The Crimson Series
THE CRIMSON SERIES
RAIN
COLOURS
Crimson sat on the front porch, the cold of the stone tingling through her body. The rain had passed only a few hours ago, but the taste of the liquid lingered in her mouth. The fragrance of rain enticed her. The taste did more – it brought upon a feeling of youth – rejuvenation.
all work © the author (your humble host)
"a hopeless lover, sitting, waiting in the one place society could not touch them, the rain"
ONE
CRIMSON IVORY
508 words
He handed her a rose, dripping with fresh dew. Clutching the stem tightly in her palm, she let the sharp thorns pierce her hand, blood trickling down her forearm. Slowly, but without flinch or thought, she removed the thorns from her skin, watching as her crimson blood – matching in colour with her rose – fell to the stone beneath her hand.
He bandaged her hand with a crimson cloth, caressing it in his own large hand. Removing the rose from her grasp, he placed it delicately onto the stone. From the ground he produced another rose, this one ivory in colour. He preformed the rite again.
She, with the softest touch, bandaged his hand with an ivory cloth. Delicately, she placed the rose alongside the crimson one.
He cupped her chin within his bandaged hand, caressing her cheek with his fingertips.
He drew nearer; she felt his breath upon her face. The hair rose on her spine. Heat rose in her cheeks.
He hesitated, feeling her warmth in his hand. Smelling the freshness of her soft skin, savoring her smell, longing for her taste.
Her breath stuttered. Her heart stopped. The darkness around her closed in making him the only object of sight.
He inched closer, his heart leaping every second. Slowly, softly, almost seductively he placed his lips on hers.
She felt his warmth, smelt his sweet breath. Gently, he forced her mouth open. His tongue entered, searching her mouth. A giddy feeling rose in her stomach. His un-bandaged hand clung tightly around her waist. She let him hold her.
He drew away, his lungs burning for air. He could hear her scattered breath and felt his own. With much caress, he pushed her back against the wet grass.
Her body stiffened. She felt his hand on her stomach, resting there quietly. His head was near; she felt his breath.
He touched his lips to hers once again, feeling the passion within him - a fire burning to be let out. Slowly, almost unknowingly he brought his hand up to her face.
Her hands went around his neck, then his back, pulling him tight against her body. His warmth, his heat was secure, safe, protecting from the protruding darkness.
The sun arose, rays of light flooding the grove where they lay. Her eyes opened, her lips curved in a smile. His head lay next to hers, his arm around her bare waist. He looked so peaceful where he was, angelic.
She stayed that way for countless minutes, watching as he slept, caressing his hair. Watching him, deep in heavenly thought.
She turned her eyes for a moment; her attention caught by the mini-alter that was the blood stained rock. It was then she remembered why she was here. Then that she remembered her task.
Without him waking she searched the folds of her skirt. A small, sickle dagger is what she found.
She bent over his face, close. Her lips touched his, awakening him from his sleep. His eyes were tired yet bright, ready for the task ahead of him.
Slowly they cut, gently, careful of the veins. They put their wrists together, bleeding into each other. A crimson bandage for her, an ivory for him.
A sweet, passionate kiss: their final goodbye. He tread north, she south. Forever they were one, united by blood, united by passion, united by love…yet divided by status, divided by class.
Together they were one, held by bonds of trust, ripped apart by society…
585 words
She was talking. Just talking pure nonsense, lying with her back against her bed, staring at her blue ceiling.
Turning for the first time, hoping to identify her audience, she saw more than just that. He was there, listening to her speak, as he had done so many a time. Her entire lower body went numb, a feeling of immobility. But she managed to stand.
“I swear I can’t feel my legs.” She joked.
“Did you do something to hurt yourself?” came his inquiry.
“No,” she chuckled. “I was fine until two minutes ago.” She moved toward the group. “Now the ground’s all shaky, wobbly, unsteady.” She reached for her notebook.
“Shall I steady it for you then?”
“I don’t think society would approve, sir.”
“Ah yes,” he turned his head a moment, “then perhaps a place society can’t touch us?”
“And where might such a place be?”
“The rain.” He lost himself in hunter green eyes.
“Ah yes.” Another soft chuckle, “The rain.” She backed away a bit, blowing him a kiss, “We shall see, sir.”
Their meeting was brief, but she knew it was missing – the ivory to her crimson, the fruit of passion in her heart, the taste of him. And she tried to recall that taste, that smell, that feel, that fire, that touch.
But the evening was too long ago. The grove, the night, the starts, the moon, the baby sun in it’s spring bloomed garden sky – all too long ago.
Looking at the scar on her forearm, she wondered about his. The bonds of blood, of love, of trust bound them, tied them like a knot. Tight but not thick, thin – for a touch would doom them.
She had chuckled, and flirted elegantly. She had grown up since that night, and he loved her the more for it. She loved him…he knew it. Even when she addressed as “sir”, he still knew she was the crimson to his ivory, just as she had been so many moons ago.
Over the centuries they had grown apart and then closer together in the instant they had again met. This time status was not the barrier. This was the new millennia and status had swept out the door decades ago. This was the new millennia and she was but 16, just as she always had been.
He hoped she would come when it rained, prayed she would hear her scattered breath and fell his own. Tomorrow the grass would not be green, the sky not blue, the water not wet – for then it would be a normal day. And on a normal day, she wouldn’t come. No, Crimson cam not with normal days.
A fog ridden day, rain threatening. The perfect way to hid young lovers. The perfect way to tie the knot all again. But he awoke, and his grass was green; his sky blue; his water wet. A normal day disguised as a rainy one.
But was it raining to her? A hopeless lover, sitting, waiting in the one place society could not touch them, the rain. The rain, to wash away their scents combining as they embraced – as he heard her scattered breath and felt his own. The rain, to hide their faces and features with blurry drops to spying eyes.
And so he was disillusioned. The grass was indeed not green, the sky not blue, and the heavenly water not wet. It was not a normal day. And the Crimson to his Ivory never came on normal days.
587 words
Age reeked in the bones of her 16-year-old body - not an age of this life, but an age of many lives. The age of her life, the age of her experience was all too much a burden on young shoulders.
Ivory had not contacted her since the rain. This time, perhaps, there would be no grove or rain – just the two of them, no longer afraid of what they had felt so long ago; what they felt now.
A car pulled into her driveway. It wasn’t his car. It was Jasper’s, the toy in her average teenage heart, nothing like her Ivory (a man she held as passionately as possible).
Jasper walked to her, a casual cadence in his step. His azure eyes danced, a happy prospect unraveling in his mind.
He reached for Crimson’s hand. She pulled back – he was not Ivory. There had been no rose, no sacrificial altar – nothing. Only a few words and liking of her looks is what drew Jasper to Crimson.
The two did not match. And if they did, it was in a sickly formation – overplayed like the red and green of Christmas. Jasper could be a friend, nothing more; else the colours sickened her.
However, her role she must play, for no matter how old she felt, she needed to remain 16 for society.
She let Jasper take her hand; pull her from the icy ground and into a thermal embrace. She stayed, her arms entwined around his neck until he had unburied his face from her hair.
“Hi,” he whispered - a wind through evergreen trees.
“Hello,” she mouthed, briefly locking her eyes with his. Azure and hunter…a horrid mix. But the childish heart frolicked in the horrid mixes and laughs.
She let her eyes unlock from his, the cliché of their colours running through her mind.
A chariot with the guise of a modern automobile pulled up. Her heart leapt. Ivory.
A secret plea sent telepathically from him to her. She knew he’d understand - he’d have to.
The expression on his face upon exiting the car held one question alone, “Are you ready?”
How fool he was to ask that. Did he not know how ready she was? How long, how many centuries she had waited for their kindred spirits to become one and ignite the flame?
Jasper felt her heart lurch, saw the passion in her eyes, thought selfishly it was for him but changed it upon the entrance of a gentleman. And though Jasper had always thought himself the gentleman of his lady’s heart and how their colours went always together, his stomach lurched at the realization of how he loathed that combination of red and green; how he loved Crimson, but now their combination was purely friendly.
He tilted her chin and brushed lips with her, the final and first kiss between the two.
He held her hand, leading her to Ivory and gave her to him; giving away his hope and dream. A smile and a last look at hunter eyes was all the farewell he needed.
Ivory drew Crimson close, the rain, grove, and society circulating around them. He heard her scattered breath; felt his own, and kissed her.
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