The marble walls rose up to heaven while the streets below were filled with black-clad mourners. The city flowed toward its mausoleum as the ornate bier followed its gradual course down Mainstreet.
Love, hate, death, and the classic marble arches of the white city. The doves were gone; her flocks, her eyes, which had been the comforting guardians of that blessed metropolis, no longer watched the people’s every hour from their high perches.
The spells she had sewn into her very lifeforce were fading now as the pallbearers carried her to the place of the dead, and that one in particular which she had whispered long ago, which had caused one of the thirteen to fall, that too faded. Very few ever died in the white city, for death, time, and age were barred by powerful magic. There was one way a life could still be lost, for it to be spent.
Whatever spell it was, it had cost her and her city dearly; whatever desperate need drove her to cast it was known only to one.
He watched them take her body down the street, following the bier as best he could. Her terrible beauty as she lay motionless astonished the crowd, freezing them where they stood as she was brought past. The ignorant stood still; the one who knew followed.
Tale Told 
5 Comments