xxviii. Before Stars Of A Higher Rarity
A bluish haze hung in drapes over the Forest. That younger seven hesitated.
He rubbed his eyes—but the girl was still there. She was somehow beautiful.
He did not recall a body of water here before—and he was now amazed by the witness of it—and of Her. He gulped.
Her silver skin rippled and surged in maelstroms. She was like living lightning.
A silver bow of light arched over the clearing―falling in undulating reflections upon sparkling pool. It was mesmerizing.
The girl’s green eyes shone two cones of light wherever She looked—as if She were glowing bright from inside out.
Black fangs peeked out from over black lips. Black horns protruded up from under a mess of dark locks. She was hot.
She waded across the silver water toward a rock in the middle of the pond—casting magical ripples out around Her.
The boughs of willows along the banks bent and bowed toward Her in deference as She moved between them.
He had finally found Her: the long-fabled Lady Faye of French’s Forest; the Silverskin in shining flesh. She existed.
She climbed upon the rock―lounged back on Her elbows—and began singing a mellifluous melody. She spread her legs.
She sounded as if angels were caged behind Her ribs―yet Her lips never moved to produce a note. It was so very surreal.
As Her legend went, She could sing so softly that a thousand feathers would fall from out of clear skies―or wail so long leaves would fall down fast from the trees.
She could warble so sweetly as to attract every kind of bird to perch in Her hair―or croak so grossly, that a thousand black frogs would fall dead from the sky.
He pointed his camera―stilling his arm—steadying himself—knowing this was his chance. This was his once opportunity.
He had one frame to catch history.
Closing his eyes—he took the shot.
So he had finally fulfilled his promise to himself: to capture evidence of Her existence. He imagined that the community of French’s Forest would be astounded at his evidence, at his find.
Before stars of a higher rarity, he had looked through an inter-dimensional lens—and seen something few others could ever claim to have beheld before him. Until then She only lived in story.
But Her singing now started piercing higher octaves—stunning him into a spiraling mesmerism. He felt so dizzy.
She was intoxicating―with curves that curled lips―and a dynamism defying the sum of Her lines. She induced awe.
She turned and gazed long into his tender eyes. He innocently locked his gaze with Hers, now unable to look away.
She beckoned to him. ‘I have been waiting for You …’ She said seductively. ‘Please—come to Me … Come to Me …’
He shook his head, but could not resist. He knew She was Death incarnate—yet he followed Her, too weak in spirit.
He stomped toward Her—an automaton entranced—sticks and long-grass crunching underfoot as he marched.
Smiling wickedly, She pulled at the air, drawing him in by an unseen tether—twisting his hate into love. He was Hers.
Dark horns spiralled from Her temples—and fangs snaked over Her chin—as She reeled him in, in wicked delight.
‘Call me Lady Faye …’ She softly instructed. ‘You will belong to Me now, forever after. We will be One together.’
He tried to scream for help, but nothing sounded. He could not turn back—yet some deep part of him yet resisted.
‘I have been waiting for You … …’
He found his voice—and discovered himself saying: “I have been looking for You …” He did not mean to imply that he desired Her at all—although it sounded so.
‘Of course you have, My boy … …
‘None of this is by accident, Seven. The stars are not just scattered about. The clouds do not just drift off course all on their own. The mountains were set in stone long before they were ever born.
‘The unseen is no less real.’
He nodded in defeat—giving up now.
She offered him a hand up onto the rock, where he sat beside Her—and She stroked his hair. She looked into his eyes.
‘Look inside your heart, Seven—and ask yourself why is it that you have sought Me out? Why have you searched so long?’
“I wanted to prove tYou existed.”
She laughed coyly—then took his camera in a flash—and dropped it into the silver water. He watched it sink down.
‘You do not need a picture to see Me, Seven. You can see Me everyday, with your eyes—with your own two eyes.’
She reached out and closed his lids―then kissed him long and deeply—and when he felt Her finally break away, he opened his eyes again. She was gone.
From that day forward, he became Her tortured plaything. She delighted in building him up then burying him. She reveled in romancing him into ridicule.
She loved to seduce him, only so as to deepen his torment. He came to crave Her attentive side―while simultaneously seizing up over Her sadistic tendencies.
At first, he could tell no one about Her—since he still had no real proof that Sheeven existed—let alone that She loved him and she had put a trance on his heart.
But over time, the more determined that She became to own his soul―She started to show more of Herself around French’s Forest—and so it eventually became undeniable to all that the Silverskin did indeed live. She ruled.
So Seven became somewhat of a legend around town, for he could always tell when She was about to reveal Herself. But it unnerved people that he knew Her.
(Author’s Note: If you are enjoying The Silverskin, you can buy the full 400 page Revised & Expanded 10th Anniversary edition paperback here. Forever Yours In French’s Forest, Rian Torr)