Lore

     The man who stood before me was one with a peculiar past. No other man in existence could share the same sense of mystery. He had become another cliched ‘tortured soul.’ Yet another person, a wandering body, to forever coast throughout his existence. No personal attachments. Eternally filled to the brim with secrets. I got to know quite a few of these secrets, but I know that there are still hundreds more still locked within him.
     Currently, he has wavy brown hair, the ends just above his broad shoulders. He has a square jaw, perfect roman nose, and the most perfect lips I have ever seen on a man. His pale skin has a slight tint of pink around his cheeks and nose, just enough to not look sickly. He stands tall, but not too tall. Just enough to demand notice and respect, but not to be intimidating. The most striking feature on him, are his piercing gray eyes. Dark as steel, they seem like they can see right through you. His eyes almost seem like different entities all together, completely separate beings from the man who stood in front of me. He smelled fabulous. I could never pin-point exactly what that smell was, but I loved it so. It was comforting.
     I certainly did not like the look on his face. Quite too somber, as though he was trying to detach himself from me. Pretend that I wasn’t really a person, with feelings. Most especially these particular feelings for him. I couldn’t help but stare at him, right in the disembodied eyes. Look at me. I am a woman who loves you. How can a man change his attitude about a woman so quickly? Yesterday he had been so happy with me. Tonight, he has become a completely different person. A complete stranger.
     “I have to leave.” He says so bluntly, it stings. He said it like I’d say, “I want chocalate.” or “I had an aweful day at work today.” But I can’t look him in those eyes anymore. I truly cannot be upset with him, because I knew this day was coming. In my mind, I curse the day I met him. Even though I did not love him yet, there was something about him that grasped my curiosity.
     I curse myself for ever thinking of a future with him. How pathetic am I? Dreaming of a lavish wedding in the mountains. Of my darling wearing a traditional kilt, bagpipes playing in the distance. How dare I think of children, and growing old with him! I always knew it was never going to be an option. He cannot even grow old. I want to hate him for letting me into this world. How dare he let me love him. Especially when he was fully aware of his circumstances.
   “I am leaving for Florence in the morning,” he surprisingly explained. How astonishing he even bothered to! “Then I will be going elsewhere.”
     “Okay…” I drone on. “Good luck to you.” Why do I attempt to be aloof at the wrong times? Should I just jump him once more for good measure?
     “Is that all you have to say?” He whines. Wow, he has feelings? For a minute there, I thought he was a robot.
     “Lore,” I sighed. (That was his name.) “There really isn’t anything to say. What am I supposed to do? Protest?”
     He sighed himself, and walked out the door. Those gray eyes would never look the same to me.
　
　
　
     Lore grew up in the kingdom of Paurance in what is now considered Scotland. I have yet to determine exactly how old Lore is, but he has appeared to be much older than those legends of King Arthur. Like the rest of his life, even Lore’s very birth was peculiar. His mother had always wanted a child. She and his father had tried for many years. She had nearly died at least twice, giving birth to Lore’s stillborn siblings. She even became insane over it, eventually, protecting herself, and her womb anyway that she could. Then, suddenly, she became pregnant with Lore.
     The pregnancy grew suspicion around the house from the very beginning. Lore’s father, and the entire house staff, knew that his mother had not shared his father’s bed in quite some time. But yet, there wasn’t exactly divorce in those days, and Lore’s father was in desperate need of an heir. So, lips were kept sealed. His mother’s supersition led to the appearance of many gypsy women, who claimed they could rid the house of the evil spirits who poisoned his mother’s womb. But one woman, an elderly gypsy with crooked teeth, and straw for hair, said there was already a curse on the child. A curse that no one would ever be able to break.
     There was already knowledge of a prophecy that a man would be born who would ruin the world. He would bare a birthmark that would tell all who his was. He was to be the first sign of the apocolypse. But this legend was nearly ancient. No one truly believed in it anymore, but the crazy gypsies. (Whom no one bothered to pay attention to.) But this old woman, told the mother that the child growing inside her would be the barer of this curse. He would be the one to cause destruction, chaos, and the end to all life.