Wistful Wednesday

Hello, today I would like to welcome my special guest into the Moonlight, MuseItUp Publishing author, Nikolai Due-Gundersen, who's sharing with us an excerpt from his new novel, Heart's Lone Desire.

Chapter One

They had prepared the room as instructed. Tall candles littered the chamber, their light inviting shadows, and at the centre, the tub stood waiting, its deep brass polished until gold shone from its depth. Wisps of steam snaked from the water within. Hot, thick twists joining scattered shadows, playing among the bitter light.

Monsieur Lilac sipped his wine with deliberate slowness. His tired eyes went to the windows, longing for escape. Outside, the first fall of snow had begun. As Paris slept, dots dropped down from the heavens, the flakes of stars gracing the earth of mortals. He finished the wine in one slow gulp, savouring the burn of its taste. His hand trembled. Today, he truly felt the pain of his years. It was the weakness in him; the weakness in all men. Mortality pulsed through his veins like a plague. It wrinkled his skin. Tightened his chest. Tonight, he would escape it all.

He disrobed, his servants taking firm hold of his frame. Water bubbled as his body met its warmth.

“The curtains,” he gestured with a weak hand.

Winter disappeared from view.

He breathed, and leaned further into the tub’s warmth. There was no further need for him to speak. His loyal servants knew what was to be done. Cold hands were upon his chest, nails marking his flesh with thick dots…something sharper. The chill of metal—of medical instruments. The skin underneath curled against the cold whispers of steel.

He closed his eyes, wheezed his last sigh. One by one, the candles were extinguished. He prayed for the comfort of nothingness.

The hands were upon his own, holding him down. Thick cloth closed the charm of his mouth. The aristocratic mouth that had argued, threatened, loved. The pain in his chest was sharp, as expected, his flesh folding to metal wielded by loyal hands. Old blood spilled from fresh wounds. His weakness ripped open.

He forced his eyes to remain closed. The sound of tearing flesh, breaking bones.

And underneath it all, the weakest form. His poor heart, still thumping, not knowing when to stop, not knowing when life had become a patient death. Hands dug into the redness of his chest, and with twists and tugs, the heart of old was finally disconnected.

A gasp escaped from his still suppressed lips. It was enough to make him open his eyes. He watched it fall to the floor, and waited for the gift of light.

AUTHOR'S OTHER WORKS:

‘Angel’, published by Necrology Shorts (Under the pseudonym N.D. Gundersen: http://www.necrologyshorts.com/2010/01/30/angel/)

The Heart’s Lone Desire; to be released May 2011 by Muse it Up Publishing

‘Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow’, published by Death Head Grin magazine (http://deathheadgrin.com/id251.html) and Dead Man’s Tome/Demonic Tome (http://demonictome.com/Aug2010.pdf)