Let me tell you a story I heard from a friend of mine.
Anthony Hamilton was a legendary ladykiller.
Able to woo any woman around the world, he eventually tired of his travelling lifestyle, and decided to settle down once and for all.
However, here was where he encountered a problem.
Anthony was a vain man. He said to himself “If I am to spend the rest of my days with one woman, and one woman only, she must be the finest woman in the world, no less. One who I could fall in love with again every new day, one before whom all other women pale in comparison.”
Filled with such thoughts he continued his long series of vacations around the globe, but after three long years of searching, he had come no closer than when he had first started.
Despairing of ever achieving his new dream, Anthony sought out his oldest friend, a man named Frederic Shultz who used to spend his time in much the same ways as Anthony had.
Tracking him down to a small village nestled in the forests of Latvia, he found his good friend a mere shadow of his former self.
Upon telling his now silent friend his story, a strange light showed in Frederic’s eyes.
“I know just the woman” he started, his voice a mixture of longing and bitterness. “Here in these forests, there is a legend of a woman of eternal beauty that steals the hearts of men.”
“I have no time for idle fairy tales” Anthony scoffed, shaking his head
“Ah, but you have time for this one” Frederic chuckled dryly. “You see…I have seen her with my own eyes. Laumina is here name, and if you manage to make it to the deepest reaches of the forest next to this town, she will appear to you also. Her beauty is such that until the end of your days, you will desire nothing more than one more glimpse of her visage.”
Frederic gestured to himself despairingly. “Look at me, and you will see it is the truth. I have spent these past years thinking of nothing but seeing her once more.”
“If she is so beautiful then, why not simply go visit her again?” Anthony asked, skeptical.
“She only appears to each person once” Frederic shook his head sadly. “She will look you up and down with those bottomless copper eyes of hers, then give a sad little smile and vanish into thin air. I have countless times ventured back into the very same forest to search for her, but never again have I glimpsed as much as one strand of her auburn hair.”
“Imagine you getting yourself in such a state over one woman!” Anthony laughed. “No matter, I’ll head into those woods tonight and catch a glimpse of this “Laumina” for myself.”
“You mustn’t!” Frederic warned, grabbing at his friend’s cloak with a worn hand. “Take it from me, she will ruin your life as she has mine! Think back, Anthony. You know me! Was I not every bit your equal when it came to wooing ladies? If I could not capture her heart, how could you?”
At this, Anthony only laughed and shook off his friend’s hand.
“Right back at you, friend. You know me too. After setting my sights on anything or anyone, have I ever failed to obtain them? Further, have I ever abandoned my pursuits half-way before?”
“No on both accounts” Frederic laughed softly to himself as his friend strolled away. “But then, I expected no less.”
*******
The villagers barely paid any attention to Anthony as he left the small hamlet, heading for the deepest parts of the woods.
As he trekked on, he frequently passed villagers out in the forest, hunting and chopping firewood. However, one small detail about this did not escape his trained eye;
All of the villagers in the forest were women!
“Of course, Frederic said that Laumina only appears to men” he laughed good-naturedly. “I suppose none of them want their husbands or sons to have their hearts stolen.”
Trekking a little further, Anthony noted a rivulet flowing before him. Interestingly enough, it appeared to split part way before rejoining again further down, forming a small inland island, as it were.
Stepping over the trickling stream, Anthony noticed an immediate shift in the atmosphere of the forest.
Suddenly, there was nothing but silence around him. The birdsong was gone, the trees ceased to rustle, and he could no longer even hear the rivulet rushing behind him. Dropping his pack in surprise, he turned around, and could scarce believe his eyes.
The rivulet had vanished!
Blinking twice, Anthony retraced his steps, hacking through the underbrush, trying to get his bearings. After roughly ten minutes, Anthony glimpsed a familiar, if unexpected sight;
There, on the ground before him, was the pack he had left behind him all that ways!
Looking around in confusion, he could see now both before him and behind him the path he had chopped through the greenery.
By now, Anthony was deeply distraught. Being not a man to believe in magic and other superstitions, he could not fathom how he could have managed to circle around completely while walking in what he deemed a perfectly straight line.
While he was in this state, he suddenly heard a sound, a soft whisper, like a gentle intake of breath.
Turning around, he found himself facing a woman.
Although, to call her just “a woman” scarcely did her justice. From her dainty, unshod feet to her pale, slender arms she was perfect in every way.
Her hair was not done with any fancy details, but spilled freely over her marble shoulders in coils, richly hued like the colour of new soil.
Her face was finely detailed, with chiselled nose and chin, but with soft, rosy cheeks like budding roses.
She wore a simple, spotless white garment over her graceful figure, something like a toga, but lined with flowers of every season and country. On her head, a small circlet of vivid green leaves composed her only accessory, yet on her, it looked as though it could have put the finest of boutiques in Paris to shame.
Her eyes, though. Those were beyond mere description.
Frederic had described them as copper, and indeed, at first glace, that was how they seemed. Endless pools of molten ruddy-brown. However, as Anthony gazed on, his breath long forgotten, they seemed so much like things alive. As the light flickered through the trees, they seemed to ripple and twinkle, as if they truly were molten copper, swirling and melding.
Then, she smiled.
At once, Anthony tasted a banquet of emotion within him.
He felt warm and lazy, swaddled in comfort, like a summer from his childhood, where the world was his oyster, and there was nothing to do but while away the golden days of youth.
He felt serene and calm, as if he were again sitting beneath the trees in autumn, where the world changed colour as one. Time seemed to stand still, while the hardness of his heart fell away like the last of the season’s leaves.
He felt cold and lonely, like being lost in a deep winter’s snow. At the very thought of not being able to drink in her presence with his eyes, nay, his very being, his life before him seemed like a snowflake, melting to nothing but water.
He felt light and airy, like the first shower of spring, when all the earth comes alive. Indeed, after all these decades of playing at loving, within Anthony’s heart, Love had finally sprouted.
And then, Anthony spoke.
His practiced pick-ups, his carefully-planned lines, his game of hard-to-get all fell away. He poured out his soul in words such that text never captured in their confines. When it seemed fitting, he sang his prose, other times he spoke poetry, his praises forming themselves into forms and meters all his own.
To ask how long he continued at this is foolish, for Anthony was in a world where time was a forgotten concept. What was time, when faced with the unrivaled perfection before him? Rather, what was life itself?
All through this, the woman simply stood and smiled at Anthony, looking for all the world like a perfect statue, such that only God himself could have sculpted. Then, midway through one of Anthony’s many odes of his love, a change came upon her, one which nearly stopped the poor man’s heart.
The woman blushed.
Turning and hiding her face with her hand, she looked like a gentle flower bud, closing in on itself at an unexpected change of weather.
Anthony himself stood tongue-tied in the midst of his praise, the gift of speech itself having left the two to their moment.
Then, the woman turned back to the man, her thin smile now a full grin of pure white, her milky-pearl teeth outshining the sun itself.
“My name is Laumina” she introduced herself. “How are you called?”
Time now returned to the scene, as Anthony flushed from toe to tip, stumbling out his answer.
“A-Anthony, m’lady!”
Laumina giggled softly, a sound that would have made birds cease to sing in shame at their inadequacy. Holding out her hand, Anthony willingly took it, as she led him deeper into the woods.
*******
Now to elaborate on the days Anthony and Laumina (or was it years? Who could say) spent together would take an infinite amount of time. Quite apart from Anthony’s wish of falling in love with her again every day, he found a new reason to love Laumina every moment of his existence. He never failed to profess it either.
When she asked him “Anthony, what shall we eat for dinner?” He could only respond “I love you.”
When she washed his clothes for him, again he could only reply “I love you”.
When she said “Goodnight” to him, his reply was ever “I love you.”
And in much the same way, their days went by happily, Anthony having long forgotten the outside world. What could he possibly find there that could compare to the true love he had now in his grasp?
Now, one day while Laumina went off to the spring to wash their clothes, Anthony decided to explore their dwelling. Why the fancy overtook him, he never knew, but nevertheless he began to walk the soft dirt passageways of their subterranean house which was nestled beneath the roots of the forest’s trees.
He passed through the living room, covered with light throw-rugs made of dried bulrushes and lined with chairs made of soft, pleasant-smelling hickory wood.
He passed through the entranceway, with its little door wedged between a pair of sturdy roots.
He passed through the kitchen and the dining room, both lit romantically by scores of firefly pairs, glowing softly on the benches carved out of the dirt walls, which were covered with soft leaves from the forest floors.
He passed through the library with Laumina’s expansive collection of books from the outside world, and likewise through her study where with feather pen and plant dyes, she endeavoured to write books of her own.
Finally, he passed through the doorway into their bedroom. It was a snug affair, with stacked reed mats forming a mattress, the home itself being too warm for blankets anyways. A pair of small bedside tables sat in the corners, hers as ever stacked with books, and his simply hiding scraps of bark where he inscribed his continuing collection of love poems.
Sighing and breathing in the scent from the lilacs growing in a small canopy carved out of the wall, Anthony’s eyed lighted on Laumina’s closet. He laughed to himself, that she should have a whole closet devoted to her robes, which all looked identical to each other. However, he noted it down as another reason why he loved her so.
Opening the closet and tracing his hand over the dozens of neatly-pressed robes, he noticed a small doorway at the back of the closet, set simply into a pair of large stones in the dirt walls on old brass hinges.
His curiosity roused, Anthony opened the second door, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Pausing at the oddity of the sight, Anthony couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he spoke his thoughts aloud.
“Frederic, what in God’s name are you doing in the closet?” He asked at his gaunt friend, who was lounging nonchalantly against a second rack of clothes.
Receiving no response, Anthony stepped a little closer, shaking his friend by the shoulder.
Suddenly, he recoiled.
What he had mistaken for his friend slipped to the floor like an old rag. Indeed, in the gloom it looked very much like Frederic, for in truth, it was.
However, only the skin of him.
Wide-eyed, Anthony could only stare in horror at the rack his friend’s skin had hung on like an old robe. Dangling neatly in order were skins of men of all ages, some older than him, some seeming barely more than teens. Hollow-eyed, they gaped at Anthony, their jawless mouths wide open as if eternally screaming.
Staggering backwards into the light, Anthony turned around to see Laumina standing behind him, her perfect copper eyes fixing him in place.
Anthony breathed a sight of relief. Of course there must be some explanation to this. Laumina was too perfect for any of these horrors to be connected to her in any way. After all, he had barely noticed the door, maybe she had never seen it either. Who knows how long those skins could have sat there?
A smile hovered on Laumina’s lips, as if she anticipated this response. Winking coyly at Anthony, she flicked her hands over her shoulders, as her dress dropped to the ground.
And with it, her skin.
Anthony once more found himself unable to utter a single word, a choked groan escaping from his throat. As what was once Laumina advanced towards him, he could only gaze forward, paralyzed in shock as something entered his mouth, then his ears, then his nose.
While he could still feel at all, Anthony felt his knees go weak as they were nibbled away. Falling to the ground, he tried to lift his arms to catch himself, but they were nothing but loose skin that flapped uselessly in the air. He felt something gently caress his heart, then move on to his liver, his lungs, and his other organs, as they slipped away, sucked gently to nothingness.
*suck* *suck* *suck*
Anthony felt cold, so very cold. He tried to look again at the thing, but he found his eyes had vanished.
*suck* *suck* *suck*
As he felt his consciousness slowly fall away, he heard a voice emanating from inside his skull;
“Remember Anthony Hamilton, beauty is only skin deep”
Then his heart vanished.
There was silence in the room for a solid minute. Then, Anthony Hamilton opened his eyes. Flexing his arms and fingers, he picked up the now abandoned woman’s skin off the floor, flicked it out and hung it up next to all the others in the closet. Closing the secondary door, he sighed deeply, licking his lips contentedly.
“Well then, back to the village”. It grinned.
*******
As for this legend, every word of it ‘tis true. If you don’t believe me, go to the same Latvian village, bordered by thick green forests. There, if you’re lucky, you can still see Anthony Hamilton, worn away to just skin and bones, telling all who will listen his story of the beautiful Laumina. They say every now and again, a brave man will go searching in the woods for the source of the myth, but…that’s a tale for another time.
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