Nothing But Time

I have lived many lifetimes and always my nemesis came in a form easily recognizable. Always an older man but not too old, always with a job that let him be mobile and accepted everywhere; a bard, a tinker, a ring master with the circus, his work chosen so he might find me more easily.

He has altered his appearance with each new life, using a combination of magic and illusion. So many times have we played out this game that I no longer recall his original features but I always know when he is near.

My heart begins to beat faster, I feel a blush rise to color my cheeks, my stomach comes fluttering to life and my skin becomes tortuously sensitive, completely aware of the lightest touch. Ultimately, the only way that I have ever been certain of his identity is by the star shaped birth mark located just behind his left ear.

That beautiful never changing star, how boring the centuries would have been without its presence weaving its way in and out of my life. So many times I would ask myself, 'Is the man I am leading to my bed to be my mortal lover or my eternal foe come to test our magical powers in battle once more?'

This is not as dangerous as it may sound, I am not some modern adrenaline junkie looking for a quick thrill, nor do I harbor an unnatural desire for an end to my existence. Simply put, we two are unable to die. Wound ~ yes. Incapacitate and lock away ~ most certainly, but death will never point his bony visage in our direction. Our power is too great.

I have lived many places through the centuries, been the power behind the man countless times. Although I have rarely made it on to the pages of history, know that I was there. I was the lover of Genghis Khan, we marched and conquered, we would have taken the world if not for my relentless pursuer.

Adolf Hitler was my last great push for power. He was a peacock of a man, even more vainglorious than I have ever been. The beautiful oval mirror that I have carried with me for all these years - that I gaze at even now - was his final gift to me. This precious mirror saved me. It bounced the spell meant to cast me beyond the arch of time, directly into poor Adolf. This may have been a boon for humanity but it was devastating to my plans.

I am currently residing in France, Paris to be exact, in a tiny flat above a trendy art gallery. It is not my usual choice for living quarters but I have time, all the time in the world as a matter of fact, to free myself from this small space to somewhere more to my tastes. I am in no hurry; I will embrace this opportunity to begin to formulate my next great escapade.

I am forever drawn to France, not for memories of my sweet Bonaparte - although his prowess as a lover was truly astounding - but for the light. The light of France can be found nowhere else on Earth. It turns the mundane into beautiful and the beautiful into extraordinary. I love to stand in the evening light in front of my mirror, always fascinated to watch as it softens my reflection and makes my skin appear flawless.

The light also entices artists to cross over Frances' borders, like the man who came into my life recently. He was a painter of exceptional talent and he also sent the most delicious tingles racing up and down my spine. We spent weeks dancing around each other, building the anticipation and sexual tension.

I was unable to determine if he was my adversary for he wore a tattoo of a snake. The tail pointing at his little finger and lying across the back of his hand; it's body coiled sensuously around his arm and coming over his shoulder to reach up his neck. The head residing behind his left ear, with its tongue thrust out as if to sample a much anticipated meal. The hot need he sent thrumming through me was all encompassing and so I threw caution to the wind. I tried to commission him to paint my portrait hoping the time spent so intimately together would speed things along. He argued with me - not over doing the painting - but getting paid for it. He said he would not accept money for doing something he had desired since the moment we had met.

We came together in the evenings so he could paint me standing before my mirror, my arms raised to lift my hair and display my long neck and slender torso to the best advantage in the last soft rays of sunlight. My dress lay low on my hips in an inviting flow of fabric. He worked quickly, each moment an agony of desire. I was as one drugged, in a haze of longing, feeling every brush stroke as it was made. His whispered promises as he left each night vibrated the fine hairs in my ear and made me shiver. 'Soon my darling,' he told me. 'When your portrait is finished we will be together always.'

He drew a promise from me not to look at the painting until it was completed, he wanted to unveil it and celebrate with champagne and roses. So when he arrived at my door with the deep red blossoms and dark green bottle I was overjoyed. I knew that the night I had been anticipating had finally come. I thought the last daub of paint on the canvas would signal a new beginning and I was more right than I knew.

I am spell bound in my portrait now, staring not at my reflection but at the color of a muddied sunset. My beautiful artist was in fact Merlin Ambrosius, my man of the elusive star. He has not trapped me so thoroughly for several centuries. But not to worry my sweet-lings, I will find a way out, I always do. After all, I am no powerless mortal, I am the enchantress Morgan le Fay, and I have nothing but time.

This short story won a recognition award on fanstory.com'

Rain