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Sunday, September 18th, 2005
10:32 am - part of your mystery, there's all that majesty. this is where you began.

i've been losing so much time.

A pale hand snaked in to her hair and if Hindsight's 20/20 then she would've bolted from the spot. But Jeanette leaned deeper in to Clow's touch and now, now, year's later, she nearly regretted each sigh she made for him.

"Look what card I pulled today, Jeanette," he whispered against her neck. Eyes that had closed reveling in the near-sincerity of his skin slowly drew open; he lazily dangled her own Tarot card in front of her. She saw the scythe, the dark Death's robes, and understood entirely, without question.

There would always be so much blood on her hands. But there was nothing he couldn't convince her to do.

Clow's arms snaked down her bare stomach and he loosely squeezed her in to a gentle embrace. "Good. It's in the village, the house I showed you today. Come to me when you're finished."

Like the night breaking with dawn he withdrew. His footfalls echoed down the corridor and he disappeared up the stairs, candlelight lingering in his wake. Jeanette shivered and shrugged on a midnight robe, imported from Egypt. She felt like Cleopatra, the betrayer, Cleopatra ..

She was barefoot when she felt through the house, palms pressed against the black walls, fingers slipping over paintings, nails raking in to the unlit lamps. None of them preferred the light to the beauty of the masking night. So much unseen in the night, so much feared --- she was feared, the Death's Bride walking in to stranger's houses with a suffocating spirit and out the life came from them, drifting like an angel's sigh, white and pure and what right, really, did she have to pull it from anyone's chest?

I love you, remember that.. Here's what I want you to do for me, Jeanette.

The light touched here, though. She rounded in to the living room to find the door leading to the terrace flung open, moonlight nearly blinding her in it's soft glow. She was a ghostly white, probably looked a fright with all that black hair, drifting out on to the balcony.

Marcus stood hunched over the marble, the haunches of his shoulders straining  against some great burden. Jeanette wanted him even then, she'll remember now, wanted to go to him more than fulfill any of Clow's death desires. Her tiny feet were cold but she walked on in the winter night and touched his side softly, fingers pressing in to his ribs.

He stood to his full height and caught her hand in his with the grace he was renowned for. This look in his eyes was something new and she suddenly wished he'd say something sarcastic. She wanted to laugh before she went out tonight, because she knew once she came back home she wouldn't smile for a very long time.

Her fingers curled in to his, and he returned the favor. Was that a smile? Even in the moonlight it was hard to tell. She leaned against him, shared his weight for a moment in time.

Marcus looked down and Jeanette tilted her head up to face him. His mouth opened gently, but nothing came out and nothing was heard but a rattling wind.

She drew back before that mouth got her in to any trouble. "Look," she pointed to the black sky, "Orion's belt."

He was quiet for a moment but looked up despite of the troubled glance he gave her. "Cassiopeia's over there."

"Is that Saturn?"

"No, not this time of the year. Jupiter."

She leaned her elbows on to an eroding pillar. "Saturn would make sense tonight."

There was a shared understanding between them. "--- He's here again?"

The wind was icy on her skin, "He's always here, Marcus."

He kept his distance for a moment, in mind and body, but took a step towards her slowly. "Has he asked for me?" He sounded broken. Will he ask it of me?

Her eyes drew close. "No."

Marcus didn't stop moving until his hands were at either side of her. She focused her gaze to find him staring, dark eyes wide and somewhere in his deep brown irises she knew he was frightened. How much more blood was spilt by your hands?---

You can't love two people. So in the end you're torn between which one will hurt less, which one will cause less harm. She could protect Marcus this way when she was the one turning Clow's sheets late at night. She could kiss Marcus when Clow turned his darkly handsome face, and grab his heart when she felt him slipping. Just let me take care of you.

His breath was hot on her forehead; she swore he heard his heartbeat echoing a drumbeat that drove her mad. His lips were on the line of distress that formed between her eyebrows. She wasn't afraid and wasn't going to back down. Jeanette's fingers laced in to his and she drew them, icy and cool, against her red lips. "Stay in tonight, love. There's a storm on it's way."

Marcus was moving his face closer, mouth
too close -- she stopped him with a quick step away, her hands wrapping around her arms.

She gave him a silent smile, but her eyes told a different story. She spun on bare heels, and dissolved in to the darkness whence she came. The darkness inside which they all thrived.


this is how a heart breaks.







current mood: reminiscing

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Saturday, September 10th, 2005
8:35 am - to carthage then i came

    Lord thou pluckest me out

It was the same dream. Burning burning burning everything was crumbling, everything was breaking. Elimination was never peaceful. It was lapping up through the floorboards of her only home, the fire curling her favorite authors' words in to charcoal, razing their home to ash.

Hell was grabbing up at her robes through the very foundations of her life. And she found, for once, that doubted herself entirely.

Witchery was  a burning crime, a dying crime. And here she lived within two wizard's arms. Exotic paraphernalia (now burning, everything burned) had littered the rooms -- purple drapes sewn from the toga's of Roman emperors, Latin books, Barbados' voodoo tomes -- now all tinder on their funeral pyre -- had been study guides to the most interesting crafts. Their's was a strange family, a magic family.

And everyone knew it.

It is a black magic, it is a black magic, the inner city had cried that last day. And now the children will die, watch for it the children will all di--

No one offered them safe passage in their town. They didn't trust her, they didn't trust Marcus and certainly not Clow, gentle as he may be. But they had needed produce, they couldn't just magic food in to existing. This was an art, not alchemic science. Jeanette -- older, omnipotent (her eyes a shade bluer) -- had reached for the green apples when the merchant smacked at her hand with his own, condemning her finally with the word that meant death.

"Witch! It is a Black Plague you three bring!"

Her dark hair had fanned around her as she drew back, like undermining Devil's wings. "You wretched people!" She had screamed, her nerve lost, "It is a white thing, drawing straight from here --" she jabbed at her heart --"and flowing like liquid light. It is a pure thing and you all taint it! You know nothing!" Marcus quickly grabbed her shaking hands, Clow's palm pressed quietly in to her back -- they led her back in to the woods from whence they all came. Why are we the ones running we're not in the wrong you both kno--

"Such wretched people," she felt like crying, "They are such wretched people, Clow."

"Shh, Cumamean Sibyl," was all he said, lips touching her forehead.

And Marcus became pointedly silent.

It was that night, that last night, that she had refused to sleep by herself. In her unrest she even threw her Tarot deck on to the floor of her room, cursing the cards and cursing magic and cursing, above all, herself.

After a dinner that he himself made, Clow retreated back to his house a half-mile down the dust road. Jeanette had turned to go with him, but Marcus' dark mood had kept her glued to the threshold, waving silently as she watched Clow fall in to shadow, his eyes downcast and distant.

He had already been in bed when she parted the curtains and begged that he make room for her. She realized now, long long year later, that she had a double meaning to that.

"Reed's bed is just as warm," he countered, his eyes drawn tightly shut. She sat a candle on his nightstand and leaned over him, black hair drifting over them like a veil. He smelled like fresh cut roses when she kissed him, albeit softly, and she stopped in mid ascent.

"You did a reading?"

He didn't say anything, and remained unmoving except for his dark eyes that opened when her lips retreated. It was a long, drawn, quiet moment that ended only when he slowly drew back his heavy sheets. She blew out the lamps and crawled next to him -- near the window, she always faced the window (where, she remembers, she could still see Clow's bedroom lamp burning bright like a beacon). Neither of them breathed for a moment, and she only relaxed in to him when his icy fingers wrapped around her arms.

He murmured something in to her hair that even a near hundred years later she can't remember. They both slept quietly for the last time.

And now here they were, their skin red from the heat of a thousand fires -- she heard yelling from outside, They'll burn! We'll burn them!

Marcus had her wrapped tightly in his own cloak; he remained shirtless, as he slept, and didn't listen to her when she begged for him to go upstairs, grab anything ---- she didn't control elements, that was Clow's specialty. She had nothing to offer for protection and it was now she wondered just where Clow was.

A chunk of the roof caved in, and she turned to where it fell, dumbfounded. Why, why this? Marcus screamed her name in a tone that mirrored anger but spoke of desperation. But she was yelling for Clow. "We need him! We can't leave him!"  So he grabbed her arms and pulled her out a back door, where she saw the treetops aflame. This was Hell raising up from deep in the ground.  This was her mother's warning -- burn those Cards of they'll burn you! This

was punishment.

The night air smelled like ash and the cinders were falling like snow. Around the front she saw torches, the -- what would become classic and cliche -- pitchfork. The townsmen stood firm, the fire in their own eyes fueled by the kerosene of hate and ignorance.

She heard a shout from far off and horror filtered in when she saw Clow's house spark in to life. The roof, the villagers had gotten to his roof and so suddenly it was licked with flames that became a twin to their glowing home. Marcus pulled her close to him, his face smudged in black. They're coming around, Jeanette, they're coming around and so help me God I will kill them.

But with what, with what? Nothing could save them now.

The men stabbed at her with their tools and jumped at Marcus in their anger.  And down their torches fell to the Summerland grass. Nothing was left untouched by the flame, and each step closer the villagers took was mirrored by Jeanette and Marcus as they retreated closer to their house.

It was a standoff and no one backed down. Jeanette quietly reached in front of her to grab his hand, and somewhere she knew Marcus understood her meaning. They bolted back in to the house --- the wood was still firm, there was safe passage if they could just get to the stairwell. A trapdoor, there was a trapdoor that led miles from here, dark miles that meant life and new beginning. Had it been blocked previously? Was there no way back from here? It was loud and cracking and things popped and shot against her eyes. White turned black and everything was red hot--

"We could've gotten out of here," he said, strained, "if we hadn't gone for Clow."

She knew what he was saying. Her palms pushed in to his back, cradled him there, as he turned to her -- that look, that look of hopelessness present and stabbing at her heart quicker than the townsmen, quicker than Cupid's arrow when she first saw Clow. But here she was at the end of the world with the one she didn't love.

Was that right?

She cried out for him, crushed herself to him. No, that arrow had hit her heart twice and she was here now with the one she wanted. The stairwell's collapsed, it's collapsed, he repeated in her hair. At her feet her skirts curled and burned.

It was suffocating. She couldn't breathe. Marcus lost his footing, and they both slowly sunk in to the flame -- it melted her skin, it singed her long long hair. For the first time she was crying and Marcus tried to kiss her eyes that held all the sadness of the world. The minutes alive now seemed to be like hours of pain and now, now they both were succumbing to dying.

His arms were still wrapped around her when he grew limp, but still conscious.

"Jeanette .. Jeanette --"

Staring behind him, out of the window, she saw dark lavender robes and Clow's dark gray eyes. The Devil himself, he looked like the Devil himself -- his cloak like a bat's wings, the flames a fitting backdrop.

"Clow -- Marcus, it's Clow! He's come for us --"

"You're a fool! Love really is blind!" He nearly spat in to her face. "This was his doing!"

And slowly, as the flames leapt higher, she watched as the man she loved turned and left in the darkness that she now blieved to mirror his heart. A rafter above the window fell and blocked her vision. Now everything was lit like the sun.

She was dizzy with betrayal. Jeanette tried, she tried so hard pulling Marcus to his feet but in the end it was his very scream that did her in; his head drew back, and like a wounded animal he was crying out to a God that she was sure had abandoned them a long time ago.

The burning continued until she was pressed in to the collapsing floor. In a crack of wood the roof collapsed in to a thousand splintered shards,

and stabbed her heart until it beat no more.



current mood: if i remember right.

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Tuesday, September 6th, 2005
6:54 pm - And so I step up, into the darkness within;
or else, the light.

current mood: the hanged man.

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