Posted by NBabe on September 12, 1999 at 20:19:15:
This is one of my favorite stories i have done. I did the poem and about 3 months later made a story about it.
Have you ever been in love? The kind of love where you have found that one person in all the universe whose heart and soul are atuned to your own. The one that knows your thoughts almost before you think them and you know theirs equally. If so, have you ever wondered how you would respond if this person this bonded soul was removed from you never to return? Yes, it makes a difference why they were removed, was it voluntary or not, how would you handle that hurt?
Bonded Souls
She sits and she waits
Her eyes look to the door.
She wonders if he
Will return nevermore.
He kissed her sweet lips
Before he went off to fight,
Now she prays to the Gods
To give her just one more night.
Her hands, they do shake,
Her mind races with fear.
She watches the door,
As her eyes fill with tears.
She jolts from her seat,
Feeling his pain in her heart.
She hears those final words,
Until death do they part.
The door, she flings open,
To the field, she does run.
She finds him, there dying
'Neath the setting sun.
His hand, she takes in hers.
A cold blade in his chest.
She kisses his cheek,
As she lays him to rest.
Softly, she whispers,
As he dies by her side;
Our souls, they are bonded
Since you made me your bride.
His eyes, they look upon her,
As if to contest
As she forces the steel blade
To slide between her breasts.
The lovers, they die.
Together, they take their last breath,
As a soft murmur is heard;
From this lifetime to the next.
Duncan McCorgile and his young wife Drucilla lifed on the banks of Loch Nomere in McCorgile Keep on the Highlands of Scotland. For most of this past year, young Drucilla has been without the husband she wed just a scant two weeks before he departed for the crusades. She was so proud of him as he and the other knights from this region left with the flourish of drums and the sounds of fifes and pipes to march to the south to join with the others to go off to their holy calling. He had promised to return to her and that once he did, they would nae be parted again.
Drucilla had already gone through the cold harsh Scottish winter with no husband by her side. No warmth beside her in her bed at night and no reassuring weight on her as he layed between her outstretched legs pleasuring her body. No husband in the spring when the re-emergence and rebirth of the land took place. Still none in summer as the good earth's bounty began to develop, a time when she had hoped she might be with their first child. She had wanted so much to give a fine wee son to her bonnie husband as a symbol of their eternal love. The love she still had deep in her heart for her bonded soulmate even as fall approached and the harvesting of what was sown had taken place.
It was late in November, just a few weeks short of a year alone, when a strange knight came approaching her small keep in his fine well shined armor with the white silks with large red cross on the front and back. He was a young man with longer than normal blonde hair and a short beard. His face and eyes had a look much older than his years from his experiences at war. She had heard rumor that he was in the region from those in the village and that he seemed a sad young man. She sees him approach and dismount and approach her door.
Drucilla calls down from a window asking who he is. He tells her his name is Sir Ronald of Landsbury and that he has a message for her directly from the king. She goes down the stairs and opens the door inviting the knight into her home. She, being a good hostess, ask him if he would like something to drink. He asks for water which she brings. She then asks what message someone as important as the king would have for her. Sir Ronald's face never show other than a weary look as he tells her that he was appointed by the king to inform the families of knight who had been killed in his service.
He went on to tell her that Duncan had been killed while serving as the king's personal body guard and that he had died bravely. Her face is expressionless as Ronald takes his leave and goes to the next stop on his appointed rounds. Slowly and unknowingly of means, she finds her way to her bedroom. Her thoughts are of the husband that she will not even see the face of again. His body will not be returned to her and as her tears begin to flow like a river down her cheek, her thoughts are only on one thought. If it be true as they said in their vows that their hearts and souls belong to each other forever and that they are bonded body and soul, would they not be together in death also.
She rises and goes to the great chest that hold Duncan's personal items. Searching through it she finds what she had been searching for and takes it from its holding place. It is the onyx handled gleaming steel bladed clan dagger of the McCorgiles. Duncan only wore it during special occassions, one of which was their wedding day. The handle of smooth black onyx with blue sapphire inlays forming an M with a celtic hilt and a ten inch long shining Sheffield steel blade. It was sharp enough that silk dropped on the edge of the dagger would be cut in two.
She carefully lays the dagger on the table beside the bed and goes to the kitchen area to pump water to wash her body. Her clothing is left scattered around the kitchen, her dress on the table, her shoes by the door, her underclothing across the floor toward the stairway to the next floor, as if she had no care of where the items were or their condition. She walks through the cool air without a shiver her damp skin shimmering in the available light. At the top of the stairs, she enters her room and goes to her small chest and takes out items given her by Duncan and some letters he had written before the ship had left bearing him away.
She goes and lays on her back her auburn hair spilled over her pillow, her lithe body stretched out with the personal items on the bed beside her. As she reads the letters a far away look in her eye, one of her hands moves over her firm ample breasts. In her mind she is feeling her husbands hands on her. Her body responds with warming thighs and hardening nipples. As she reads and looks at the items and her ring, her hand moves down her flat belly past her now and always to be vacant womb and settles between her slightly parted thighs. Her fingers moving up and down the moistening slit past her swollen clit and as her thoughts are on her lost love, her fingers gently move in and out of her moist opening as her back slowly arches and a soft sighing moan leaves her lips.
"Oh Duncan, I miss ye so"
She lays her precious items beside her and reaches to the table for the dagger. Holding the handle with both of her tiny hands, she touches the point to her flat belly just an inch above her navel. Her body still feeling the final pleasure of her last orgasm as she pulls the dagger enough toward her depressing her skin and feeling the first sting of the point with a slight wince. More pressure until her ears hear the sound of the tearning flesh accompanied by a slight burning sensation as the skin and underlying muscle are torn and the blade slips through.
A gasping sigh as the blade sinks deep into her soft guts. Her legs twitch and quiver beyond her control and her knees and upper torso pull up in the pain of the wounding. As she squirms on the bed, the blade tears the wound larger and blood that had pooled on her belly flows down her silken sides and onto the sheets dampening them with her crimson flow. Had only she the knowledge of the knights, that this sort of wound is not the type to quickly unite her with her beloved Duncan once more.
In the agonizing realization that this would be a slow death, Drucilla exerts tremendous energy to pull the dagger from her belly. By this time a small protrusion of her guts is pushing through the slit in her belly. Her eyes are rolled back and full of tears nearly blinding her as she rolls and squirms. Finally, she makes it to her hands and knees and with great effort she places the tip in the valley between her firm ample breasts and closing her eyes and thinking of her sweet Duncan's face, she falls onto the blade driving it through her sternum, severing her heart and exiting her back. Her body twitches and quivers for a few seconds then settles limply.
She lies impalled on the dagger her most valuable possessions and memories surrounding her. Her head on her pillow turned to the side her dead dialated eyes seemingly watching for her lover. To those who find her body, there appears to be a slight smile upon her lips as though, at the moment of death, she saw something which pleased her, they could not understand what would have caused such an expression over the pain that her wounds must have made. Stangely, when her family examined her possessions, the only thing missing was the ceremonial ribbon that had bound her and Duncan's hands and wrists together at the wedding. They knew she would never give it up and could never understand what had happened to it.
She was buried with her memorabilia in the cold ground of the highlands far from where her Duncan lay in the heated sands of the desert, but her grandmother said, it was only shells that were buried, their hearts and souls were together. The rest of the family humored the old lady who was near the end of her road, herself. She would often say that she had seen the couple and that they would beckon her to join them, when she died in the spring, some wondered if it were so.