Chapter I


The mist was thick, and drifted eerily above the long grass of the old graveyard, blocking almost everything from view. Silhouetted against the pale glow of the moon was the church, with its tall spire and jagged gothic architecture facing the sky like daggers.
Young Andromeda had paused for a moment to gaze up at it, the fog swirling incessantly around her simple black dress and bare arms. To anyone who might have caught a glimpse of her through the mist, she must have looked ghostly for she was very pale: it was almost an ethereal, unnatural paleness, made more distinct by her long black hair and black clothing.
Suddenly, as though sensing a pursuer unseen, she sped up and clutched the single rose she was holding tight to her breast like she were afraid to lose it. Her heartbeat quickened as she moved onward, and although it was cold and she was wearing little, she had broken out in a sweat.
Trees suddenly loomed out of the fog before her, their gnarled branches grasping for her hair; she staggered onward, tripping through the undergrowth. Something cracked loudly in the distance and she broke into a run - everything passed before her like a blur - brambles groped at her legs buts still she ran - she ran onward into the unknown - crashing through the trees - until she stumbled, staggered and fell flat on her face at the foot of a statue.

At one point it would clearly have been a grand and elegant statue, but now it had clearly fallen into disrepair and looked as though the ivy was trying to reclaim - or devour - the marble of which the statue was made.
Upon the old pedestal was mounted the sculpture of a man - a man that one could only describe with the slightly unorthodox word “beautiful”, for that is what he was. In terms of looks he was almost feminine, and Andromeda knew he could easily rival the prettiest of women.
However, he looked sad - everything about the statue and the location suggested melancholy - it looked alone, and one of its large angelic wings lay broken by its base, almost as if the man had cast it aside to prevent access to the afterlife. His delicate hand was outstretched as if waiting for something he never received, and something he could never now receive in death.

Andromeda had reached her destination - she had been here many nights previously, as was evident by the number of wilting roses that lay before the inscription on the pedestal:
“Nakaar Arkres
Requiescat In Pace”
In his hand she gently placed the deep red rose she had brought with her, looking longingly into his deep eyes as she did so, thinking for just a moment that she saw movement there - an impossible acknowledgement of the gift she had brought.
Suddenly the tranquillity and mood was broken by a voice crying out her name through the fog - a voice she recognised far too well…
“Andromeda? Where are you?”
She was startled, and she turned quickly, knocking the rose to the ground and trampling it as she broke into a sudden run, engulfed in fear and a desire to put as much distance between the statue and herself as possible.
The undergrowth was thick and vast in amount: but seemed of the sort that would only appear when it could not be seen, or when one wanted it not to be there at all. It caught many times on the hem of her black dress, ripping the material and scratching at her pale legs beneath. But still she kept running - she could not be seen out here - she could not be subjected to their questions just yet - it was not the time for such things. Suddenly a hand closed around her arm, and she let out a scream of surprise.
“Andromeda, is that you?” asked the young man who had grabbed her - the same man who had shouted before. It was the voice of Larciinas, her lover.
“What - Larciinas - I thought - I mean - you were with Julian, were you not?” she asked, startled by the sudden appearance of the nineteen-year-old, while at the same time trying to remain as calm as possible.
“Until I noticed you missing, yes,” he replied, holding her shaking form to his chest. She had allowed him to hold her - he was her boyfriend, although she had never actually used that word to describe him. It was not necessary. “What have you been doing out here? And without a coat at this time of year?”
“I was…I needed a walk…” she muttered, deciding that to reveal her true reasons for being out would be an awful idea right now. It was too soon - far to soon. She would wait until the fruits of her plan ripened, whenever that would be.
“And I came out here for a suntan…” responded Larciinas sarcastically, rolling his eyes, although she did not see that through the haze and darkness.
“That was not all that friendly,” she said, although she did not mean it to sound harsh. She had not taken offence from his comment, but part of her wished that others could keep themselves out of business that did not concern them. Business that they could never understand.
“You know I would never hurt you,” replied Larciinas softly, holding her closer than before. He knew that she had not meant to hurt him in her remark, but he knew that he would have to apologise nonetheless: that was just the way it was in their relationship.
“You’re such a kind person,” she said, seizing the opportunity to move the subject away from what she had been doing. Only a fool would not have taken this chance, she thought. “We should go inside,” she said almost as an afterthought. “It is cold out here, and I really am exhausted.”
“You’re right,” he said, releasing her from his embrace and taking her gently by the hand, using the other to sweep his long black hair out of his face. “Tonight is not the sort of night to spend outside.”
As he said that, she remembered the statue of the man and miserably thought about him staying outside through all weathers with no-one to love or to hold him.