Beautiful Sorrows

by Mercedes M. Yardley

  Her laughter wasn’t mean at all, and Andros mentally checked off his list. She wasn’t a werewolf. She wasn’t a golden dragon or a vampire. She didn’t seem at all menacing, so nothing predatory. He tried one more question.

  “Do you ever feel like life is eternal? That you’ve lived eons already and have a couple thousand more to go?”

  She sighed. “I do feel that way sometimes. I get very weary.”

  It really wasn’t a very good question. Immortality applied to most of the Otherkind. Still, he had asked and she had answered, and that was a very good thing, indeed.

  That night Andros had a dream. He and Serena were walking through the forest. She was a daughter of the moon, stars shining in her dark hair and eyes. She wore a long white dress and her hand was resting on the ruff of Andros’s neck.

  Andros realized he was padding by her side on all fours. He glanced down and saw soft brown paws. He twitched his ears and slashed his tail through the air. He sniffed and could smell the anticipation emanating from Serena’s pores.

  She stopped suddenly, knelt down and rubbed her face into Andros’s fur. “It’s nearly time, my love,” she murmured. Andros whimpered and licked her ear, leaving red stains on her white skin. Blood. His mouth was full of it and it invigorated him. He raised his muzzle to the moon and howled.

  The next day he was unusually quiet. Serena slipped her cold fingers into his.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him.

  He bit his lip, tasted blood, and thought of his dream. He found it exciting.

  “Serena, do you ever feel that...we’re more than we seem? That we could peel our skins away and find something wild and animalistic underneath?”

  Her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

  “That’s a very deep thought,” she said. “You’re treading on dangerous territory.” She was teasing, but he could feel the truth was threading through her words. Of course it was. This wasn’t something that she could speak about openly. If she did, the enchantment would be broken, and she would have to go back to wherever she came from. That’s why she chose to speak to Andros in dreams. That’s why she chose to let him in on the secret that he was an Other, too. Moon and Wolf. Luna e Volk. Perhaps he never would have figured it out on his own. The thought made him shudder.

  He had to let her know that he understood. That he was ready.

  “It’s a full moon tonight,” he said casually. Serena’s face softened.

  “I know. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  Of course she had. “Would you like to do something special?”

  Her eyes glowed.

  Andros picked her up after dark. It was a long drive out of the city and to the forest, but it would be worth it. At first he was disappointed Serena was wearing a dark dress instead of the white one from the dream, but it made her creamy skin even more luminous in comparison. Besides, she wouldn’t be wearing it for too much longer, anyway.

  “I’m very glad to be here with you,” she said, and dropped her hand lightly on Andros’s thigh. “I think that tonight will be very memorable.”

  He couldn’t drive there fast enough. Finally he found the clearing, a place that he remembered from years ago. He parked the car, got out, and opened the door for Serena. She stepped lightly out of the car and turned her face to the moon.

  “It’s so beautiful.”

  It was. So was she. Andros was shocked to find the feeling he felt was...gratitude. He was grateful that she was going to show him her true self. He was grateful that he’d get to discover his.

  “So how do we go about this?” he asked her. In the movies that he watched, the changes occurred without a man being aware of it. One minute he was walking along and the next he was growing bigger, larger, stronger. So now that Andros knew he was a wolf, how would it be different?

  Serena’s smile held mysteries. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little,” he said honestly.

  She stepped closer and pulled his arms around her. “Don’t be. It’s a natural thing. You’ll know exactly what to do.”

  Her kiss tasted like the sky. She stepped back and let her dress fall to the ground. Her body shone in the moonlight and Andros knew exactly who she was.

  “Tennyo,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  She was a daughter of the moon, a daughter of the sky. She flew on feathered wings. There were tales about her kind in all of the old stories. The beautiful girl who turns into a swan. The woman who falls from the sky until her clothes are stolen from her. But there was more than that, wasn’t there? It ran deeper. It was under her skin, under the flesh.

  “You drink the stars,” he murmured.

  “You say pretty things.”

  He couldn’t stop himself. “How is it going to be? Will I feel my skin tear? Will it hurt? Is it just this amazing feeling of coming together, of being who I really am?” He looked at her intensely. “Will you still care for me afterward? Will you be frightened?”

  She pulled off his shirt, ran her open mouth down his throat. “Andros, you’re so funny. Why would I be frightened?” She pressed closer.

  “Maybe I’ll be a monster. You’ll be beautiful and I’ll be hideous. Maybe I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll hurt you.”

  “You worry too much, darling.”

  It was time. He slid his hands down her smooth, bare back. Her skin reflected the moon’s light like a star. He was dying to find out what was underneath it. He wanted to see—

  “—who you truly are,” he said.

  “What?” she asked, and then she was screaming.

  The knife was out of his back pocket and sliding down that beautiful spine of hers. It cut through easily, creating a seam in her suit of skin. She pulled away but he was stronger.

  “I’m almost through, Serena. Your beauty is legendary. If you look like this in your human form, than how...”

  He didn’t finish. Serena was screaming, kicking and struggling. He knocked her down to the ground and pinned her with his long legs.

  “Why are you fighting? I don’t understand!”

  She was saying things that didn’t make sense. Andros thought maybe she was asking him why. He thought she was cursing him and begging for her father. He started cutting down the front, working the smooth, starry skin off in patches.

  “Why don’t you make this easier?” he asked her. He was starting to panic. Why was there so much blood? Why didn’t her body slip off like silk and show him the wonders underneath? This never happened in the movies! Sometimes the skin needed a gentle tug from a loving suitor’s hand, but never more than that.

  “I can’t be wrong. You showed all the signs!” He shook her, but she wasn’t responding anymore. She was still breathing, but her eyes had gone someplace far away, farther away than the stars from which she...from which he thought she had come.

  He looked at his hands. He looked at her body. She was red and raw, missing a breast. Blood and other fluids leaked from under her skin. He wanted to piece her back together, but the idea of pulling and tugging her shredded flesh into place made him sick. He turned his head to the side and vomited.

  “Serena?” he whispered. There was no movement except for her shallow breathing. He called her name again and nervously wiped his mouth with the back of a dripping hand. He tasted something tangy and nearly familiar, and then realized that it was her blood. Serena’s blood, smeared over his face and onto his lips. It was just like his dream, but twisted and brutally ugly. Where was the joy? Where was the rapture?

  The knife glimmered as it fell from his shaking hand. Andros raised his face to the moon and screamed. In the shattered darkness, it sounded very much like the howling of an animal.

  STARS

  The Universe had it in for Samson Gimble. It was rollicking along doing Great Big Universy Things, when suddenly It realized that Great Big Universy Things are fine for the most part, but It wanted something more, something exciting and wonderful. Black holes and
nebulas are intricate, and the Universe was adept at putting them together, but they were old hat. What was something that the Universe had never done before?

  Ah, yes. Murder.

  There was nothing about Sam that you would find especially notable. He was a generally goodhearted man, dressing rather quietly and performing his civic duty. He bites his ice cream instead of licking it, has three dogs all named Oliver, and never yells at children. That’s Sam.

  The Universe picked Sam at random, basically closing Its eyes and throwing a metaphysical dart into the world—PING! Farewell, Samson Gimble. The Universe chuckled and rubbed Its colossal hands together gleefully. Feeling unexpectedly perky, It began working on Its Rube Goldberg machine to bring about Sam’s tragic and delightful death. What fun!

  Now it seems rather unfair that on one hand we have Sam, and on the other is the Infinite Universe itself. “What a terrible story!” you could say, and you would be quite right. But take heart, for this is a story full of wonder and fancy, and in such stories, magical things often happen.

  However, occasionally there is a person on this earth who is shivering outside on their back porch, looking upward for pleasure or for answers. There is usually something about them, a sense of need that shines out of their eyes and flashes up into the sky, for example, or just a general glitter that catches the star’s attention. Stars like glitter. A star would have no problem plucking itself out of the sky and flitting down to Earth if it thinks that you are shiny enough to entertain it.

  Sam was shiny enough to entertain the most curious star. He was positively pulsing with light, a country boy recently moved to the big city. He couldn’t even see the stars at night for the bright neon lights, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t cut through the smog sharply himself. He was beautiful.

  A tiny star, fairly new, watched the glittering light of Sam bobble through the rainy night, and with a cry of joy wrenched itself out of the fabric of sky and spiraled down to meet its new plaything.

  Sam sat on a warped park bench located in a tiny sliver of green in the middle of the city. It was the closest thing to the country that he could find in this filthy town, and even then it was a far cry from the hills back at home. He had tried cursing for a while, but it didn’t do any good, so now he did the next best thing.

  He drank.

  So, naturally, when the star came spiraling down out of the sky and landed on the grass, Sam didn’t give it much thought.

  “Nice,” he said, and threw his bottle at it.

  The star pulsed a little bit and then glided closer to Sam’s shoes. It peered at his shoelace.

  “Bug off,” he said.

  The star didn’t bug off. It chimed brightly and hopped onto Sam’s instep, inspecting the cheap leather.

  “I hate stars.”

  The star believed this wasn’t true.

  “It is true! I really, really hate stars,” Sam insisted.

  The star shimmied up the leg of Sam’s pants and nestled into his lap. It bobbed around for a bit and looked around in wonder.

  “Quit trying to be cute. It’s not going to work,” Sam warned.

  The star glowed furiously and began to purr. It was very pleased with its bright, shiny new plaything. Sam put his hand over it gently. It pressed into his palm and purred harder.

  “Oh, all right. You win.”

  The star smiled and twinkled happily. They were going to have lots and lots of fun together, it and its new toy.

  The Universe watched this new development in consternation. It very much hoped this little star didn’t stay around for long. It was still hard at work on Its plans.

  —

  From then on, Sam never went anywhere without his star. He slid it into his shirt pocket and wandered out into the street, careful to keep an ear out to hear what it had to say.

  It often had quite a bit to say. It chimed and whistled and shook stardust in its excitement to see everything that went on around it. It often peeped out of Sam’s pocket, a tiny glowing fragment of light, and Sam had to gently push it back inside.

  “Sorry, buddy, you can’t just leap out here. Wait until we’re somewhere that you won’t be seen.”

  The star would wait patiently in the bottom of the pocket until suddenly it was overcome by its curiosity again. It would twinkle and glow, taking in every new scene and keeping a wary eye on that devious devil, the Universe. The tiny star had grown quite attached to its Sam, and was loath to lose him.

  “Hey, I told you to keep out of sight,” Sam whispered, and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

  The star slid obediently down into the pocket, but not before it shook its tiny fist at the sky. You’ve got something to contend with, Universe. Oh yes.

  —

  Today was the day that Sam was going to die.

  The star simply wasn’t having it.

  “Leave me alone,” Sam mumbled into his pillow early on Saturday. The star chimed insistently in his ear, leaving burning little pinpricks on the lobe where it jumped around.

  “Leave.” Sam flipped over and pulled the pillow over his head, but the star managed to burrow under it and glow sternly. Sam swatted it away. The star bristled. Growling a little, it marched up to Sam’s nose, touched it with a quivering point and promptly scorched it.

  “What the—?” Sam yelled and flung the covers back, clasping both hands to his nose. He glared at the star with watery eyes. “Why would you do something like that?” The star meandered calmly away, and Sam, cursing, pulled on his jeans and started after it.

  “No, you are not walking away from me. We are going to discuss this behavior.” Sam stopped in the middle of his kitchen. “I’m arguing with a star. With a star.” He sank into the kitchen chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going crazy.”

  The star hissed at him, and then nudged a bottle of vitamins his way. Sam looked at them, and then at the star. “What are you, my wife?” The star was unmoved. Sam sighed and palmed the vitamins. This was going to be a long day.

  If only he knew.

  Today the Universe had something fun and whimsical up Its sleeve. It was quite cheery about the death of Samson Gimble. It hummed a little as It went to work. It was this happy, off-key rumbling that set the star on edge.

  During breakfast, Sam took out a sharp, lethal-looking knife to peel his Granny Smith apple in one long peel. “EEP!” squeaked the star, and flung itself across the room, smacking into Sam’s hand and forcing him to drop the knife. It clattered to the floor.

  “What is with you today?” he said, and reached down to pick the knife back up. The star guarded it fiercely. Sam finally stepped away.

  “All right, all right, I get it. No knife, okay?” He held his hands up in surrender, and the star drooped in relief. Sam turned on the stove.

  “ACK!” yelped the star, and flurried over to the stove, bouncing around in agitation until Sam hurriedly turned the burner off.

  “Okay!” Sam said through gritted teeth. “No knives. No stove. Nothing delicious or homemade for me this morning.”

  Breakfast was that same Granny Smith apple, unpeeled. Sam munched it resentfully. The star preened.

  —

  About this time, on the other side of the world, the Universe was giggling. It was a lovely day in Japan, and the spring flowers were out. Particularly the Ayame, an exquisitely vibrant purple flower with long tongue-like petals that drape delicately from its stamen. The Universe had spent quite a long time on its creation, and it was quite proud. A young couple and their lovely baby (who, thanks to the Universe’s not-so-innocent meddling, happened to be allergic to the Ayame flower) were admiring a particularly beautiful cluster when the baby sneezed.

  “Bless you!” his mother said immediately, and reached in her purse for a tissue. This sudden movement startled a resting Appias albino butterfly, which is a particularly ethereal-looking butterfly with large white wings. It is not native to Japan, and had most likely been introduced to th
e area by a typhoon or whatnot (another of the Universe’s delights), but here it was, and here it had planned to stay, resting by the Ayame flower. But, alas, that was not meant to be, and it fluttered its wings rather desperately. As we all learned in the third grade, a butterfly fluttering its wings in Japan can affect the weather system in the United States, and it really was a glorious lesson on how we are all intertwined on the great big beautiful planet that is Earth. What a warm and fuzzy demonstration indeed, except that warm fuzzies was not what the Universe had intended. It had just set into play the chain of events that would eventually kill Samson Gimble. The Universe grinned. So cliché, yet so delightful. It settled back to watch.

  —

  Back home, Sam was heading toward the door, much to the star’s dismay. It buzzed and glowered and teetered as threateningly as it knew how, but Sam was determined to go along with his day as usual. After a brief chase, he managed to slip the star into his pocket and start out the door. The clouds were dark and heavy, but he thought little of it, even when the wind started to pick up. The star shivered.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Sam whispered to the star. His earlier anger had diminished, and now he was concerned for the star’s distress. “You want me to tell you a story? Would that cheer you up?”

  The star huddled in misery, and Sam began talking, oblivious to the looks that he was receiving on the street. He told the star about his family, where he grew up, about the family dog whose name changed weekly. This most likely explains why he chose to name all of his dogs Oliver now, but this is neither the time nor the place to psychoanalyze our Samson Gimble. We will surely get to that later.

  If there is anything left to analyze, that is.

  The star ceased trembling and listened, engrossed in the story but mostly in the glittering light that Sam gave off while telling it. Sam paused long enough to grab a few things at the grocery store, but then continued on again as soon as he was outside.