Reconsider

"Little Maeryn..."

There was nothing but swirling blackness. The golden haired girl couldn't even find herself in that calm, dark pit. She was floating in a sea of nothing, colorless, soundless... until...

"Little Maeryn..."

She turned her head in the dark. A roll of fog crept from an invisible horizon toward her. Shapes began to form in the peaceful void. The sound of running water crept, and she grew cold. A blink, and the dark had been swept away. She found herself wading in a cool, clear stream and surrounded by a dense forest. Moonlight glittered from the high boughs and sprayed dapples of color onto the waters surface.

But there was no peace there. She spun in slow circles, wide fearful eyes darting through the deep, forbidding woods. The twinned voice rang out again, low rough tones overlaid by an almost playful higher pitch.

"Little flower, you'll wilt in his garden."

Her eyes caught sight of the familiar weeping willow, the one she had hidden under and watched him swim downstream. But the lowest branches had withered to naught but gnarled black stems, and the highest bled. Thick crimson drops fell like slow rolling honey.

"I won't!" She protested to it, stamping her foot in the water. Bright gaze scoured the tree, fear choking her voice. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

She realized after a moment, the bleeding tree had been a better choice. Eight man-length, black spiders legs began to descend down one of the drips of blood. The bloated belly of a man dangled upside down from them, topped with the head of a furless rat. It smiled a cheshire-cat wide smile at her, exposing it's sharp, foaming teeth. And marching over it's wrinkled skin... thousands of squirming fleas. Maeryn struggled not to retch. She wanted to run, but the water seemed to turn to stone around her, locking her in place.

"You will." It said in it's terrible dual-pitched voice. "His beast is not one, but two. The Beast of Lust may be your pet, Little Wren, but The Beast of War..." It shook its horrible rat head and tsked. "...You won't survive his playground."

Slowly it turned its head toward the shore and she felt compelled to follow its stare. There, laying on the sand, she saw herself. Her white dress and blonde curls soaked, just as she had been that first night. Tyltin rose then, from the water. The Maeryn on the sand smiled toward him as he came to her. But the smile began to shift. Heartbeat by heartbeat, it grew into utter terror. He was crawling, scrambling onto the sand on all fours. His bones cracked and crunched and seemed to crawl beneath his rapidly darkening flesh.

By the time he was upon her, his skin was black as midnight. Along his back, the discs of his spine erupted from flesh in glinting razors. His face had twisted into that of a raging wolf. He lifted off of his great, muscular arms for but a moment before slamming his long, wicked talons deep into her shoulders. The Mae on the sand screamed, without sound as he tore them down her chest and across her belly, tearing her open until she lay in pieces, pooled in gore. He rose to his full height, his black skin slick with her blood. A sword clutched tight in his beastial fist, and he drove it deep into what had been her chest.

A scream finally pierced the air...but it came from Mae in the water. "NO! Never! You lie, you lie, you lie, you LIE!" She accused the bloated thing that hung from its web of blood.

"If this makes you scream, Little Flower, you are not ready for what you shall see in his eye come wartime." Then that ratface began to shift and twist until she was looking into Drysllthen's eyes, the fleas crawling over them, dancing out of his nostrils, skittering in and out of his lips. "Reconsider."

The water finally released her and she stumbled backward. "Stop it! I won't!" She pleaded. Her leg slipped and the water rolled over her head. Beneath the waves, hoards of fleas floated around her, and more began to march in from the shore. All of them screaming in tiny voices. "Reconsider."

Mae awoke with naught but a strangled whimper and heavy panting. Sweat coated her brow. Still that terrible voice echoed through her head:

"Little Maeryn. Reconsider."

Quietly she eased out of bed, not daring to look at the man who shared it. A cloth was grabbed as well as a basin of water. And for reasons probably even unknown to her, she slid beneath the bed, trance-like, and began mopping at the floor. "I won't." She chanted, over and over, under her breath as she cleaned. And there they'd find her in the morning light. Asleep beneath the bed, with rag in hand.