The Exorcism of Ophelia

The human's pain is delicious.

She sits on the edge of a meadow, perched on a wood fence and playing a melancholy air on a long-necked lute as a bonfire of paper burns before her. The cows that usually graze here keep their distance, repelled by the same things that attract me. She's been coming here for months, feeding me with her affection for a companion who is missing today. The affection was sweet, nearly cloy, but her hurt is savory. And although I find that I, unfathomably, dislike the idea of her suffering, I'd be hard pressed to say which emotion I prefer the taste of.

The new scene offers something the old ones never did: curiosity. What she and the other woman did here was obvious and easy to follow. Sometimes they chatted. Sometimes they played music. Sometimes they made love. All of these things makes sense; they're things humans do with great frequency. But now, I'm confused. The papers that drift from the fire show the marks of music. It takes great effort to compose music, so why would she burn her work? I try to tell myself that it doesn't matter, but I can't seem to walk away from the questions.

Thinking to better understand, I take a form I think she will find pleasant. It's the appearance of a dark-skinned woman I knew centuries ago, but I don't think she would mind me using it. My new body is impossibly soft, weaker than my true form. How do they stand being so vulnerable all the time?

On legs that feel as though they may crumble beneath me, I leave my concealment. I have walked many paces toward the woman before she looks up to notice me, and when she does, she looks away again as though my presence in no way affects her. I thought my form was attractive, but perhaps her pain is too extreme for her to notice.

"Hello," I say as I reach her side. I lean against the fence beside her, folding my dark brown arms and attempting to appear nonthreatening. I remember now that the woman who looked as I do now was a warrior, which means I'm more muscular than this woman may like. I'm certainly more muscular than her lover. I'm not certain why the comparison makes me anxious.

Her eyes glance at me, but she remains silent as she continues to play her mournful tune, a strange, unfeeling expression on her face. If her agony weren't filling me with so much energy, I could almost believe she felt nothing.

"It's a pleasant evening," I try, having observed that it's the sort of thing humans talk about.

This time, her eyes don't bother shifting my way. They're locked now on the fire, staring at it with no small amount of intensity.

"It's a nice fire," I say.

That gets a response. "Is it? Maybe. But will it work?"

"Work?" I too look at the flames. "What is it meant to achieve? To keep you warm? Is the summer air not sufficient for that?"

"It's not meant to warm my body."

"Oh." I frown a little. "Is it meant to warm food? I see none."

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly. "No." With a sigh, she removes her fingers from the lute strings and drags her gaze to mine. Her green eyes radiate pain, but also hold an odd calm. "It is meant to cauterize my soul."

"That's very poetic," I respond, not stopping to think about the words.

She glowers as though convinced I'd said the last to mock her. I hadn't, but rather than allowing me to explain, she confides further. "Today Ophelia della Faunte became Ophelia Diego when she married a man who doesn't even know he stole her from me. So today I have cut her from my heart. The fire is to staunch the wound."

"Figuratively speaking?" I clarify.

The faintest hint of what's either amusement or exasperation breaks through the mask on her face. "Figuratively speaking." She looks back to the fire.

"And why these papers?" I ask. "Were they simply at hand?"

"No..." She shakes her head. The parting of her lip makes me expect more, but she merely closes them again and makes an odd gesture of dismissal toward the flames.

"Then why? Why throw away so much work?"

"They were hers." The woman clamps her jaws shut, her lips trembling and unshed tears crowding her eyes, and it is some moments before she is able to continue. "I wrote them all for her. So they need to perish."

"I see," I say. And I think I do. "Would you forget her if you could?"

A breeze travels through the meadow, one that smells like my brother. He will be here soon, drawn by the human's emotions just as I was. I should go, defer to him to the eldest, and allow him to devour the woman. But a possessive feeling such as I've never had before envelops me at the thought.

"No," the woman says, complete unaware that she is now in danger. "I need to remember the lesson she taught me. That you can't trust pretty words and hidden kisses, at least not when they go against what society expects. Because people are stupid little sheep who will always do as society expects."

I'd love to discuss this with her, but my brother is moving quickly. "Tell me your name," I whisper. "Please?"

"My name?" She blinks at me. "It's Ilissa."

Silly humans, always so free with their names. "Your full name," I prompt.

Ilissa pauses. "Why?"

I'm not sure if she'd believe the truth. Or that she'd trust me if she did. But I can't think of anything else to offer. "If you give me your full name, it will make you mine. And then others of my kind won't be able to hurt you."

"Your kind?" She shifts, tensing like she's about to jump off the fence and flee from the crazy person.

Not far away, my brother's presence fills the meadow. If the cows hadn't left before, they'd stampede now in the their urgency to get away. Heat blasts from behind us as the smell of sulfur rolls across the grass.

"You don't have much time to decide," I tell her, my words rushing out quickly. My heart races with what I take to be excitement, or maybe fear. Being unable to taste my own emotions makes it hard to know for sure which ones I feel. "I can cauterize your wounded heart, but the being that's coming now? He'll burn your heart to ash, and you along with it. And I don't mean that figuratively."

She hesitates, as well she should. She doesn't understand what's happening.

"Look behind you," I say. "Just for a moment. Longer might drive you mad."

I think for a second that she's going to laugh at me, but she can feel the heat on her back and that might be what prompts her to do as I urge.

Slowly, her head turns.

The scream when she sees my brother pierces the evening. I reach out, grab her head, and keep move it until she can't see him anymore. The poor thing is sharking so hard I'm worried she'll break her fragile little body. Her fear tastes rancid and sour.

"I can save you. All I need is your name." I wipe at her tears with my thumbs. Why do I care so much about this one dumb creature? Why does the thought of her demise make my insides squirm into painful little balls of agony? Is it the same reason I come to this meadow so often? Was I drawn not just to her emotion but to her? "I know I'm asking a lot, but I swear I will keep you safe. I'll never harm you. He most certainly will."

"You said your kind." Although her tears keep coming, her voice is calm. "Does that mean you're... Are you like that thing?" She speaks the last word with all the revulsion a human voice can muster.

"I'm similar," I admit. "I'm less... We take on the aspects of the emotions we consume? My bother feeds on battlefields. I prefer to feed on lovers."

"Feed?"

With a grunt of annoyance, I move my arms to grasp her arms and give her a shake that makes her drop the lute. "Listen to me Ilissa, we can talk about all of this in as great a depth as you want. But he's less than a minute from ripping you away from me." I stare into her eyes, wishing there were someone I could pray to for help, but my kind were shunned by the gods ages before I was conceived. I draw a breath, then do something very, very rash. I lean close and whisper into her ear. A jolt of electric magic passes between us, but I'm not sure if she felt it.

"What?" she asks.

"That was my name. I am bound to you now. But that's not enough to protect you."

Her eyes grow wide. "I am Ilissa," she whispers back. "Ilissa Cammeara Ornegan."

The magic zings again and Ilissa takes on a faint glow. Behind us, my brother roars with annoyance. He's less coherent than I am, more a ball of anger than a thinking being, so he doesn't yell at me or lecture before he vanishes. My hands fall to my side in relief.

Ilissa lets out a breath as my brother's heat suddenly dissipates. In so doing, her eyes notice her body. Holding a hand out, she stares at it. Or, more likely, at the rose and amber aura around it. "What is that?" Her gaze flicks to me, then stays there. "You're glowing too. You weren't before."

I swallow. "You're not fully human anymore."

"What am I then?"

My heart hammers in my chest. "My wife."

She jerks, startled. I guess that wasn't the answer she was expecting. "Wife? Not slave?"

My head shakes vehemently. "No. I gave you my name as well. We are equals."

"Oh."

I nod. "Oh."

"That's..." Suddenly, she laughs. The sound cuts through the evening and brings a smile to my face. I'd worry she's going mad, but her emotions taste of relief and joy. "When I told my parents I was gay, they nearly disowned me. I can't wait to tell them I married a demon."

"Well..." I smile ruefully. "Demon's not quite the right word."

She shakes her head with a grin. "I don't care. That's what I'm telling them."

"You're taking this all really well," I observe.

"Would you rather I didn't?"

I shake my head. "No. Your happiness tastes better than you fear. And... I've decided I like it more than your pain, too."

"Good. Then you have incentive to keep me happy."

"I do," I agree, smiling widely.

Ilissa jumps off the fence, picks up her lute, and turns to me. "So, do we honeymoon on earth or in hell?"

"It's not really hell."

She shrugs. "Question still stands."

"On earth," I decide, wondering what, exactly, I've gotten myself into. "I've always wanted to see Salsis."

"So have I!" She loops an arm through one of mine and looks at me expectantly.

And not having any idea what else to do, I magic myself and my bride to the City of Lanterns.

Above image is Half Her Heart's Duet by Cynthia Sheppard.

It was offered as a weekly prompt in my Wording Wednesday group on MeWe.