The tailor story

His fingers stiff from the bitter cold shake and tremble, a softly creased letter with flowing script is clutched tightly in his hand. The blue light of the moon shining threw Oliver the tailors window casts a frosty almost magical tinge on his cheeks. A gold locket is tucked safely in his Brest pocket. He sleeps in a large emerald green clothed chair, pulled close to the dyeing embers of the once lively fire.The fire crackled and the rough wind like the breath of old man winter himself moans threw his rafters. Wisps of lifeless smoke wind around the furniture and linger like secret lovers after their first kiss, soon to fade deep into the night but not yet ready to face the disapproving eyes of family. Outside heavy, white snowflakes fall gently from the inky black sky. Which is why when Oliver was roughly shaken from his peaceful slumber he didn't notice the cloudy grey feathers dancing softly on the wind. As he jumps out of his chair a small, black and white picture falls to the floor only to be snatched by a passing wind and blown in to the greedy fire."Jane!" He cries and plunges his hand into the fire. The edges are burnt but the picture is unharmed. A smiling woman sits regarding the camera with a some what mischievous look hidden behind her black eyes. Soft curls frame her smooth, pale face. A loving, gold locket hangs at her throat. Her smile is innocent and playful. The letter, locket and photo are all he has left of this gem of a women. Her time on earth barely a grain in the sands of time. Oliver settles back into his chair by the fire haunted with memories of his Jane. Young lovers they where but the gnarled and twisted hands of death reached out and tore her from Oliver's love struck grasp. All that is left of the young, promising man of 20 is a broken shell. His heart once so full of love is now an empty bottle broken and smashed on the rough waves of an unforgiving life. Oliver drifts back into the land of dreams.The pearly Grey feathers continue to drift down to the earth. Oliver wakes again to find delicate grey feathers dancing around his shop. He reaches out to touch one but it floats away from his frigid, blue fingers. He feels a pair of hazel eyes gazing at him from behind following his movements with wide eyed intensity. Slowly he turns to face someone who is only a memory to him.There amidst the swirling feathers stands a woman, Her hair in loose curls shines in the pale moonlight. Her lips, red and glossy like the forbidden apple of Eden. Her skin is luminescent like the full moon and gives off an unearthly glow that’s startlingly beautiful. She wears a white gown that seems to be made of the delicately spun gossamer of every child's wishes. Even in the cold her shoulders are bare and moon kissed. She moves toward him with long sweeping moments that make the cloth rustle and whisper as she skims barely touching the surface of the earth. He reaches out and touches her shoulder. "Jane" He whispers. She takes him in her arms and softly kisses him. Her embrace is freezing yet he can't let her go. Just then he notices the crimson blood spilling out over her shoulder and down the back of her dress. Lie a waterfall of crimson water. Looking in to her eyes he sees she's weak, a fallen angel. Graceful she falls to the earth and he catchers her. Laying her on a bed of his best fabric she seems frail and small, not the woman he fell in love with. Just a shell, even living in two different worlds Jane and Oliver are in sync. Two souls ripped out and left to bleed in a place that can’t be touched. Carefully he gathers the fallen feathers and places them beside her. He could make her wings! He couldn't save her from the suffocating reality of death but maybe he can give her wings to find the peace which has drifted where she can only go with wings. The long rips in the flesh of her back show him she once had wings but he can only guess what happened to them. But what can Oliver use as thread? The moon shines threw his gingerbread glazed windows and he rushes over to it. He winds the moonbeams until the spool sparkles and glistens like fresh dew. Quickly he crafts the feathers together until they form 2 huge white wings. Slowly as if he is afraid he will break her if he is too loud he takes her in his arms and makes a stitch in the skin. Her wide searching eyes fly open and she screams. Withering and shaking in his arms she cries. Her screams are silent but reach down into what soul he has left and drags sharpened claws over it tearing it into smaller pieces. Pain shoots threw his body as he makes another stitch. Another silver stitch another soul tearing screech, and another and another. One wing is on but he has to stop, her pain is so intense it rips the hard mask of hate he constructed so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain he had for years.
"Let go of me" She reaches out to him. "Set me free and let me be just a memory, soon we will be together" But he can't let her go. "Take me with you" he begs. But she shakes her head sadly.
"I will go instead of you then." He pleads.
"No I need you here." Not a sound has escaped their lips yet they talk. One tortured soul to another.
He finishes the silver stitches and kisses her one last time.
"Oliver, Please darling," she smiles.
Jane stands in front of him extending a hand, she wears a white, gold and silver dress. He takes her hand and they walk into the moon light together.
By Fleur De’La Fay