Rose knelt in the crypts. She felt she was praying, but she could not quite be sure what that meant as Rose herself knew nothing of the god she prayed to or even the words she used to reach this mysterious power. It was vigil, ritual, atonement, and supplication, all at once,
and to any god that would listen.
Raymond’s reluctant footsteps went this time unanswered. He was forced to light his own torch–Rose would raise no flame for him now.
“Rose?”
“Your Majesty.” Her respect in and of itself was disrespectful. He hated that she would not fight him.
“I am here to avenge my uncle’s death.” He hoped that by playing his part he could fill the interaction with some meaning and dispel the lethargy that pulled his legs to the floor.
“You know I did not kill him.”
“But my parents wish me to kill you.”
“The superego ordering the execution of the id. They are always at war.” She raised her fingers to her temples. “You must kill me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am an unnecessary presence. I will fight, but you must kill me. If you could drive back darkness with your sword, would you hesitate?” Raymond moved towards her with the toe of his boot. Drawing a sword from her back, she spun around and faced him for her final
fight. It was only in the haze of dream that Raymond could remember the words from the doctor’s tattered book so perfectly.
“’The blood soul. In other words the inner connection to the unconscious again leads to a sense of soul, an experience of an inner life, a place where meanings home…befriending is the feeling approach to the dream, and so one takes care receiving the dream’s feelings, as with a living person with whom we begin a relationship.’”
Rose pulled back, letting the tip of her sword drop just an inch. Grabbing her wrist, Raymond pulled her free hand towards him. Her eyes went wide. Only then did he draw his sword. Rose watched him in a rare display of fear, but she could not compel herself to stop him.
He sliced his own palm first, then hers.
As he pressed the cuts firmly together he pulled her hand close to his chest. Her sword clattered the stone crypt floor.
“Mea sanguina est tua,” he whispered with spell-like intensity. Their blood filled the air around them, and together they swam up from the deep.
Nihilistic Porcupine 