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Rated: E · Short Story · Gothic · #1603482
A gothic story of love, horror, and deception.
Sleep Deeply, My Dear

She was too perfect. It was not her long billowing black hair or her entrancing almond shaped eyes that caused me such an intense feeling, but rather her full, luscious red lips forever curved in a smile filled with sagacity. I loved her and the extreme purity of her perfection was but an exterior condition I had set out to appease with the help of my feverous devotion. But as the months wore on and her pristine splendour became even more acute, I could not ignore it any longer. Her flawlessness did not fit into this flawed world. Her perfection did not belong amongst so much imperfection. It was my intention to kill and with a bundle of blankets I set off towards the topmost tower of the imposing castle.
The interminable staircase leading upwards to her dark chamber was dizzying and the thick blankets, heavy. Had it not been for the concealed passageway hidden beneath the daunting gargoyle, I might not have made it, for my mind was wandering out of my body in furtive excitement. As I approached my desired location, I noticed the foolish vigilar, asleep at the entrance and oblivious to my appearance.
Her chamber was dark as I opened the door, a stormy, cloudy night, lurking through the open window. She lay asleep on her bed, barely breathing, her exposed body entwined in the fabric of a white satin nightdress at the perfect mercy of all elements.  Her succulent lips were slightly open, taunting in the faint beam of the moonlight. Her eyes were closed and barely fluttered upon my entrance. She seemed not to have noticed my arrival.
I crept up to her bed, gazing at her innocent face, my eyes alight with anticipation. Her beauty was tantalizing but my mission was far too vital for love to get in the way. This task had been bestowed upon me from up above and I would go through with it in order to eradicate those too close to perfection in our world.   
The first blanket landed with a thud on her head, awakening her instantly.
“Daemeon! Mi amor!” She cried, startled. “Que haces aqui?”
“It is nothing mi princesa, go back to sleep,” Was my cool reply.
         I placed another blanket atop her head, covering her face, her lips. She was struggling to breathe now, as I restrained her with my calloused hands, her soft hair standing erect on the skin of her bony arms. The next blanket came down fiercely and she was buried beneath its mass, her body weighed down by the thick fabric. She let out a bloodcurdling scream of fury.
         I attempted to placate her in her last moments.
“Hush my dear, I am doing this for your own good, but alas, you are too naive to understand.”
         After a great many interminable minutes, death was near and I could feel it furtively entering the doorstep of her luxurious chamber. Buried under the blankets and held back by my strong arms, the Princess was forced to abandon her hopeless struggle. Finally, her chest rose and she uttered through her teeth with her last breath, the sound muffled by the impenetrable blankets.
         “My father will have revenge! You will never sleep in peace until the day of your death!”
         I backed away trembling with a deep satisfaction. The blankets lay still and flat as stone and her body was immobile, barely distinguishable underneath the heap. A celestial glow seemed to be escaping from her wan body and I quickly fled the room, the smell of death already audible to my pulsing nostrils. Everything was darkness around me as I stumbled down the steps, forgetting the passageway I had employed earlier.
         It was as I tumbled down the last steps that I heard them. Through my sinister surroundings, I distinguished shadows, ominous and ghastly. They were after me with pitchforks, knives and various impaling devices. I began to run, attempting to ward off the evil beings. 
         “Be gone you wicked demonios!” Strangely, the staccato of my voice was clearly audible through the howling storm of the night.
         My long tunic and leather sandals grazed the fallen branches and dewy grass enveloping the raw, fertile earth of the forest surrounding me. Eyes reeling in shock, I blindly made my way through the ghostly woods, haphazardly dislodging undergrowth while fiercely evading my manic pursuers. They could not possibly be already aware of the murder, but the fiery heat in their eyes echoed revenge and I knew I would not be alive when the glimmering sun rose again at dawn.
         As my frenzied steps grew quicker, I stole a glance behind me. The eerie castle was far in the distance but still looming. My vengeful hunters, with her father leading the pack were gaining ground. I felt for the vial in my pocket. It was filled to the brim with a strong liquid destined to soothe the cracks of a broken heart. It would be my last defence, a chance to die of my own hands and not at the mercy of her father and his pack.
I slowed down, feeling weak at the thought of my impending death. The men, aware of my lethargic pace, finally circled me as I fell to my knees in agony and regret. They began lashing out their brutal revenge with pitchforks, knives and swords. I did not scream, stoically accepting my fate as I buried my hand in my pocket, desperately searching for the merciful vial which I found at last. This vial would envelop me in a deep slumber, akin to my darling’s earlier predicament. Using my last ounce of strength, I uncorked it, bringing the vial to my lips in pure delight and thus, perishing at once in a final spasm of pain.
© Copyright 2009 Lenna Rivoli (bookworms at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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