Originally Release by Dark Roast Press: October 2009
What is loss to the human heart?
A spirit of nature, misunderstood and forgotten by modern man, when drawn out on the one night he roams the darkness freely, seeks to understand the meaning of loss and ease a young man’s pain.
Bran Conleth is a man broken by the ultimate loss – death. Desperate to summon his deceased lover he chooses the one night when the veil between the land of the living and the land of the dead is at its thinnest. Instead of his lover he calls forth the embodiment of the night – Samhain.
Together they share one incredible journey that will teach Samhain about human loss and Bran that there is life after death.
Listening to the silence was not truly a time of silence, but rather much like a concerto beginning with the faint breathy whisper of a flute; then one by one other instruments spoke. There had much happiness, sadness, life, and death here in this place over the years. There was, an even deeper sadness now, though, one that washed the other moments away, covering them in layers of excruciating sand. Samhain’s eyes drifted open and a flicker of white-gold flame shimmered along their dark surfaces.
This was what had cried out to him on this night, a loss so deep that nothing could heal the wound, the soul torn open as if it were raw pink flesh, tinged red with fresh blood. Straightening up, Samhain turned, eyes flickering with the same light as he reached out, palm pressed against the wood of the door, long slender pale fingers spreading, seeking the painful moment that had come to haunt this lonely place. His fingertips sank into the wood, disappearing, and then his eyes drifted shut.
There it was—faint, but there—pulsing through the natural energies of place, pulsing with each beat of the soul’s broken heart. “You called,” Samhain whispered, “you called and I have come.” Ever so slowly, his entire body began to sink into the wood of the door, tiny flickering flames licking along the surface where flesh met wood. His dark eyes drifted shut, full soft lips parted in a panting breath as if he were making love to the house, or perhaps the house was making love to him. Whether it was one way or the other, there was desperation to the sounds that tumbled out and over his lips, catching on the night wind and drifting away into the shadows.
Then Samhain was gone, leaving only a faint shimmering trail of dusty light.
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