Her Stone Upon a Hill

The rain pelted against the carved impressions of the marble obelisk. Its raised edge was worn to white; its lightened hue stood in stark contrast to the vastly dark night sky. Near the top of the stone, there were a few lines gouged to create a name. Seraphina Garner. There was a painted red heart directly bellow the epitaph; a lightening shaped crack split the heart in two. No other markings or drawings were put upon the monument. So discreet was the stone; it was in a patch of dead grass nestled upon a hill miles from the nearest town. The discreet symbols upon it made it nearly as indistinguishable from any other boulder upon any other hill. On this particular night the stone would have been as inconspicuous as the next had it not been for the man kneeling at its basin.

Hands stained red as flickering flame felt upon the cool marble as the man looked upward to the solitary name. Darkened eyes of grey and black announced the man as curious and unique; the bleeding human heart dropped by him on the ground announced him as a monster. A body of an athlete, the man was pale as the stone to which he clung to. Opaque black garb adorned his body, and a crystal as red as his hands hung from his neck. The man began to stand, but a bout of grief immobilized him. It seemed as if tears were running down the monster's face, but only the night itself knew if the monster could actually cry. A horrendous screech escaped its lips and the echoes lingered with the sounds of the rain for a few fleeting seconds.

Grabbing the displaced and bloody heart from the ground, the man finally managed to stand and directed his arms outward in a notion of offering. The stone obelisk ignored his graciousness, and the man spoke, "My dear Sera, how long has it been. The nights have grown cold, my heart has grown colder. The thoughts of your departed life weigh heavy against my conscious. I know of no reason to continue my life, but you know there are so few ways that I can die."

The man realized the silliness of his actions, and he put the heart back down upon the ground. It slid in the mud and nestled into an indention near the stone's edge. Getting up once more, a lingering finger traced the outline of the crack in the heart drawing. His voice pierced the night once more. "How strong was our love, my dear? Is it not strong enough to call the immortal from her grave? That is right my love, you are not immortal. You refused it. Mortality and humanity proved more powerful and more important to you than my love. Why? What has mortality and humanity given you? Death. A stone grave. An eternity of nothing! You wasted your life by rejecting mine. I regret your decision, and I feel selfishness of your actions every day." The man brought his fist upward and swung towards the pressed stone, but a seconds of hesitation stopped the punch midair. Stretching his hand, his fingers grazed the stone and he shivered. The chill of the stone pierced the monstrous man like a bolt of lightning enflames a tree. A piercing remembrance came to the man, and nostalgia filled his mind.

He was remembering the first time they met. He recalled that she waded into the room in a sea of beauty and light. Her sumptuous lavender dress brushed against the wooden floors, the minute sound of the dress' beadwork scraping against the floor could be heard by him. He was leaning against a large wooden pillar painted white. She offered her hand to the man, and the he brushed his lips against her white glove. A barely noticeably smudge of red stained the top of the glove. Her face flushed; he felt it before he saw it. Her blood was warm as summer day, and the smell of her liquid life was sweet and entrancing. A flicker of longing came into the suitor's eyes, and the subtlety was not unnoticed by the woman in the lavender dress, Seraphina. She brought her body close to his, and they danced until the sun faded from the day. They danced even more intimately in the night.

The memory of their grand meeting fled from the mind of the monster quickly. His stained hands ran through his inky black hair. His eyes squinted in pain, and he turned his back from the stone for the first time since he arrived. More painful memories were filling his head now. Memories of lost love, bleeding brides, and heartless victims came rushing through his mind. He brought both hands up as if to stop the recollections of horror from taking over his thoughts. The man knew he had to escape this spot before he was driven mad with depression.

He brought his fingers to the painted heart once more and whispered, "I'm so sorry my Seraphina. I cannot possibly blame you for your murder. I am the only one who can take credit for that horrendous act. As with every other passing night, I bring to you a fresh heart in hope to replace the one I ripped from your chest. Forgive me my soulmate. Goodbye."

A sound of swishing cloak entered the night, and the man vanished from the spot. Two muddy footprints remained the only indications of the obelisk's visitor. The wind switched directions, and the rain slackened to a drizzle. The night was quiet.