The Obsidian Rose sat alone in the tranquil twilight, lost
within his deepest thoughts. He was
keenly aware of his surroundings as he gazed upon the scene with a solemn grace
that mirrored his musings. The stars
glittered in the night sky like thousands of tiny eyes which winked at him from
afar as if they wondered or perhaps even knew that which was on the rose’s
mind. A gentle wind whispered as it
passed through the trees which had been kissed by the icy lips of autumn,
telling the forlorn secrets of that most frigid eve of eves. Somewhere a chorus of crickets and other
nocturnal insects sang a soft sweet melody which echoed in the hollows of the
night with a melancholy resonance, as if serenading the blissful chill that
swept over the land. The Obsidian Rose’s
skin prickled as he felt the icy tendrils of the autumn night seeking to find
any way beneath his garb to caress the tender skin beneath. If he felt the cold at all, the rose did not
show it, as he remained still despite the involuntary shiver that made his body
tremble from head to foot; even so, he dared not move.
A voice like an Oracle of old broke the silence which seemed
all but tangible despite the ambience which surrounded him. “Why,” it asked,
“do you sit here so… in the cold and all alone?” Upon a brief pause the voice pursued with
another inquiry, one based in piqued curiosity.
“What is it that you seek… or more importantly, what have you found?”
Drawn from his thoughts, the Obsidian Rose turned to face
the Night Breeze which had but only moments ago swept through the trees
uttering the arcana of the night to the lethargic hardwoods who prepared for
their long winter’s nap. She had not the
face of a crone as many might have imagined, but instead seemed eternally young
and lithe, with a faerie-like appearance, with the face of a Muse, classic and
beauteous. “I have found that which is
profound, and yet confounds me, milady of the frigid night,” he replied almost
distantly.
“I have watched you for many seasons, oh man of the Obsidian
Rose,” she replied, intrigued by the musings of this man; “it must be great and
terrible, indeed, to trouble one like you.
So, tell me Obsidian Rose, what is this calamity that you have found?”
“Oh it’s no calamity, mistress,” he responded, “but
something more…” He paused and took a deep breath laboring against the weight
in his chest, for the air he sought, and in that moment, it seemed all the
world stood still. It was if nature
herself wanted to hear what this mere man had discovered. Even the moon and the stars which had gazed
upon him since the waning of the daylight leaned in to hear what he had to say.
…and so, with a heart, burdened by his thoughts, he began-
“I found in my journey, a power unlike any other. It can achieve wonders like nothing in the
heavens or upon the earth.” A rustle nearby saw a wisened old owl light in the
tree nearby to hear the story unfold, and it was joined by several small
animals who also wished to hear this tale.
“This power is lost on the rich, and sought by the poor, yet is found by
the unlikely. It is often wanted but
rarely truly gained by those who seek it and desire it most. This mystical force is often abused by those
who have it and abandons those who long for it.
It can heal a soul or drive a silent, killing blade deeper; it can ease
one’s pains or leave an unbearable agony in those whom it leaves; It can bridge
gaps between entire nations or can drive them to war.” The spectators gasped as they heard the power
of this mystical force. “This power can
breathe life into the dying yet at the same time it can slay without mercy in
all its benevolence; it can make a coward brave and turn the brave into
cowards. This power can turn despair
into glory or steal the glimmer from gold; it can make a man feel like a king
or turn a throne room into a prison cell.
It can close the distance of a thousand miles, yet it can make an inch
feel like a thousand miles. It can
humble the Graces, still the Furies, and spur the Muses into motion…” The
Obsidian Rose, paused to look at the gathering about him as the woodland
spirits and all of nature itself gathered around the feet of the Night Breeze,
then he continued. “It is a power, a
force of nature, which in and of its own authority can take the sting from
death, and yet it can drive a stake of grief into the hearts of those who long
for it and are without it. It has the
ability to make or break the world, and even render Gods powerless before its
awesome might… and it is why I sit here cold and alone, with only the stars to
keep me company on this night.”
“This is a great power indeed,” the Night Breeze replied,
the grimace in her features betraying the thoughts within; “what sorcery is
this… this magical arcana you have so found… and why is it I have never heard
of it?” Troubled, she kneeled to ponder this force of nature.
“It is no sorcery, my dearest Night Breeze; nor is it any
form of magic for it transcends both.” The Obsidian Rose replied turning to
face her. The moonlight glimmered upon a
small diamond-like formation at the corner of the man’s eye, which shone like
that of a star. The glittering jewel
traced a silvery path down his face, to fall and become lost amid the wild
weeds and grasses of the field. The
Night Breeze was taken aback at this spectacle for never had she seen anything
of its sorts in all her immortal years.
“Then, by all means, what is this mysticism which brings
crystalline moisture from you’re your eyes and leaves you so humbled,” She
inquired unable to contain the curiosity at this magnificent force.
“It is called Love,” Obsidian Rose answered profoundly, and
yet brokenly at the same time. “This
power which is mightier than any other… is…
Love!” His voice became hoarse
and his shoulders slumped with what seemed to be the weight of the entire world.
“…And this troubles you; it pains you…” The Night Breeze
questioned softly as she approached and began to swirl about him, “why?” The woodland spirits looked to one another,
each in turn understanding what the fleeting Night Breeze could not, for she
was not prone to such musings. The moon
and stars had witnessed the very things of which the Obsidian Rose had spoken
and knew their magic. …and in that moment, they felt his pain for they too had
watched this man for many seasons. They
knew the times in which they had witnessed him come to this very field wishing
for the things he could not seem to have, yet he named here on this very night.
…and they were humbled by it.
“I have felt love; I have given love, and I have even fell
in love… but never has anyone truly ever loved me in return… so yes, yes it
does trouble me,” the Obsidian Rose spoke with his head bowed. “I am often left to wonder, no matter how good
I try to be, for all the love that I have to give… am I just…unlovable?”
In awe and in grief, a silvery star fell from the heavens,
its path blazing in a trail of purest platinum as it lit up the night. …And in
that fleeting moment, a single diamond-like tear fell from the other eye,
joining the star’s journey, sealing with it a solemn wish that it alone
carried. The Night Breeze caressed the
Obsidian Rose and placed an icy kiss upon his cheek. “This is for you, Obsidian Rose, and the love
that you hope to find. I wish for you to
find the love you seek, and may happiness fill your days and the nights to
come, but the time has come for me to go my way for the dawn is soon to
come. No matter where you go, or where
you are, I shall be watching you my Obsidian Rose be it near or far.”
In the echo of her final words, the
Night breeze took flight, disappearing back into the shadows from whence she’d
come. The moon and stars, too, had
returned to the heavens with a yawn and glance toward the eastern sky, and with
them the woodland spirits returned to the sanctity of the solemn boughs of the
autumn kissed trees. Only the wisened
old owl stayed behind for a moment as if weighing the night’s discussion in the
eternal balances of age and wisdom before regarding the man with a look and a
touch of his wing as if giving an approval he could not voice. With what seemed to be a nod, the owl took to
the air, leaving to find his place of rest amid the trees. Once more, the Obsidian Rose sat all alone with
his aching heart in the middle of the field surrounded by a myriad of
glittering tears which had fallen from the starlit sky. …and as he finally felt
the icy touch of the night’s chill, he dared to hope.
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