Author: Stephanie (gothically)
Content: Dancing, Kiss, Death (FemalexFemale).
Memories Kept By a Lover
I remember the first time I saw her. It was at the night club, Demon’s Dream. But she was more then a dream. She was a promise, a thin whisper of hope that shone through the din of life. She pulled me to her, her rhythmic movements, the loneliness that shone from her face, her spirit drifting over mine. I sat there captivated, drink forgotten in my hand as I watched her play her story in the spot light. It was a brief eternity before other dancers obscured her from my view. When they cleared she was gone. I did not see her again that night, or for many nights to come.
Then suddenly she was there again. Thinner then I remembered, sadder too. My heart ached, and my body followed. For the first time I weaved myself amongst the dancers intent on reaching her. People parted in front of me and I found myself standing behind her. Her long ash blonde hair held loosely in a braid. The fair skin of her arms flashed in the pulsing lights. Hesitantly I pressed in close behind her, tense; I didn’t know how she would respond to my obtrusion to her dance. The obvious fact that I was female did not bother my angel, my dancing spirit, her body melted against mine and I picked up her movements. My arms wrapped around her waist and I pulled her closer to me, resting my check against her soft hairs. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her in my arms. We danced and for that moment life was glorious. Too soon she slides from my hold, and I let her go. Sad green eyes and a small apologetic smile was the last I saw of her that night.
To my joy she was back the next night, she found me at my table. We said nothing but I stood and offered her my hand. Smiling as she blushed I led her onto the floor and we spent the whole night dancing. I like to think she found comfort with me, security in my hold. Because I found heaven in her; my spirit with no name, my dancer, my saving grace.
A week later I arrived and found her waiting on the curb. Wearing a t-shirt and jeans and it was the first snow of winter. She did not see me approach till I dropped my coat around her shoulders and sank down to sit on the curb next to her. She had been crying, eyes rimmed in red and shining wetly. Saying nothing she buried herself into me, fresh sobs tore themselves from her as she clutched onto me. I held her as close to me as I could, trying to warm and comfort her. She stood to leave and held my coat out to me. I took it only to place it on her correctly. While I was buttoning it up she stood on tip toe to place the sweetest chaste kiss upon my lips. And then she walked away.
My angel was on the new the next morning, and spread on every newspaper. She was found dead in her apartment. Beaten and dead, bloody and spread out on the floor. She was still wearing my coat the buttons had been ripped off and it open to reveal her. I stayed home that day, that week. Ignoring calls from work, from friends and family. I holed myself in my room until the day of her funeral.
It was overcast that day, threatening to rain. I found out my angel’s name on the day of her funeral, Eira Darcy. Eira means snow, such a pure name for such an angel. I saw her mother there, crying with those same green eyes. I went up and introduced myself to the mother, who was also recently widowed. My heart would have gone to her had it not left with my dancing snow spirit. It broke me to walk up to the coffin. Bruises still marred her face. I placed a kiss upon her frozen brow silently pledging to bring to justice who ever dared to hurt my angel.