Laurel After Midnight

Laurel After Midnight began in as a poem in 1999.  Nine years and uncountable edits later, she has grown into the short story you find here.  Laurel is dear to me; she was one of the first poems that I wrote when I began writing again, but it's more than that.  She's a carefully developed character that I've come to identify with on a personal level.  Also, after many attempts at publication, Laurel After Midnight will appear in the August issue of Sounds of the Night, along with another piece, Carnal Abduction.   Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoy Laurel's story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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     Pale blue eyes snared the moonlight seeping through sheer lace in the hush of a darkened room. The slight figure in the bed was quiescent, barely visible for the rise and fall of breath. Sleep evaded her, refusing respite once again. She worried that her restless mind might be heralding impending madness. For months her insomnia had been accompanied by lost hours between midnight and dawn.
     Her pulse was amplified by the silence. Laurel sighed and pushed the blankets aside as she climbed from her bed. Like so many nights, she would never know what occurred in those hours after midnight.
     Laurel had grown comfortable with the alteration of familiar objects as she passed them in the shadows. The grandfather clock in the dining room finished its twelfth chime, admonishing her as she passed beneath its austere face. Oblivious to the warning, one thought echoed inside her head. Hurry. Hurry.
     Her delicate fingers grasped the cool brass door handle. The turning of the latch resounded through the silent kitchen. Nerves conducting a symphony, she stepped into the night. An iridescent landscape caught Laurel's blue eyes, transforming them into a misty silver-grey. The moon observed her soundlessly, content to cast its lambency upon the scenery. Laurel was captured within a dream; acutely aware of every sensation, volition beyond her control.
      Laurel inhaled the night as if it were sustenance. Exhaling, her breath mingled with the moisture in the air to form a bantam cloud. Laurel halted briefly before being compelled once again towards the garden path that led beyond the lawn.
     Small bare feet whispered over the cool soil, leaving no trace of a print to follow. Against the sable backcloth of the night, her gossamer gown aerial, her skin bore a transparent sheen. An eidolon against the night, she was an unearthly portrait for the moon to regard.
     The moon was not the sole witness to Laurel's beauty. Opaque eyes sized every detail of her progress. Weary of ceaseless restrictions, he shifted from the contours of the shadows, intent on pursuing the object of his desire. An evanescent haze was left to fill the space he had engaged.
     The air stirred as he advanced. Trees swayed in response, murmuring secrets to the skies. Their movement captivated her and Laurel paused, listening to their whispers. She sensed the presence of another, yet felt no desire to flee.
      He approached her with quiet confidence, softly brushing the nape of her neck with an invisible kiss. Startled, Laurel spun to confront the intruder. Through a trick of mist and shadow, only a silhouette remained to meet her gaze. Trembling slightly, she passed her hand through the space before her. The shape dissipated into lingering wisps of fog animated by her touch. Laurel shivered slightly, but moved deeper into the forest. The odd chills coursing beneath her skin were not borne of fear, but fueled by a powerful force of a different type. Her mind was consumed by the ache of familiar intimacy.
     The dappled moonshade of the forest fell upon her hair, entwining with the rich chestnut tresses. Watching intently, the wraith sensed the quickening of her breath and the racing of her pulse. Unable to resist, he stroked her hair with diaphanous fingers. Laurel quivered in anticipation of his next touch. Her eyes searched the dimness for a substantial shape. Her ears strained to hear the slightest breath. Laurel closed her eyes as a zephyr swept around her. There was an appetence within his presence, an urgency that could no longer be bridled.
     The breeze murmured her name, carrying it through the earth and air. Reluctantly, Laurel opened her eyes. He willed her further into the woods. Heeding his insistence, she followed.
     Pressing through a thicket of brush, she found a clearing where a pool of cobalt glass glowed in the moonlight. A shimmering image upon its surface beckoned her. Without hesitation Laurel stepped into the silken water, her ingression barely causing a ripple across its face.
     From within the abyss, he reached and gently drew her towards him. Her body offered no resistance to the enticement of his touch. There were no words, only a sigh escaping her lips and rising above her descent in a semblance of viscosity. His taction was fluent as she was ardently enfolded. With gentle desperation he sought every inch of her assentive body. Laurel was overwhelmed with pleasure within the surging waters.
     Possessed by his fervent need, Laurel drowned in the taste and scent of him. His allusive warmth flooded her, pervading both body and soul. Nothing existed but the presence of him around her, inside her.
     Encompassed by passion, Laurel was oblivious to her mortal needs. Despite his longing, her lover was careful to heed her physical limitations. He paused reluctantly, releasing her to break the surface of the water. She did, gasping as she swallowed the oxygen that her body had been denied. Laurel felt primitive, unrefined, unaccustomed to such abandon.
      Weakened by their passion, Laurel struggled against the depths of the pond. Gliding beside her with no undulation in his wake, he remained, devoted to ensuring her safety. Laurel reached the shore and collapsed into a cushion of soft grass.
     As she struggled to regain her breath, Laurel could discern the slightest impression on the ground beside her. His fingers were the blades of grass as they brushed over her. The air on her face was the grazing warmth of his lips kissing her temples, her eyelids, her cheeks, at last resting upon her mouth. Soft and tender, this was gentle exploration. Soon exploration escalated into desire and heat began to rise between them again. Once more, her pulse hastened and her breathing quickened. The precision of his touch signified perfection. Nothing else existed.
     The soft light of the moon cradled the lovers, as the night blanket them with darkness. Woven into the fabric of the night, the stars were vigilant. Every sound around them blended into a single melody that made the spirit ache. The lucidity in the air was remarkable. Laurel surrendered to it, opening herself to the full experience and allowing her senses to be consumed.
     All too soon the moment ended. Although he attempted a gentle departure, Laurel was trembling and desolate in the afterglow. This separation reverberated through an eternal void.
     Dew settled, its damp presence cold and comfortless. He was gone. Despondent, Laurel rose to return home. The night began to mute. The pre-dawn sky lurked in the east, casting an eerie light. Contained in her illusive state, Laurel was oblivious to her surroundings as she wandered back to the garden path.
     Once they had faced the days together. Their love and adoration had been immeasurable until he was unexpectedly clutched within the wicked grasp of a tempestuous storm. When he was lost, Laurel was left alone. A constant longing for the past was her survival. Whether through accident or intention, nature had stolen him.
     Perhaps in penance, the very forces which had separated them by death now allowed consolation after nightfall. The power of the earth, water, and air around them assembled as he manipulated their channels, defying the laws of flesh and blood to visit her in a never-ending revolution of nights.
     They were cursed, able to bend but not break the ordinances between their worlds, restrictions had been ordained. Only under the cover of darkness could her lover demonstrate his desires. At dawn he was sentenced to vanish, while Laurel was forced to relinquish all memory of those precious hours together. He was damned to wander the obscurity of night. Laurel was condemned to exist in the illumination of day. Their devotion was never meant to survive death, yet the constraints placed upon them had been extraordinarily overcome.
     Laurel fell upon her bed as the sun corrupted her horizon. A sense of remorse gnawed at her; a vague comprehension these daylight hours lacked the fulfillment of night. The pre-dawn chill haunted her skin with the ghost of a touch. The scent of darkness had woven midnight ribbons through her hair. Sleep, which had resisted her at midnight, now enveloped her willingly. A myriad of images composed dreams of reminiscence and serenity. As day slowly passed, her slumber was the only retainable bridge between their worlds. Laurel sought sanctuary in the secrets of midnight inexorably biding time till unfeigned night would bring her beloved home.