The Heart Still Beats

  Thunder boomed in the distance like Elyria's pounding heart. She ran through the darkness for her life, each flash of lightning illuminating skeletal trees. Long strips of a ruined dress clung to her body, heavy with rain. Exhaustion laced her breath; a dull ache seized her legs. But each bay of a hound on her heels spurred her forward.

Lightning cracked, revealing the black tower, the second option of her grim choices. She'd grown up like every other child in the village of Ravenloch. Stories of the black tower and its lone inhabitant fueled nightmares and kindled legends. Some called him a vampire, others a demon. Elyria figured he'd have to be to have survived so many generations. Or the more plausible likelihood, a strange hermit died long ago. The tower itself couldn't hurt her. So she ran toward the doorsteps.

Elyria, strange in her own right, knew no other villager would dare to trespass so close to the black tower. Safety awaited her in its stygian halls. With no time to ponder what would happen after the night, she ran—the heels of her shoes sunk into the mud, sucking her down with each desperate step. Her heart burned, and her breath froze. The closer she got to the tower, the further away the howling dogs sounded.

Blackness swallowed her vision as she nearly ran into the tower gates. Rusted iron bit her hands as she pushed aside the lopsided gate. On the unhallowed tower grounds, she slowed her breakneck pace.

Rain fell in frigid sheets. The air took on a bizarre quality, filling her head with stars. As she forced down each breath, a tingling sensation flooded her body. It filled her lungs and traveled through her blood. She stumbled toward the covered doorsteps as the sensation numbed her limbs. Her head swam, and she tried to sit on the black stone with dignity. Instead, she slumped against the impossibly black door as her eyes closed. The pounding of her heart filled her ears as she fell unconscious.

Elyria woke up in a bed unlike any she'd ever dreamt of. Plush blankets, a mattress like a cloud, and a roaring fire smothered her in comfort. Every part of her ached, and she wrapped herself tighter.

A door creaked open. Her eyes shot wide as she remembered running through the forest. Suddenly, she saw the decadent room for what it was. She did not belong here, and she definitely did not fall asleep here.

Wide eyes peeped over the crimson blanket. A tall and spindly shadow flickered in the firelight. She felt an icy presence near the bed and continued to feign sleep.

"There's no use pretending," a timid yet full voice said, "I heard your heart speed up."

Elyria sat up, scooching to the far side of the bed. A pale hand stretched toward her, holding a glass of water. She eyed the glass, suddenly aware of her thirst, but forced herself not to snatch it away. Her mind raced with childhood lessons of stranger danger and other lessons she'd learned as she grew. Everything about her situation screamed peril, but what choice did she have? She could return to the danger she knew or embrace the unknown.

"It's just water," he said.

Not willing to test his patience, Elyria reached for the water. The glass cooled her hand, promising relief. She abandoned all thoughts of danger and drank the whole glass.

She glanced around the room. Is this the black tower? The interior looked nothing like she'd been led to believe. Firelight cast an inviting and cozy glow over rich-colored wallpapers and polished furniture. Paintings of blossoming fields hung on the walls, and knick-knacks adorned every space they could. If Elyria looked closely, she'd see tears in the walls, scuffed brass, lumpy carpet, and splintered frames. But the room captivated her.

Growing curious, she tamped down her nerves and forced her eyes to focus on the man in front of her. He didn't look like a demon or monster. Though his skin was a ghostly white, his face was soft. Coal-black hair pulled back neatly, hid no horns. She was fairly certain she'd find no forked tail and no hooves under his clothes. She almost convinced herself she hadn't ended up in the tower.

"Who are you?" she asked.

He smirked, "Does your village not tell tales?"

Elyria settled into the black tower. She'd never been taken care of so well. Soren kept a respectful distance while she eased into this strange life. The two slowly grew to trust one another, and Elyria began to accept the idea of staying. She focused on the present, the key to sanity.

No one remembered when the black tower had appeared. As far as the villagers were concerned, it had stood since the beginning of time, and Soren had lived there nearly as long. Elyria shoved this thought far into the recesses of her mind. He accepted her and let her be as she pleased. For the first time in her life, Elyria had no undue expectations. But years of torment wouldn't relinquish ingrained fear so easily. While Soren never raised his voice -or hand- while he never spoke down to or scolded her, Elyria tip-toed afraid to awaken ire. Her subconscious never let her forget that there was always the potential for violence.

Soren lived so very long in the hollow confines of the tower. Many had passed through its halls, yet he remained alone, passing into infamous legend. Fear and hatred of the unknown cast him in a false light, leading to his life among the shadows. Whether the curse came from a wary villager or his penchant for misery, he was sure he'd never know. Time and time again, the phantasmagorical creatures stalking his halls ensured he'd never know companionship, let alone true love, a harsh lesson he'd learned early on.

When Elyria landed on his doorstep, he knew she was different. She didn't detest him. She needed shelter, and he harbored a space. Maybe this once, if he stayed distant, she'd be safe.

It was hard. Elyria blossomed as she was allowed to explore her individuality, and Soren couldn't help but watch, enthralled. She tried to coax the timid, cold man into after-dinner conversations. He remained pedantic as a lecturer. She desired a friend, and he forced his heart to stone.

Over time, however, the stone cracked, and Elyria's desire deepened. Against his better judgment, he found himself falling for her, and she responded enthusiastically. Together, they moved slowly until the fervor of pounding hearts and fluttering feelings was too much to bear.

Shadows descended upon them, creeping from corners and choking the light. 

"No matter what happens, my heart will always belong to you. You'll never be alone," Elyria whispered. She lay in Soren's arms as the shadow in the room snuffed out another candle.

For months, the shadows stalked their every move, scrutinizing their growing love. The first time Soren kissed her was the first time she felt their icy grip. Soft lips locked in rapture, the moment lasting an eternity until the sting of frost-laden winds reached out from the wall and gripped her throat. Soren tore away, grabbed the nearest candle, and ran it through the smoky tendril. She fell to the floor, gasping and clutching her neck. The shadow extinguished the fire, but not before it was banished to the inky blackness to its two-dimensional confines. He grabbed Elyria by the waist and rushed her to her room.

A constant fire burned in her presence. Soren made sure the light touched every inch. Where the glow from one candle would cast a shadow, another's glow stamped it out.

"I'm so sorry," Soren started, "I knew this would happen. I never should have let you in." He sat on the edge of the bed, hanging his head.

"I would have died otherwise," Elyria mumbled.

"You might still."

Elyria moved behind Soren. She wrapped her legs around his waist and hugged him with her entire body.

"This isn't fair. You deserve happiness," she whispered in his ear, "There has to be something we can do."

"They'll follow me wherever I go."

"How do you know? Have you tried leaving?"

He turned his face and kissed her soft cheek. A low rumble shook the tower.

"You can't outrun a curse," he sighed.

"We could try," her emerald eyes gleamed with hope in the firelight, "You said the curse locked the shadows into the tower and its grounds."

"The tower and I are interconnected," he shook his head, "it's not simple stone and mortar. Even if we ignore that, the tower grounds include the surrounding woods, and it's full of shadows," he'd never considered the prospect of leaving before. Could I even survive outside the tower? But he found himself weighing their various options, "Perhaps if we went through the village?"

Elyria sunk in despair, "We can't. Someone would recognize me."

"Is it really that bad?" he asked. They'd never discussed why Elyria ran that night, why she considered his infamous doorsteps the safer option. Her past didn't matter to him. But when it came to saving their life together, he'd try everything he could. And the shadows couldn't touch the village.

She sighed, "They think I'm a witch," her tone flat, "I'm not. Until I ended up here, I didn't believe such things could exist. But, I guess I'm not normal by Ravenloch standards."

"Because they thought you were a witch, they chased you out?"

"Not exactly," Elyria pinched the bridge of her nose, "apparently the baron's little freak of a son 'took pity' on me -his words- and, well, let's say he made an offer that I wholeheartedly refused. That pissed him off, and he set out to ruin me."

Soren held her close, "Trust me, I know the consequences of angering someone with a title."

Soren lay down, and Elyria curled up next to him. His body held no warmth, but the fire made up for it. Time held no meaning in the black tower, and the two lay in silence until falling asleep.

Elyria wrinkled her nose as she woke. Something tickled her face, and she heard the rumble before feeling it. Soren sat upright as the room gently shook. Plaster dust cascaded from the ceiling, followed by bits of crumbling stone. Wood creaked and groaned under stress as furniture squeaked while teetering across the floor. Soren jumped out of bed and pulled Elyria with him.

"We have to go," he shouted. The decision had been made for them.

They dashed down the stairs as tendrils grasped after them. Dust choked them as they made for the door. Candlelight vanished in their wake, the shadows on their heels. A chilling wail ushered them as they raced through the halls. Undulating cries danced with the shadows. Terror slipped into Elyria's blood. She slowed as the thick miasma crippled her.

Soren never released her hand as they burst through the door into the darkest night. Fresh air relieved her lungs, renewing her flight. Wet grass slicked her feet, and by some grace, she managed to stay vertical. His breath sounded heavy and panicked, concerning Elyria. Her heart pounded in his ears. She'd given it to him, and he'd silently promised to protect it. But if she continued at his pace, he feared it would shatter.  

They reached the edge of the forest. Thick branches blocked their path, and gnarled thorn bushes tore at them. Soren desperately tore a path, ripping through foliage with his hands. Vines wept from the trees, pawing at her thin gown. Thick tendrils swatted their clasped hands as roots clawed at her ankles. Everything the shadows touched tore at them.

In a panic to get her to safety, Soren hadn't noticed the increased rapidity in Elyria's heart or her frantic breathing. Until it all stopped. He turned around and froze. Eyes scanned the amalgamation of shadows and writhing roots. He held his breath, listening for the rhythm of her heart. When he failed to find it, desperation broke loose.

He cried her name. Only rustling roots and snickering shadows replied. He dropped to the ground, groping at the forest debris. Crawling to where he last felt her presence, he tore up roots and dug through dirt until his fingers bled. No matter how much detritus he removed, more took its place. He swore a faint pulsing sound emanated from deep below.

His frantic search lasted through the night. As the sun crept on the horizon, he faced two choices. Unwilling to believe she was truly gone, he chose to slink back to his towering prison and wait for night to return.

Winter settled in, and the shadows grew long. Soren spent many nights in her room, hoping he'd wake to find her there. In her absence, he found only shadows. Mischievous shades taunted his tears, whispering reminders. How dare he think he'd escape them? You wanted her to die, right? Because believing this time would end any different was lunacy. We're the only love you'll ever deserve.

But she had been different. Despite Soren's reservations, she had sought out him. When he remained distant, she persevered. He had erected every wall he could, and she willingly tore them down. Her heart was strong, and she'd given it to him.

"She can't be gone."

Night after night, he searched the forest for her. Refusing to let the shadows dissuade him. Until he found a body, bones, or any remnant of her, he would look. Roots snatched at the shovel he'd traded his hands for. Shadows twisted everywhere, but he ignored them, exchanging panic for a plan. Snow blanketed the forest floor, eventually giving way to soggy leaves. Mud turned to dirt. Dead leaves dissolved, and green ones blossomed in turn. He'd dug nearly every inch and still found nothing of Elyria. But a faint, rhythmic beat drove him forward.  

As the year wheeled back to winter, Soren spent the twilight hours sitting in the top room of the tower. It was as far away from Elyria's room and the memories he longed for. Snow twinkled in the fading sunlight as he gazed out over the forest. He'd scoured every inch they'd touched while fleeing and the surrounding area. He'd search the entire forest if necessary; he had time in abundance.

A chilling breeze whistled around the tower, freezing anything in its path. And yet, Soren felt Elyria's warmth on the dwindling light and heard her whispers on the wind. Somewhere a branch snapped. Soren's sharp eyes spotted the falling limb as roots shot up and pulled it under.

It was a common sight he'd long ago grown accustomed to. The shadows infested every aspect of the tower and forest. Wriggling branches like predators whipped birds out of the skies, and bulky limbs broke. Animals ate the poisoned flora, and the roots dragged them under. They lay under the dirt like a trapdoor spider ready, to pounce.

Soren's head began to spin, "What if they go deeper? Much deeper."

The black tower extended down as much as it went up. While Soren never delved past the cellar, he remembered a loamy smell. The cellar was rustic, not as refined as the inhabitable parts of the tower. He wondered if the further he went down, the more earthy it turned. Unwavering hope swallowed him anew as he ran down one staircase after another.

Wine bottles and crates littered the cellar. He lit a candle and took in the details. The walls were stone, the floor wood. He paced the room, shuffling rubbish around until he found a hatch. He pulled the iron ring, lifting up the door. An impossible darkness stared back. Confident he was trespassing on the shadow's domain, he descended.

Stone walls morphed into packed dirt. The stairwell nearly touched his shoulders, and stringy roots writhed around him. Candlelight barely pierced the black as he reached the bottom. He walked in the only direction allowed. Though the pinprick light constricted his view, he felt the roots around him grow in size and number. Their dry rustling grated his senses, and tendrils lashed his skin. Underneath the chaos, he heard a faint pulsing.

Fighting through a jungle, he trudged forward. The plants threatened to swallow him, so he ripped and tore them down, only to have more replace them. Out of options, he set them on fire. A shattering screech pierced the cavern, forcing him to the ground. His hands rushed involuntarily to cover his ears.

Determination forced Soren to his feet, ignoring the wailing. The fire spread fast, burning a tangle of plant matter to ash. As the desiccated roots retreated and smoldered, the cry steadily faded under the increasing drum beat.

Smoke cleared, and glowing embers illuminated the cavern. Shadows snickered in the corners as he took in the horrible scene. Countless broken skeletons dripped from the ceiling on roots and vines. Animals, large and small, beast and human, stretched past his vision. His legs trembled, struggling to hold him up. Until that moment, blind hope wanted to find Elyria alive.

A cool breeze engulfed him in the stuffy room. The delicate air swirled around him until he followed the direction it ushered him. The current stopped suddenly. At his feet sat an unceremonious pile of bones. He knew they were hers. A pristine ribcage sat atop the pile as if staged. Impossibly, inside the cage was a beating heart.

"My heart will always belong to you," Elyria's voice echoed in the cave.

"I'll never be alone," he whispered in return.