16th October 1102

Isabelle’s body slowly unfurled as the skies opened, raindrops dripping down amongst the shivering trees. The fell like tears amongst a huddled group of mourners standing before a gaping grave. Garrick did not stir, his body hunched over as he sobbed quietly. His hands, slick with blood hung uselessly at his sides. The rain fell on his pallid face, streaming from his hair in rivers that flowed over his forehead, down his nose to mingle with the creeks of his tears.

Isabelle’s head slowly turned, her dark green eyes alighting on Cindra where she cringed behind the staid body of the oak. She was beautiful, her tangled red hair tumbling over her shoulders, the twisted curls unfolding with the damp. But her perfect face was marred by the blood that drooled unchecked from the sides of her mouth, spilling over her plump lips to dribble down her rounded chin. She was staring at Cindra with her husband’s green eyes.

Cindra felt her limbs twitch awake, dragging her towards Isabelle. She tried to cling to the ruddy bark of the tree but her fingers uncurled against her wishes, like sodden leaves turgid with rain. She lurched forward, her arms laid flat against her sides, fingers spread wide.

Her feet slopped through the mud, desperate leaves clinging to her skirts, hanging there for brief moments before they plunged back into the sucking mess.

“What do you want?”, she found her voice, asking in a frightened whisper.

Isabelle did not answer, but gazed down at the huddled body of her twin brother, trembling at her feet.

“No!”, Cindra’s voice stuck in her throat, wrenching out in a sickening gurgle of dismay, “no…”.

Isabelle began to move towards Garrick, reaching out her pale hands to stroke his face.

“Don’t touch him!”, Cindra shrieked trying to rush to his aid, but she was rooted to the spot, her legs as firmly planted as the steady trunk of the oak.

Garrick was moaning in pain as Isabelle caressed his face, running her slender fingers through his tangled, damp hair.

“Why are you doing this?! He didn’t mean to kill you! It was an accident!”, she shrieked, her body swaying in place, like the branches of the oak arching above her, as she fought against the paralysis in her legs.

Isabelle suddenly straightened, staring at Cindra her green eyes wide.

“So lonely”, her sigh was dry and dusty, like dying leaves stirred by a faint breeze.

Cindra felt an unbidden swell of pity in her chest for the all but forgotten young women, “But he is not ready to die yet! He has his whole life ahead of him”.

“Waited too long. Alone”.

“But he has so much left to live for. Can you not let him stay”.

“Cannot wait. Time for staying is done”.

She turned back to Garrick, bending over his whimpering body.

“You’re hurting him!”, Cindra cried.

“I’m sorry”, Isabelle whispered sadly and continued.

Cindra stared down at her immobile legs. At her feet, the rain was turning the ground into a slushy mess, the diseased bodies of dying leaves sinking in the muck.

She lurched forward, toppling over like a felled tree, landing on her knees in a welter of mud. The soggy mess soaked through the thick weave of her mourning gown, freezing her knees. She knelt, her legs tucked under her shaking body, toes digging into the mud, head bowed as tendrils of soaking hair slid from her shoulders to curtain her tear-stained face.

Her hands were clasped tightly as she began to pray, the words sliding from her mouth like soggy leaves beneath her feet. Her hands were clasped tightly. Her hands.

She stared at them, holding them before her face. Her palms were stained with mud, her fingerprints etched in dirt that filled every crevice and crease. These were the hands she used to calm her husband after a nightmare, gently stroking his hair and face until he slept again, head lolling on her shoulder. These very hands had patted at his bruised and mangled face not so long ago, gently urging him to wake.

She gazed over at the hands that were caressing the face of her moaning husband. They were deathly white, fingers squirming like tiny, translucent spiders legs, tangling in Garrick’s dripping hair like babies on a creeping mother’s back. Isabelle’s palms were stained to, but the dull streaked red of drying blood. Where her fingers touched, tiny trails of darkened red spread across Garrick’s body. Isabelle’s hands were killing her brother.

Cindra slowly rose to her feet.

She felt her hands curl into fists beside her damp gown.

“You’re killing him”, she growled.

Isabelle rose wearily, staring at Cindra through the mist.

“You’re killing him”, Cindra repeated.

The dead girl’s eyes fell shut in exhaustion, her face raw with pain.

“Do you remember how it felt to die Isabelle?” Cindra asked cruelly, “the dreadful pain. The fear”.

Isabelle pressed her hand to her forehead as though the weight of her head had grown to heavy to hold it up.

“Do you blame Garrick for that pain? Are you trying to make him suffer as you did?”, Cindra’s voice rang out through the clearing, the gentle branches of the oak nodded above her.

Isabelle slowly shook her head.

“Then why do you hurt him so. If you could only see what those wretched hands of yours are doing to his body Isabelle. Your tainted caress. His poor sweet face is a bruised mess. That blood that stains your lips is the very blood that is now gushing up from his insides as he writhes in pain”.

Isabelle’s hand flew up to her mouth, her fingers dabbing at the sticky blood that spattered her lips.

“He has a son Isabelle. I know you know that. You held his dear, little body in your arms. How could you be so selfish? To take him away now so that he never sees his son grow. And I am beginning to believe I am carrying his second child. Shall he never meet his father. You never got the chance of such happiness but would you take it from him?”

Isabelle gazed down at her hands, her face crumpling as she slowly curled and uncurled her fingers.

“The way. Who will show?”, she whispered sadly, a single tear winding its way down her cheek, leaving a clean trail through the blood and the grime.

“I don’t understand what you mean”, Cindra grimaced.

Isabelle stared intently at Cindra for long moments and then began to glide towards her on silent feet.

Cindra’s heart thumped in terror as Isabelle reached out her hand towards her, long white fingers glistening with blood.

“You will show him”, she whispered, bending towards her, one hand resting lightly on Cindra’s slightly swollen belly.

An icy jolt slid through Cindra’s body at her touch, as though she had swallowed a chunk of ice that was slithering down her throat and jabbing at her insides.

“How?” What do you mean?”, Cindra cried through chattering teeth.

Isabelle turned away, a weathered stone archway appearing before her. Cindra could see through to the other side where it was not raining and the forest bloomed with flowers and new growth. The soft light of spring shone down upon the forest floor and a warm breeze blew from somewhere mingling with the frigid damp around them.

Isabelle slowly strode beneath the archway, her blood-stained cloak melting away to reveal the dress she was buried in. Her hair was neatly arranged, no trace of dirt and blood remaining, her face unblemished.

She stood in the archway, gazing sadly down at Garrick. He did not look up at her, did not even seem to notice she was there.

The air around her began to glow with streaming light, iridescent sparkles floating around her trembling body. She looked at Cindra, her face a mask of utter misery and then she was gone.