sense of smell was increasing in sensitivity, throwing his instincts and sanity into a whirlwind. His spine lengthened, causing his crouched body's balance to waver. It was agony. It was like his entire body was being ripped apart and put back together again.

 

`I will not cry out,' he thought. `I will not. I will not cry out. I will not give her the satisfaction of knowing how much she is hurting me. I will not. I…'

 

He tried to hold it in but the pain was too great. The sound was masked by a thunderclap that shook the entire castle. His cry was not the normal cry of a human in pain, for halfway through, his cry turned into a howl…like a dog or wolf. It did not sound human at all.

 

`Oh god…what has she done to me?'

 

When the pain finally stopped, he scrambled to the other side of the room and gazed into the mirror. His once black hair had turned into soft strands of golden brown grain, at times becoming so light they appeared to be warm rays from the sun, and at other times becoming getting so dark that they looked like sweet chocolate. The muscles in his arms had thickened and increased in strength. His legs and feet had changed in the same manner and were now difficult to stand on, as the muscles in them were still weak from having just formed mere seconds ago. His feet were no longer feet, but rather large paws. The hair on his legs had thickened and turned into light brown fur. His once green eyes had become icy blue. His nails had lengthened and turned into claws. His ears had morphed from their normal human shape on the side of his face into pointed wolf-shaped ones that sat on the top of his head. He reached up hesitantly and felt one, not believing his eyes as he saw that all of the hair on his arm had become fur just like the hair on his legs. He opened his mouth and examined the inside, for he felt something sharp within it scraping his tongue. He had fangs. Slowly, he looked behind himself and saw a fluffy, brown tail sticking out of his pants. Dear God…What was he now?

 

“Have you never been told, love? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and you just upset the wrong woman.”

 

“What…What am I?” He turned to face her.

 

“You are now just as you should have been born—a demon, a filthy wolf demon. Well, not quite a full demon. The spell is strong, but apparently it could not convert your heart into that of a demon. No matter. Your heart is already cold and cruel enough on its own. In a way, this is better. Now you do not fit into either world. You do not fit into a demon's world in Hell, and now you do not fit into a human's world. You will be doomed to live out an eternity alone and as a monster. Yes, I like this much more.”

 

“Change me back.” His voice was low and void of all emotion.

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me. No. There is only one way to reverse the spell. Would you like to hear it?”

 

His response was a low, threatening growl.

 

“You are beginning to sound more and more like the animal you are. That is okay, my little mutt. I will tell you even if you cannot answer,” she chided, thoroughly enjoying the inner turmoil she felt radiating off of him. “You need a kiss of pure love and two acts brought forth from that love.” Laughing, she said, “Good luck accomplishing that, looking like the beast you are.”

 

“Damn you…” he growled.

 

“No, it is you who is damned now. If you will excuse me, I have to alert the Dukes and servants of their prince's unfortunate fate.” And with that she left the room.

 

`Hmm… I do believe I shall leave you one more present, my love.'

 

When she was out of sight and he could not hear her anymore with his advanced hearing, he dropped to his knees and cried for the second time in his adult life. He was normally strong, but now everything just came pouring out at once. How could he live like this? How could anyone live like this? And having to deal with this on top of her death? Their god must truly hate him. Yes…For once, the weather outside did indeed match his mood.

 

 

 

 

 

A/N: Anima malis impleta, canis ferave semper vives, donec, duobus ex illo amore elatis, osculum amoris accipies. Is Latin, and a rough translation is as fallows:

 

Because your soul is filled with evil, your days will forever be spent as a wild beast. In order to reverse such a curse, all that is needed is a kiss of pure love and two acts brought forth from that love.

 

 

Please review! I want to know what people think of this story so far! Every review gets a response. That is my policy, and I stick by it :D. New chapter soon to follow!