Without Mercy

In one man's sleep, he dreamt of red hair that was curled and flowing, flowers placed erratically, whimsically. Against the midday sun, the hair gleamed as if setting the pale skin underneath on fire. Eyes the color of tree bark, watched every move as closely as a predator stalking its prey. A rose-colored pair of lips shaped like Cupid's bow, as if pouting, drew his attention, along with the curves of breasts and hips. She was a temptress of man; wickedness personified.

Poppies and multi-colored impatiens rose from the grass of a meadow surrounded by trees and hills. Private, secluded for the magic she was weaving around them. A fae child banished here to ensnare and steal a man's soul. While he knew this, leaving was no longer possible. Ensnared deeply, all he could do was desire to touch such perfection, beauty. Recklessly he had not heeded the old man's advice at the last tavern, believing himself immune.

Golden gown splayed against grass created a vision against the freckles along lean arms. Arms hooked above her head, she lay against the earth, unashamedly displaying her splendor. He was the moth to her flame. He cantered the horse to merely glance at this fiery queen, not intending to touch such an ethereal being, even if need and lust flared in his blood.

Then she extended a hand, and all hope was lost for the knight. He slid from the steed, never breaking eye contact. As he stood beside, she whisked them away, to her hidden home, under the hills and trees. Once inside, she feed him fruits unknown to local men, or traveling knights; ones with tasty juices that fell upon chin that she gently licked clean; seducing him as no other woman had with drizzled honey along her lips, waiting to tasted, to which he obliged.

She whispered words of fictitious love and empty promises, yet he felt himself fall. As she sighed in mock unease and pain, he tumbled into her final trap, kissing her along face and eyelids, forcing the non-existent sadness away. Tumble he did, when they made their way to her bed, bodies entwined, clothes dropped away the way. A knight paying duty and honor to his queen, he thought before they joined so magnificently.

Then she sang a song of love and kept promises, lulling him into a deep slumber. All common sense having fled him at the sight of his beauty, he failed to remember to never turn away from the fey, for they will keep human hidden for eternity. In the slumber, her other victims called out, warning him to awake and leave this place or else he should perish in the same fate as they had. Bodies no longer looking alive but instead starved of their souls, living corpses. "La Belle Dame sans Merci," they cried. "She will keep you. The beautiful woman has thee in enthralled. Leave; leave, while the chance still exists! She has no mercy for thee!"

And in such a panicked state, the knight awoke in the meadow, no longer with his faery queen. Abandoned, he found his horse where he had left it, with a wreath of poppies around the horn. His love had been real, while hers had been nothing more than deceit and coupling. There were no birds chirping, or sound at all. Up on his horse he rose, desperate to be away from this place.

Inside dreams, anything is possible; but some dreams are not dreams, but instead forgotten lives, memories; old souls recognizing someone or some place, a spark of knowledge hidden away until time to remember. In these times, a person will either obey or ignore the signs of some event or individual approaching, shattering the life once thought to be real.

When the former knight awoke, a name fell from his lips. Grey eyes remembered the body, the memory. Dazed, he simply lay there, wondering why it had been her to enter his dreams. She was his enemy, a supporter of Mudbloods and half-breeds. Nothing could or would come from this.

Yet the youngest Weasley had stolen her way into his dreams. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her as she once had been. Perhaps the faery queen still existed, in the flesh. And like the knight, he would be drawn to her and escape, but the only question was when.

The wheels of destiny had been set in motion and nothing could stop it. Destiny held no mercy for a human life or soul.