A/N: yeah...this just came to me. not even much of a story. its sort of weird. a bit like wuthering heights byemily bronte. personally i like it.

As I stand here in this castle of so long ago with the stone walls and shattered windows. Glass litters the floor beneath my feet,

snapping and glittering under my footsteps which echo in the emptiness. I am alone here with the straggling vines climbing over

the walls, with the yellowed books torn from their shelves and strewn across the floor their covers stained black with blood as

old as the song that hangs low in the fell air. Alone with the memories and with the dust and with the broken bones of lovers.

I am alone with the ghosts.

The ghost of a girl, the red of her gown the same as that of her lips. The light from the glassless windows through her slight form

as she waltzes across the floor with her new husband. I find myself admiring the young bride's beauty, her black hair falling in

lovely curls around her white face. I fear that if I move or blink the apparition of the girl and her lover will fade and I will lose

their memory.

More ghosts become visible to my eye. Drifting, dancing around me, passing their cold fingers through me. A gold braid and

blue ribbons, black shoes and a lover's smile but my eyes don't leave the young couple with love in their eyes. Such love as I

have never seen among the living or the dead. Love reflected in the eyes of this ghost. Love that hadn't faded in so many years.

Another of the apparitions catches my glance so briefly. A tall, handsome man in a black jacket his black heir is slicked back

from his determined face. He marches through the crowd of ghostly dancers to the two lovers who I had watched. I scarcely

caught the cold glimmer of steel before the bridegroom fell to his knees, blood seething from a wound gaping across his chest.

A fell wind began to blow. Shattering the windows and tearing blue windows from yellow braids and books from their shelves.

They skittered across the floor.

The black haired man had taken the bride into his arms and was holding her so tenderly, so passionately- mouthing silent words

to her as her husband took a final breath and lay quietly on the stone floor.

A curse swirled around them on the wind. The bride was tearing at the man's clothes, hair, hands in desperation to get away, to

reassure her beloved to kiss him. To know he wasn't dead. The man finally let go and the young bride knelt in a pool of her

husband's blood. Her transparent body shaking with screams and sobs, silent to my ears. I heard nothing but felt her pain in my

heart. The pain that was breaking apart the ghost of this girl who once had been.

Suddenly flames were everywhere. Perhaps from an overturned lamp or perhaps they had been lit on purpose. I didn't see

where they came from but the room quickly emptied of people screaming silently. All except for the young bride and her

bridegroom who were slowly and agonizingly consumed by the flames. My heart shattered and fell with the broken glass to the

stone floor.

All that is left now as I stand here so many years later are the walls of stone, the broken bones of lovers, the ghosts of the love

that was lost and perfected that night, and the books half burnt and covered in black blood as old as the song that hangs low

and eerie on the fell air blowing in on the wind.