PART 10: The Man Who Had Everything and The Woman With No Art
The Man Who Had Everything felt a giant invisible hand close around his heart. He was lifted high and hefted off the bed; flung like a toy to lie – limbs akimbo – against the far wall.
The Woman With No Art slid off the bed and approached him with mincing steps; one dainty foot poked at his chest.
“That was rude of you Michael. Rude and cruel.” She leaned down to look at him, and to his surprise The Man Who Had Everything saw tears in her eyes.
“I really thought you had understood me, as I understood you…” she laughed: a bitter little laugh.
“Well…so what else is new. I am misunderstood. I thought you would be different.” The pain in her face was raw.
“We are seen as succubus, vampires, as monsters by these limited small-town folk; but all we are is alone, we Fae. Alone.”
She crouched down next to him and touched her fingers gently to the centre of his chest.
“Thousands and thousands of years alone. Imagine that. We live forever and have nothing, nothing at all. All our loves are dead, so we seek. And all we seek, is what you and every other creature seeks. Some warmth, something to reach for in the night; someone to look us in the eyes, see us for what we are and still love us.”
He stared up at her, numb and dumb. “Is it so terrible Michael, to ask for love? Is that not what you have longed for all your life? Is that not what I was offering you?”
Her hands were lifting him up with terrifying strength, setting him back on the bed with the same ease and regretful care a child might show a beloved toy mistreated during a tantrum.
“It hurts being misunderstood, and unwanted; but worse of all, Michael, it hurts being feared.”
The Woman With No Art was smoothing back his hair with gentle fingers.
“No-one loves what they fear, and I so need to be loved.”
Manuela Cardiga
The Woman With No Art slid off the bed and approached him with mincing steps; one dainty foot poked at his chest.
“That was rude of you Michael. Rude and cruel.” She leaned down to look at him, and to his surprise The Man Who Had Everything saw tears in her eyes.
“I really thought you had understood me, as I understood you…” she laughed: a bitter little laugh.
“Well…so what else is new. I am misunderstood. I thought you would be different.” The pain in her face was raw.
“We are seen as succubus, vampires, as monsters by these limited small-town folk; but all we are is alone, we Fae. Alone.”
She crouched down next to him and touched her fingers gently to the centre of his chest.
“Thousands and thousands of years alone. Imagine that. We live forever and have nothing, nothing at all. All our loves are dead, so we seek. And all we seek, is what you and every other creature seeks. Some warmth, something to reach for in the night; someone to look us in the eyes, see us for what we are and still love us.”
He stared up at her, numb and dumb. “Is it so terrible Michael, to ask for love? Is that not what you have longed for all your life? Is that not what I was offering you?”
Her hands were lifting him up with terrifying strength, setting him back on the bed with the same ease and regretful care a child might show a beloved toy mistreated during a tantrum.
“It hurts being misunderstood, and unwanted; but worse of all, Michael, it hurts being feared.”
The Woman With No Art was smoothing back his hair with gentle fingers.
“No-one loves what they fear, and I so need to be loved.”
Manuela Cardiga
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