Date: Wed, 10 Apr 1996 11:04:55 -0500
From: Lady Sushi <phoenix@IONET.NET>
Subject: "For Fleur" 1/1

"For Fleur"
Susan Schaefer
(c) 1996, S. Schaefer
usual disclaimers here
I give permission to archive, post, or burn.
part one of one




        LaCroix was dead.  Or maybe not, Nick didn't know; no one did.  The
last time he'd been seen was a month before, almost at dawn, when he took
off with nary a word.  Although he doubted it, Nick preferred to think he
was dead.
        All of LaCroix's things were still in his apartment.  Nick finally
went there.  He really didn't know why.  Everything was painfully neat,
dark, silk and leather, wool and gold.  Nick ran a finger slowly over the
bookcase.  Everything was harcover, well-worn from countless readings.  Most
of the titles had worn off; he suspected LaCroix could have identified any
of them at a glance.  A thin layer of dust --a month's worth-- coated the
cracked spines.
        Nick turned from the shelf, sighed.  He quickly shook away a sting
of longing.  He realized how dark the room really was with only one lamp on.
He turned on a few more.  The light didn't change the apparent darkness.  It
did, however, make it easier to see.  Another of the worn books lay on a
simple mahogany desk.  It was dark brown leather; it showed no sign of ever
having a title.
        Nick opened the cover.  The first page was written in Old Latin.  He
could read very little.  Several more were the same way, yet the line
structure was familiar.  Poetry.  Occasionally, he found a sketch.  They all
seemed to be of flowers.
        So, his missing master was still obsessed.  Why else would he keep
this?  The book was obviously not old, perhaps twenty years?  Nick suspected
there were more hidden about the flat.  He continued to flip through with
the rebelliousness of a child in his parents' room.
        He stopped.  It was another sketch, but this was of another kind of
flower.  Almost 800 years hadn't dulled LaCroix's mind; the portrait was as
perfect as if she had sat for it.  Nicholas' eyes filled with red tears at
the memory of his sister, her smile, her laugh.  She laughed forever in
LaCroix's book.  Nick turned away quickly before his tears could stain the
page.  In a moment he was under forced control.
        The page opposite Fleur's memorial was another poem.  This was in
English, for some reason.  Nick had to read it several times to fully
comprehend.

             A rose may die,
             But that blood-red memory never fades,
             Velvet never 'comes less soft,
             And the unexpected pain of a thorn
             Bleeds forever, bleeds forever.
             Staunch my blood,
             And I can give eternity.
             Slay my burning, biting pain,
             And I will take mortality.
             Give me your hand,
             Your heart,
             Your blood,
             Your soul,
             Your life,
             And I shall gladly sacrifice you mine.

                ~~~For Fleur, March 15, 1981 A.D.

        Nick stared at the page for a time.  He then closed the book and
quickly  left LaCroix's home.  It was time to wait.  LaCroix would be back,
and Nick had more than a few questions.

NOT THE END...







Cousin "Susan" Phoenix, Camera Fanatic of the Thong Throng, Unnamed
phoenix@ionet.net
Tell me what that "sleep" thing is again?
**Do not pester vampyres, for you are chewy and good with ketchup.**
For eternal gratitude, send Uncle and sushi to...