1/11/12

An Immortal Sunset
By Linda M. Crate


Aure twisted her head when she heard her husband Charlotte coming. He had always hated his name, finding it rather unfortunate and cruel of his parents even if they had wanted a girl; she liked it. She thought it suited him. It was unique. The witch could tell that her husband was upset even if she hadn’t seen his face yet — the lilting in the damphyre’s steps. She supposed if she were a half-vampire she might be moody, too, but her husband always seemed to be in a ‘mood’ when he wasn’t around her.

She paused in her trimming of the rose garden behind their spacious yard to consider him for a few moments. His hands were covered in thick peels of dirt that turned his lily-white skin charcoal. “Are you all right, Charlotte?”

Her husband frowned at her. “No, Aure, I’m scared.”

“You, scared? Vampire and werewolf slayer? I never would have guessed,” she teased lightly. “What’s bothering you, love?”

“I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

“For what?”

“This father business. What if I’m a horrible father? My father abandoned my mother when I was six — I wouldn’t want to turn out like that.”

“You won’t,” Aure soothed. “I know you won’t be. You’re not your father, Charlotte. If you were, you never would have fallen in love with someone like me. Didn’t you tell me before that your father was a violent sort and your mother, too?”

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry, history sometimes repeats itself, but I can’t see you leaving,” she remarked.

“Why?” he asked, bluntly.

“Because I have you wrapped around my little finger,” she smirked.

Charlotte laughed, brushing strands of blonde hair from her blue eyes. “I think it’s rather questionable who has whose finger wrapped around them,” he grinned, leaning forward to place a swift kiss on her lips.

“Good point,” Aure remarked, when they resurfaced for air. She laughed, looking out at the stream. “I just hope that if we do have more than one child that they’re kinder to one another than Obscurum was to me,” she remarked, thinking of her late sister.

Charlotte nodded, brushing strands of her long blonde hair. “I’m sure they would be. How couldn’t they be with a mother like you?”

Aure smiled, giving him a soft peck on the cheek. “You’re sweet.”

“Not as sweet as you,” he grinned. “You often bring out the best in me.”

“I am rather good at that, aren’t I?” she joked.

“Yes,” he answered in earnest. He pulled one of her hands to his lips and gently kissed it. “I just hope that I’m a better father than mine was.”

“You will be.”

“Whatever happens we’re not giving our children cruel names.”

Aure laughed. “Surely not,” she agreed. She knew that names were a very temperamental subject with Charlotte as he hated his own. She looked up into his brown eyes. “I do hope that they get my sense of grooming, though,” she sighed, looking at his raven locks. “Your hair is always so unruly.”

“Blame it on my mother’s genetics. She always had twigs and leaves in her hair. She didn’t even bother to pull them out. My father liked it.” He shook his head. “My father was an odd sort of fellow, even for a vampire.”

“Clearly, if he should name his son Charlotte,” she giggled.

Charlotte smiled.

She knew that she would remember that moment forever. Charlotte rarely smiled, it seemed like the perfect moment of immortality. The sun was singing it’s last hymn as it was being devoured by the trees — it’s golden light haloing the trees, the sky was cut into ribbons of plum and rosemary and the clouds were orange. It was a beautiful moment she knew would be impossible to forget.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, gently.

“Because this is a perfect moment. You are genuinely smiling and not because I asked you to.”

Charlotte laughed, as he fit his fingers between the fingers of her hand. “Being around you makes me feel the happiest I’ve ever been. Those years of being a social pariah and an outcast weren’t fun. I feel if I hadn’t found you, I would have become my father.”

“Well, thank goodness I found you then.” She smiled, enjoying the sensation of his fingers laced with hers. “I know without you in my life, it wouldn’t be nearly as rich nor would I have so many adventures.”

Charlotte grinned. “Yes, those were rather unpredictable and wild.”

“Just like your hair.”

He rolled his eyes, kissing her.

“Was that our polite way of telling me to be quiet, love?”

“It was.”

“I think I liked it,” she winked.

He laughed.


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Linda Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry has recently been featured in Magic Cat Press, Black-Listed Magazine, Bigger Stones, and Vintage Poetry. One of her short stories has been featured in Carnage Conservatory and she has an upcoming short story for publication in Dark Gothic Reconstructed Magazine in April 2012.