The battlefield stench of death, smoke, blood, and worse lingered in the air, overpowering Adelaide's perfumed kerchief. The shrieks and moans of the dying bled into her ears. She stumbled over the field, lifting her skirts to keep the hem from becoming soaked in mud and blood. She passed the lifeless faces of many of her father's men, but not Torvald's face. She passed many injured, who grasped at her, begging for water or succor, but she could not afford to dwell on her decision to leave them to their dying. Not when her beloved was out here somewhere on this forsaken battlefield. She had to find Torvald, and complete the ritual.
Finally he was there, on the other side of a mound of the dead, as if he had fought an entire company of knights by himself. The entire battlefield seemed to quiet as Adelaide knelt and struggled to roll his body over. In her heart she already knew that he was dead; it was why she had come.
For a moment she pressed her warm lips to his cold ones, and her tears washed away some of the blood from his battered face. Then she sat up and began the ritual as the conjurer instructed. She took a small silver knife and made an incision in her palm. When the blood welled up, she held her hand over the gaping wound in Torvald's chest, allowing the blood to drip, as she was instructed. She dipped two fingers into the wound, mingling her blood and his, using the heart blood to paint a cross on her chest and color her lips Adelaide then pulled the witch's elixir from her pocket, and opened the bottle. She poured half of the contents into Torvald's chest, and drank the rest of the foul tasting liquid as quickly as she could manage before collapsing next to him.
"Revertimini ad me ad," she whispered. "I cannot live without you, my heart, not yet."
The word is dwell: to keep the attention directed.
This week, be inspired by the sense of smell. It’s said scent is the strongest tie to memory, and aroma is a powerful force—for good and awful! Is your nose engaged? Now I give you the word Elixir:
elixir |iˈliksər|
noun
a magical or medicinal potion: an elixir guaranteed to induce love.
• a preparation that was supposedly able to change metals into gold, sought by alchemists.
• (also elixir of life )a preparation supposedly able to prolong life indefinitely.
