Time's Mistress by Steven Savile

Author:Steven Savile [Savile, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Short Stories & Anthologies, anthologies, Short Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, magical realism, Single Authors, Anthologies & Short Stories
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2014-09-22T08:00:00+00:00

Last Kisses

Come here.

Closer.

That’s it. Don’t be shy. All the way in. Come on.

I’ve got something to tell you.

A secret.

Ready?

Love is a sickness.

Never forget that.

You’re young. You probably think it’s all hearts and flowers and pretty girls’ smiles and broody boys and losing yourself in sad songs and thinking you’ll never find the one. Sure, it’s that, but it’s other stuff too. Stuff they don’t like to talk about.

But me, I’m contrary. I like to talk. Talking is as close as some of us come to magic.

Think of me as a magician. No. Make that the magician. And a kiss is my spell.

Imagine a sickness capable of lighting the darkness and firing the heart, inspiring poets to pretty words and torturing time until it stands still. That’s the L word for you right there. There’s a reason it can move mountains; it’s the same reason it brings down kingdoms. It makes fools of all of us. And the magic of it is that all it takes is a single kiss.

I have to admit I like love. I can work with it. It’s my favourite mischief-making tool. I mean who doesn’t want to catch fire? And what is love if not the whole world set on fire?

Let me paint the scene: 1646 and all is far from well. England is deep in the throes of Civil War, which always amuses me because let’s be honest, there’s nothing civil about war, is there? Cromwell’s Roundheads (the bad guys if you like the Royal Family, they’re the whole rule by the people for the people mob) are making short shrift of the King’s men (England’s always had this thing for blue blood, don’t ask me why). It feels like forever since the Royalists last tasted victory, but then three years is a long time when you are fighting for your lives.

Picture painted, enter our hero, a tricky young fellow with a passion for a certain Calvinist’s daughter.…

If you didn’t catch the inference, that’d be me.

O O O

I’m a bad man. I’ve got the attention span of a newt and I’m drawn to shiny things. Frankly, life’s so much more interesting with a little mischief to liven things up.

Like I said, she was only the Calvinist’s daughter, and if I was feeling a bit more creative I am sure I could come up with a bawdy little limerick to finish that little thought, but for now you’ll just have to settle for the boring old truth: she was a wee Scottish lassie, flaming red hair and a heart-shaped face.

I remember the important things.

I remember that it was the last time I was ever going to see her.

She didn’t know that.

She had dreams. They included me. The poor girl was in love.

So was I, of course, but my love only lasted a few minutes before it flitted off to some other unlucky lovely. I won’t pretend it wasn’t a poignant moment. It was. Two hearts beat as one and all that nonsense. See, I can be sentimental too.

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