"The Dying of Jessica" by Amandah ´Gnome´ Giarratano

The seasons came and went, and Jessica came everyday to the village, helping with the temple festivals and attending prayer. During the harsh winter, she helped make many warm blankets for the orphanage. As summer approached, the villagers started coming out more often; speaking happily of the warm weather. On one hot day, a man came into the village; stopping at the well in the center of town, he bowed deeply to the group of school-age children standing around it.

"Good afternoon. Might I trouble thy studies and ask if I may take a drink from thou's well? I have traveled far this day and seek a cold draught of water to sooth my parched throat." He spoke in a deep Scottish brogue, but was not dressed as a Scotsman. This man was a bard, made plain by the make of his robes; although an instrument was not seen. The kids exchanged mystified glances, having never heard someone talk like that, but gave their consent. He took a long drink from the cool water; by then a small crowd of people hung around as discreetly as they could, which was not very discreet at all and watched him. When he had taken his fill he turned to the oldest looking school child. She was a full figured lass with glossy hair, a wide showy smile and obviously thought very much of herself; he bowed to her.

"Might I trouble thou, lass, and ask if thee know of someone by the name of Jessica Collins?" He glanced at her; his eyes were like fathomless pools of indigo; such a strange dark colour. His hair was long and full; a dark gold colour that was strange also. Upon closer look, there was a blue disk flanked by two half moons burned onto his forehead, but no signs of old Druid markings on his face or arms. He did bear a striking resemblence to Jessica.

"Yea, t'ere be a girl 'ere by t'e name o' Jessica Co-lins." A different voice broke in; the full figured lass pouted as the young bard's attention was drawn from her to the dressmaker. He bowed deeply to the dressmaker. "W'at ye be wantin' wit'a queer girl like Jessica?"

"My good dame," the bard said respectfully, bowing to her again. "Would thou please tell me where I could find her?"

He pointedly ignored the dressmaker's question, who sent him a strange, but admiring glance and pointed out of the village in the direction of west, shrugging her shoulders.

"Out yonder, bard, past t'e 'ollowed grove o' trees. But I'd mind yeself, Jessica is a queer one. T'at 'e is." There were murmured assent from the crowd that had gathered, but the bard only bowed deeply. Thanking her, he started into the direction indicated.
At the local tavern that night, there was much speculation as to who that man was and what he wanted with the strange Jessica. Many speculations were flung around, but none taken into consideration. Though they were all thinking about the bard's way of speaking; there was something about it that seemed to not let them take their minds off of him. As the moon approached its midnight peak, strange haunting music was heard, followed by the screeching of a song. The villagers all hurried into nightdresses and overcoats and shoes and ran outside. Following the sounds into the hollowed grove of trees, they encountered a sight strange to their eyes.

A large bonfire shooting blue flames had been started; a legion or more of ghosts, and spirits and doppelgangers posing themselves as the copy of the villagers were dancing around the bonfire. They were led in that crazy dance by a wild haired Jessica who was dressed in rough fur and shoeless, screeching that melodic song. The bard was hovering over the ground, playing an instrument similar to a flute. His strange coloured hair was flying about, playing that haunting music which such passion that several of the villagers were drawn into the curious group around the bonfire. But soon, all the villagers were drawn in; the music wouldn't let them stay in one place, or leave. It forced them gently to join the fray, luring them in with its haunting melody. And the doppelgangers were such charming copies of themselves. The men couldn't refuse the sweet music of Jessica, or the enticing copies of some of the female villagers; and the women couldn't refuse the haunting sounds of the bard's flute-like instrument, letting the male doppelgangers pull them. It was all so lovely.

Come die with me, my lovelies
Come join me in everlasting sorrow
Don't fight the pain
Let it engulf you in an
Ocean of Death.

They didn't understand what she was singing; the words sounded garbled to their minds, but to them, the music sounded lovely. They continued dancing; their life force draining from them as it went on. No one noticed. All they wanted was to keep dancing, to hear the beautiful music of the bard and listen to the lovely words of the song.

My lovelies,
Don't fight it
Join me in everlasting sorrow
Know the joy of my death
Taste the suffering of
Sweet blood.
Bring to us
Our everlasting life
Our immortality.

"Soon," he said in his deep Scottish brogue. "Soon we will have enough of power to become gods."

She grinned at him and he grinned back.

"It feels nice to have a voice," Jessica murmured; closing her eyes and smiling up at the sky. "So very good."

He nodded. "Just one more village and we shall have the power, my little siren."

"When we overthrow the gods; I want Atlantis for myself...I want to be the queen." She smiled as she watched the bodies of the villagers stand up, wonderment on their faces as the spirits tested out their new homes.

"My dear, you all ready have Atlantis," he said, smiling at her like an older brother would do to his favourite sibling.

She smiled at him, resuming her dance. But I want all of Atlantis, my Taskur. All of it.