Mary-Cade Mandus - The Spell Bound

The raven circled idly finally coming to roost on the top of a towering cedar. The manor house and its lands, like a dowager with her skirts spread about her, drowsed below in the afternoon sun. The manor house, its youth and beauty ravaged, not from the advances of age but the gnawing of pain and grief, sat on a gentle rise. Its once resplendent gardens with their charming gazebos and ornamental ponds lay suffocating under brambles and weeds.

Eyeballing the atrophy the raven admired his mistress’ handiwork. Picking out her solitary figure on the edge of the field, he decided to remain where he was. She was bound to need his services before the day was over. The bird ruffled his cobalt feathers and croaked in delight at the aspect.

Odile

Sluggishly swirling…whirlpooling…
the flux of hate…
glutted her heart…drowned her soul
as her eyes scanned…scoured…with raptorial intensity
for any alteration…variation
in…to the field that would point out…give sign of…
mark…the quarry.
For twenty years she's hunted…searched.
For twenty years the prey has eluded…survived.
For twenty years she's cursed…damned
the sister…mirror twin…victim…
who shattered her hopes…dreams…
thwarted her plans.

A breeze…cruised through the field
an ethereal puppeteer
tugging…pulling…manipulating the golden heads
sending them bending…forward…back…
swaying…to…fro.
Her madness saw no natural…innocent
play by nature
but pantomimed laughter
mocking…taunting…sneering at her impotence.
With each passing year
her rage had cooled…
no longer the zealous heat
that leads to rash…careless action
but the cold-blooded resolve…stoicism of a serpent
biding its time.

Her youth…over eagerness…greed
had led to this stalemate.
She’d overestimated the poison’s rapidity…
underestimated her sister’s willpower…ingenuity.

Engrossed in retrospection…
reliving the moment…instant
she'd discovered…realized
her twin's duplicity
her attention was refocused…
sharply…upon the present
by…an anomaly.

Breath catching…holding
Spine stiffening…
Pulse galloping
Eyes starring incredulously…
something…some thing…
was stirring…moving…approaching
through the rows.
[The childish impulse to rub her eyes…
was successfully resisted.]
Shock…the possibility that triumph…
fulfillment might be at hand
caused the blood to leave her brain
in a sudden rush.
Vision blurring …darkness descending…
collapse threatening…
she refused to succumb…surrender…
by utter…strength of will…pulled herself together.

Self-possession reclaimed…
she eagerly rushed forward…forgetting…
but was at once…severely reprimanded…reminded…
that she was barred entrée to the field.
Eyes watering…in pain…
teeth gnashing in vexation…
pacing…in frustration…
afraid to…dare to…believe…
that the time had finally come…
she waited…barely sane.
Exhilaration…euphoria…eagerness
shriveled…dissolved like a salted slug
when the perilously gaunt figure
of the Comte de Cigny…
her late lamented sister's husband…
emerged…materialized from between
a column…several rows down.

Disappointed…but not too…
the letdown not as great…as it might have been.
The prospect…likelihood…of the prize…
[after years of fruitless…
searching…probing…seeking]
simply…strolling…free of will…into her eager grasp
was thoroughly improbable…beyond the pale.

As the Comte listlessly…randomly
continued on his way…following the garden wall…
and the usual disgust…loathing filled her…
puzzlement…unease also reared their pesky heads.
He'd never gone into the field before…
shown it any interest…

Was it possible…
he had…guessed…
Or…
might something…
be calling…drawing…luring him subliminally?
The notion was unnerving…
but unlikely…
although…
definitely…something to consider…think about.

With a sneer…she dismissed the Comte.
The fool was no threat…
so tangled in the web of melancholy…grief
her spell had woven
he'd be hard pressed to recite
the year…time…day.
The clock…calendar…life…
had stopped advancing…existing
the day his cherished wife…
never cuddled baby daughter…died.
His constant depression…bemoaning…
crying over their loss…
the anguished wish to be reunited…
[although her doing]
filled her with distaste…loathing…
and…
one day…hopefully soon…
she'd happily oblige his request.

Until then…for as long as
appearances needed keeping…
an outward normalcy maintained…
she'd put up with his bellyaching…
keep him out of harm's way…
but…
[lips curving in a feral…merciless grin]
tormenting…the pathetic soul…
was never…ever…out of the question.