RUSH

The door was open. It was never open. But it was open this day… because he had slid the key into the keyhole, turned it, and had pushed the door until it slowly swung into the room. To anyone else, the air in the room would’ve been stale. The feeling of death and something lingering after would’ve been so thick… to taste on the tongue, to choke on it. But to the High Elf standing in the doorway, this was serenity at its finest. There was an unnatural light from a window on the wall opposite the door. It filtered through the air like something altogether unholy, touching the objects in the room, even the walls and floor itself, with icy fingers.

He stepped forward, perhaps the first foot to touch the floor in several, several years. So calm in there… Another step soon followed. He was taking things slowly, although he didn’t know why. Or better yet, he did know but didn’t want to accept it.

To the right wall was a small dresser, only about waist level. It was oak. He had insisted that it was made of good strong oak. Solid. Long-lived. It would have to be this sturdy to survive the years of use. And yet there it was, still lined with the same clothing that had been stuffed into it all those years ago. There were small objects littering the solid surface, but the eerie light touched only a few in that extra-special way.

One of these objects was a small music box, simplistic in design. Fingers accustomed to being drenched in blood hesitated as the owner’s eyes remembered the gory scenes. It’s not real, he told himself. At least… not this time. He forced his hand to go on, and carefully he opened the box. And then out poured the sweetest sound… music that was so heartbreaking and… and incomplete. Something was missing. Emerald green eyes drifted over the detailed scene etched inside. Such detail on the tree protruding from the centre, a small elven boy swinging on a rope, all workings of the mechanical sort from inside the heavy box. He stared intently on that little swinging boy. It looked like a scene from one of those Earth movies… slow motion, they called it. For a moment he could hear the tinkling laughter… and the boy’s hair seemed to be flowing in the wind… Yet it was still in the room, there were no children… no wind, no laughter. He slammed the top of the box down, and the loud snapping sound bounced off the walls with dead echo that reflected the void of the room. There was a hesitance as his hands started to pull away from the wooden music box. Finally he opened it again, the same music creeping up and out of the box. Empty, longing sound.

Another step over and another item was in his sights. His hand crept over the softness of the folded blanket, onto the sudden change to the book bound in leather that rested on top of it. There was never a name chosen… damn them for waiting. He picked the small book up and flipped it open with a delicate touch, as if it might crumble if held too carelessly. You will have a name. You shouldn’t suffer this disgrace. The elf forced himself to replace the book and turn away from the dresser. In this room time seemed to freeze while he himself moved about in the nothingness. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched anything…

The music was still playing…

Behind him, against the wall to the left, was the crib. Slowly he walked around the room, towards the window before rounding the corners. He walked by a small rocking horse and nudged it ever so gently, causing it to rock and cause eerie creaks to lift up from the floor beneath it. He ignored this and stepped up to the crib. Empty. Just like everything else in this place. Empty music, empty air, empty crib. Empty heart. Empty soul? Nothing would come of thinking these things. He reached down and brushed the back of his fingers against a small, fuzzy bear resting against a pale blue pillow with white frills. No dust in here… not a speck. Magic was useful that way. Preservation was everything, and this was one thing that he refused to let fade away. It would be shameful to forget. So the bear was as fuzzy as ever, and if he did everything just right there would be no sign left behind that he had ever taken one step inside. Not that anyone else would know… but it was just a matter of principle. His hand drifted from the bear to the blanket covering the bottom of the crib. It was so soft… like most things intended for small children… babies. No. Not babies. Baby. His baby. His son.

“Áracálë,” the elf whispered into the nothingness. “Light of Dawn… You faded all too soon; only a flicker of your life graced the earth before the sun moved on.” He paused, thinking nothing but feeling everything. Several moments passed before he withdrew from the crib, the room itself. “Now you have a name.”

He turned to pull the door shut, his eyes landing suddenly on the rocking horse across the room. It was still rocking… and with an all too real motion. It was then that his heart skipped a beat and the air didn’t seem to want to go into his lungs. But… it was nothing. He had pushed the toy when he had walked by. It was that, and nothing more. Or so he told himself. The elf slowly closed the door and locked it, turning away from the memories and emotions of long ago. He had survived the tragedies of his life, and he refused to let any of them weigh him down, now. He had plans for a future, plans for power and conquest and- was love anywhere in there? It didn’t matter. Things would never again be as they were, and that was something that he had accepted willingly. The elf slipped the key back into his pocket and wandered down the dark hallway, forcing everything he had just experienced to fade away into the distant background of his forever mourning heart, the heart that still sung out to the dead infant child with love, sadness, and devotion. There, there would always be music boxes playing, rocking horses, bears and blankets, laughter and games played in the twilight where fireflies lit the way.

And still, the music played.