Samhain

*still under construction*

A tiger lily is a most extravagant gift to give, for it conveys a message of opulence and wealth. Even in the petals, the black dots look like coins. Such a precious flower, yet they are shredded and scattered beneath his feet. He feels the silken petals ripping beneath his claws, but the value of the blooms means nothing to him, for he has lost everything.

He almost remembers the long days he spent in the fields, reaping armful after armful of golden grain to be baked into breads and little cakes for the harvest festival. It was his favorite time of year. The autumn leaves swirled about in the chilly air, occasionally brushing against his face like a kiss from the wind. The nights grew longer and the days grew cooler, shadows lengthened and spirits began to stir. Children were cautioned not to stay out too long after dark, lest they be whisked away by some evil spirit.
The harvest festival was fast approaching, and the whole village was buzzing with anticipation. He had already seen some very impressive pumpkins when he went to mill his wheat. They would be perfect for roasting, or making pies. Some of the smaller gourds had already been hollowed out and carved, the innards now baked into breads or made into jams. One of the local women had handed him a small pouch of roasted seeds that he had tied around his belt and eaten from occasionally.

He paced his fields with his scythe over his shoulder, watching his hound jump and snap at the crows spiraling in the cold air. He felt a flash of jealousy watching his old dog fail to catch any of the birds; the hunter living up the road had just gotten a new litter of puppies from his brother who was a breeder, yet the man refused to sell a single one.

A name long forgotten knew it was a sin to feel such envy, but he couldn't help it. Everywhere he looked, he saw things he desired. The tailor always had nicer clothes. His neighbor had nicer tools. The hunter had nicer hounds. The worst of it all was the baker. He hated the baker because of what he had. He saw them together, him and his wife, with their little daughter. It made his blood boil every time.

It was an even greater sin to desire another man's wife, but he didn't care. He wanted her, and the love she gave to her family. The envy that burned beneath his skin made him bitter and angry sometimes, and perhaps it was this side of him that drove him to the point of madness.

He confronted the woman as she arrived at the crossroads. In the dead of night, with the moon as his witness, he told her how he desired her. He offered the bound tiger lilies, promising he would provide for her if she would leave everything behind and run away with him. She refused, telling him how she loved her family and couldn't leave. He began to grow agitated, crying about how he was better than the baker and telling her about the jealousy he felt toward everyone in the town, and she told him. Five words that ended his life and sentenced him to eternal damnation.

"You will never be satisfied."

No. He wouldn't. Envy had a hold on his heart, and he could never truly repent, because he didn't understand why it was wrong of him to desire the life of those around him. She left him standing, alone, at the crossroads.

I see you've realized.

He looked around, unable to locate the source of the voice.

You looked upon the possessions of others, oblivious to what you already had.

A gust of cold, biting wind blew through the crossroads, and he began to shiver.

As punishment, I shall take your eyes.

Sobs wracked his body and he fell to his knees, pleading for mercy.

You shall serve me for eternity, and repent.

The wind grew to a howl, tearing at his clothes. He felt a pair of corpse-cold hands on his face, but he still saw no one. In a panic, he shut his eyes as tight as he could.

Frigid fingers pried open his eyelids, and he began to scream into the night.