Disclaimer: All characters belong to their creators and I'm not one of them. Look to SyFy for titles, contracts, claims and general 'we own this shit' clauses.

A/N: As previously warned this is a 'Bering & Wells' AU story crafted for your entertainment, but then again that's what you're here for right? One final thing: Myka's POV (which I haven't written in a long while) is how you will be made to see this tale reveal itself.

======|[Dig Up Her Bones]|======

It was an unremarkable day where white wispy clouds streamed across the bright blue heavens; beautiful in its predictable simplicity. The air wasn't hot but it wasn't overly cool either, to me it was the very definition of comfortable. The steady cadence of my horse's breathing and shod steps against the bare earth were a natural and pleasing metronome. The comfortably worn leather saddle beneath me creaked under my shifting weight and I closed my eyes against the last rays of sunlight on my face before the reds, oranges and yellows of the dying foliage overhead blocked out most of the daylight.

As the weather is prone to do in mid-autumn, a light mist of drizzle began despite the sunshine which forced me to pull up the hood on my favorite, sturdy and warm deep red cloak. My father always said my cloak looked like someone had bled on it and then dried under the hot summer sun. But summer had passed and that day was a serene fall afternoon where the leaves twirled as they fell from the branches that were their home when they were fresh and green. I continued along on my aging mare the drizzle barely wetting the ground even as the world seemed to darken, but no sinister hand was at play; the woods just grew denser overhead.

An abrupt, strong breeze whipped through me which made me clutch the reins tighter with one hand, while it blew the hood off my head. The sprinkling of moisture became more of a shower and then the breeze picked up and began to blow it sideways. It tore down some of my hair and the loose strands blew across my face from the up do I swept it into before leaving the house an hour before. I tucked the stray strands behind both of my ears and reached behind me to pull up the hood on my cloak to cover my head. The wind blew harder and I watched as it stripped the trees bare faster; it was as if a person were fiendishly ripping the pages from a book that they had come to despise with a passion. The branches squealed in their futile resistance.

My horse wiggled her ears in an effort to shake off the rain that had collected in the shaggier hair on them. I gave a gentle nudge to her flanks as we went deeper into the Western Woods, to investigate a haunted grave even though it was not my idea of time well spent. The more I had thought about it seemed more like a guaranteed way of trimming some years off your life but I went anyway. Every person in my small village knows of the legend and they are frightened by it; even I wasn't completely immune to the fear. I went though because I knew that no one would care about that grave, or its contents and most definitely nothing that I might have found of value.

Money has become a tacit commodity in this world, whether I like it or not. My father owns a simple bookstore; one that was merely tottering towards its oncoming end, but that was something I wouldn't allow to happen without a fight. And my most passive attempt against the struggle, to gain even the smallest measure of financial security was grave-robbing, which seemed like a lowly act and it was for obvious reasons. Though no matter how I would be judged, for me it was an act of desperation. The only other option for survival would have been a sacrifice that I could not make. I would not be bartered into an arranged marriage; forced to lie with a man I have no feelings for as a means to improve my family's station. To me that would be a horrendous act of yielding that I wouldn't even try to push on my worst enemy-if I had one.

I continued on until we had to be at the center of the forest and then I felt as though my horse and I had stepped over some invisible threshold. The scant light streaming through the minuscule breaks in the leaves reminded me of the twilight before the setting sun. I pulled the reins when I saw the clearing that was marked by a huge, tall tree with wide branches that spanned out to shade the ground that's its deep roots were buried in. I climbed off my horse and walked closer to a smaller tree just off to the side; to tie my trusted old gray-dappled mare to, and then I grabbed the shovel that I brought with me. I pushed back the hood on my cloak when the drizzle was slowly shut off by the grand old tree's branches as I walked under its shading.

Without a doubt I knew I was in the right place; it felt off and to my instincts that made it the right place to start. Also I had read and heard all those same old stories so many times. So with all my strength I sunk my shovels tip into the ground and began to dig. The hours passed and I found exactly what I was looking for. I climbed out of the dark earthen hole I had created, and a complete set of bones was the sight I saw when I stepped back to survey my handy work. A corpse with grayed bones swept clean by the elements, but yet it held fast to an impressive sword that it once welded in life. The skeleton was mostly intact, except the knee's had given up trying to hold the joints together and both lower legs and feet laid at odd angles. I walked back to my horse for a drink of cool water from my container, and to grab a cloth to wrap for what I came here for.

I climbed back down into the hole I dug and gently tried to remove the sword out of the fallen warrior's still vise-like grip. I paused for a moment to study the bones and I thought back to how this person was from a time before I came into this world, and then I found myself wondering what they looked like in when life still clung to them. He obviously wasn't very tall; five feet six at best, which was below average in fact for a man in my estimation. Then as I tried to move the fingers of the skeleton my action disturbed more than a few ground beetle's which scurried along, except for a lone Tiger Beetle that rapidly appeared out of the dirt clogged in the ribcage and crawled up my hand. I dropped the boney hands; shivered and grimaced while I slapped at the bug.

After taking a deep breath I resumed my task of trying to remove the sword from the bones deathly clutches. My mind went back to the legend behind the bones before me; I knew it all too well. The skeleton belonged to a man beheaded during the Revolutionary War and sure enough the skull is missing; only a stump of the neck bone remains. Once I freed the sword from death-locked skeletal fingers and turned it over in my grime covered hands a powerful shudder rolled beneath my feet, it carried through my own body and didn't stop until the force behind it reverberated in my skull.

The overcast skies became even darker and there it was barely past midday, and yet it looked to be late evening all in a manner of seconds. Then I heard it, a pulse, a faint beginning of a heartbeat that overtook the stillness. I looked down at the bones near my feet and I watched with awe as the dirt was pushed out of the skeleton that was holding it like an embrace and then the hollow remains began to refill with signs of life. The heart was first then muscle tissue, tendons and ligaments, arteries, veins and capillaries intertwined, attached and them propelled themselves down the skeleton's bones. A wet slimy sound filled the silence as I looked on. Lung tissue emerged, inflated and with a rattle they started to move but not by much. Why would the dead need to breathe?

A stomach, pancreas, kidneys, and unexpectedly I observed the formation of ovaries, a uterus and a bladder that also manifested themselves out of some invisible dark matter. Small and large intestines also slithered into proper form within the once hollow torso. My mind still hadn't really registered the revelation I had just witnessed or really what had happened so far. Because then the sight of what was to be 'her' flesh began to crawl over the bones and newly formed innards. Watching the skin grow reminded me of dying flames on paper; small sparks trying to rekindle, but they lacked the strength to burn hotter. Funny how once those embers had moved along on their path from her shoulders to her feet, that they left nothing but pale flesh in their wake.

The figure changed before my eyes and when my mind actually had processed what my eyes had took in, fear finally began to creep up on me. I actually saw that the bones of the so called 'Headless Horseman' belonged to a woman. I held onto the sword as breasts formed on the chest and even then as I had begun to feel the urgency to run, I couldn't get my legs to follow the most basic of instincts. My mind is stronger than my body but my body is in no way weak. I shifted my grasp on the sword even when my hands began to tremble badly, as plain black clothes began to cover the corpse and then a small silver of blackened steel armor started at the neck. It was amazing to me how the black armor grew like grass upon the ground. Aged rust added another texture to it; making it more unique as thought the supernatural quality wasn't enough on its own. The fine designs of the acid etching done into her armor mimic course-looking plumage. I imagined that the design was meant to reproduce the look of a raven. The blacksmith who forged her armor was an artist and perhaps an alchemist because of the morbid design. I imagine that the armor was meant to scare as well as protect.

The Gorget or steel collar to protect the neck and cover the neck opening; like a shirt collar, only one made of steel. Next the Cuirass, which covers the breast; my eyes automatically moved with the each formation. The Faulds, which are bands that protect the front waist and attach to the Curiass and they no doubt helped to hide the trim and undoubtedly feminine hips. Etched with the same engraved feather markings, look like the wedge-shaped tail of a raven. Then the Cowters, which are the plates that guard each of the elbows. The Gauntlet's or the armored gloves that cover from the fingers to the forearms; every piece of the armor was blackened and had rust in every groove in the joints. The highly detailed gauntlet's masterstroke though was that the fingertips resembled the talons of the carrion bird. My eyes traveled lower as I watched the materialization of the Poleyn's; plates that cover the knee's and finally the Sabatons, which adorned the feet of the long dead warrior.

A lonely owl screeched somewhere nearby from the disturbance as the wind blew in hard from the east. After the wind quieted and the eerie silence took back its hold the headless horseman rose out of 'his' grave and in that moment I thought that I was going to swallow my tongue. I stepped backwards and watched even though every nerve cell in my body was trying to get me to run but I couldn't just yet. Something told me to wait or maybe it was just plain old-fashioned morbid curiosity. My boots slipped slightly in the sticky mud, but I remained upright while holding securely onto the sword and my beliefs. But reason won out and quickly I finally climbed out of the grave with the sword in hand and watched.

The horseman stood up in his grave, bent his knees and jumped out of the hole to land sound feet on solid ground. I felt my eyes widen and once again I could only stare. Under the sections of armor I saw a vast amount of aged leather and then the cape caught my eyes; it seemed to billow even when there was no movement. It was no wonder in my mind that so many assumed the horseman was a man, since the armor hid all of the female form effectively. Then the headless corpse's hands fluttered, jerked and then it was if it had just realized that its firm grip now held only empty air instead of a sword. At that moment despite my strong nature my legs faltered and I fell to the ground. But in a forced breath and a fluttered heartbeat my flight response kicked in and I scrambled to my feet and ran to my horse. Who was then straining against his ties to the low limb that I had tied the straps of the bridle to. I didn't look back.

Just as I had managed to get the stirrups in between the heels of my boots, even with my horse anxiously turning in circles, I saw another sight that won't be forgotten. A tall proud stallion, as black as coal mixed with the darkest shade of a pure shadow; materialized from the woods as though it were born of the darkness that laid within. I snapped the reins of the brown leather bridle and my horse reared slightly before taking off at a clipped pace. I made myself not look back because I knew what was going to be hot on my heels. The hood on my cloak flew backwards as I kept urging my horse on faster. I knew I needed to cover as much ground as possible, for the devil rides on swift and unearthly legs.

The forest stretched out ahead of me, and the trees had seemed to bend and form a twisted tunnel since I passed through them just a few hours ago. The wind whipped around my ears with more force as my horse galloped faster. I stood up in the stirrups slightly and hunched over as we gained more speed. My hair fell completely free and was fanning out behind me, and then I heard it. I chanced a look back then because the great dark horse's hooves sounded like rolling thunder that was drawing closer to me. My labored breaths were overshadowed by the heavy-breathing of the horses; mine and the death-riders combined. The sound of fallen leaves being trampled under the horses' hooves was the undertone of the macabre chase.

An opportunity presented itself to me and with a only a single heartbeat to deliberate, I quickly urged my horse on to a narrow trail off to the right of the main because it cut the distance down to the village to three-fourths of a mile. My mare protested at the rapid direction change I called for with a sharp tug on the reins which dug the bit harder in her mouth, but she relented to my command. The overcast skies made running through the wooded maze even more treacherous, but at least the rain had stopped. The trail twisted down a steep hill. I had to stay low against my horse; sometimes my face touched her neck as I ducked down lower when a branch would be too close. I had been on the trail before but only slugging up it. I never had the nerve to ride my horse down it, much less run it while frantically trying to hold onto a sword.

I felt fear again like a searing hot knife cauterizing an angry wound when my horse to jumped over a rock-face on a narrow curve. Salt, the taste of sweat gathered across my upper lip and ran into my mouth when my horse wobbled slightly landing on the turn, and I tried my best not to throw my added weight around as we continued our descent. Racing along the trail I kept my arms tucked in otherwise they would've caught on the stunted limbs of the tree's on both sides that have had their branches broken off; the tree's looked like they had grown splintered fangs. The path was covered with leaves and as my horse ran it, it sounded like a roaring waterfall underneath us. The exit of the shortcut was up head and I thought it was a miracle that we hadn't been thrown by the many roots, rocks that line the hazardous path. I urged my horse on again and my elbow nearly caught on a jutted out limb that hadn't completely fallen off at the last turn on the trail.

The horseman didn't follow us, but still my heart felt as though it would never find its normal pace. I inhaled heavily through my nose and held tight to the reins as my horse moved faster along with a nudge of my boot heels into its flanks. Even with the very essence of fear that coursed through my veins I had never felt so alive. The past moments that lead me to that moment faded to nonexistence as I gripped the reins harder while my old grey horse kept going faster. We cleared the narrow entrance to the trail and I felt relief but it was short-lived, because I heard the loud and heavy hoof beats quickly approaching from behind me again. This ride was the hardest I'd ever ridden my horse with my mind on the only sanctuary offered; my only escape from the dark rider, which was the church across the covered bridge up ahead. I had read in more than one of the occult books that my father secretly had stashed away from even the most curious of browsers, and they all alluded that certain malevolent entities cannot pass onto consecrated grounds.

I dared another look behind me as my horse finally raced us across the old bridge with the horseman closer now. The strong breathing of her dark horse taking in great lungful's of air reminded me of a locomotive accelerating up to speed, while my horses more shallow breathing was failing to compete in my spectrum of hearing. The sound of the hooves hitting the rotting planks made me think of drums and how the headless rider and I were essentially beating them to death. In one instance my horse stumbled; tiring from the frantic pace, and I wobbled in the saddle just enough to drop the sword which clattered on the planks of the bridge just as we finally cleared the structure. I turned in the saddle and saw the rider drop down low on the body of the dark horse; balancing on a single stirrup, and as she passed the sword she reached down and snatched it up without her horse even breaking its impressive stride.

I cursed myself right then and there in more ways than one. I urged my horse on even in its tiring state, even though I could tell by her shallow breathing that I had already pushed her well past her limits. So I did the only thing I could do, I held tighter onto the reins and listened to the thundering hoof beats getting closer. Normally I don't pray but I did. I closed my eyes and prayed that the church would be close when I opened my eyes, and that my horse would make it there. But those prayers went unanswered; with a snort and a pained whinnied cry my horse's legs gave out from under the both of us and we crashed to the ground together.

Blackness embraced me and it was all I saw for an untold amount of time. Until, I was returned to consciousness by the sound of heavy steps that sounded out even on the moist earth. I opened my eyes at the sound of her walk, and I was greeted by the sight and jingle of spurs strapped to her tall grey-black leather boots which reached all the way to her knees. With a flick of her wrist and what I had assumed to be a leather whip unfurled and I saw that was not just a whip, but one that was actually of human corpse's spine and the handle was a femur. It was then that I pictured a tall man that was robbed of those parts to furnish such an abomination. I scrambled up off the ground; strangely I felt no pain, and looked around for my horse. I was relieved to see that she was back on her feet and was standing at the white fence that surrounded the churchyard.

We had almost made it; my salvation was less than fifty feet away. I clawed at the ground and forced my feet back under me to carry my weight for a little longer. I ran the remaining distance with the dark rider almost leisurely keeping pace behind me. I kept anticipating what it would feel like when that fearsome whip would reach out and strike me, but that didn't happen. I turned after I ran through the churches open gate, but my body had begun to feel the wear of this unnatural occurrence, it was if I suddenly couldn't take in enough air to breathe right. While I fought for oxygen, the horseman who I know to be a woman suddenly stood before me, just on the threshold of the churches hallowed grounds.

Her height was almost that of mine, but coming up short a few inches because I'm tall for a woman and of course she had no head. My eyes flicked down to that spine whip which was still out and being held in her right hand, but her sword was also in the firm grip of her other hand. The sword gleamed; it seemed as if it had just been freshly sharpened, polished and had not spent the better part of a hundred years buried beneath the earth. I waited for a swing that would take my head off seeing as I was unarmed and within her reach. But I silently vowed that I would still fight until my last breath. I would not just stand there and hand over my life to this...ghost.

I watched in awe as the dark rider drew back her sword to strike me, but to my amazement the sword was cast off to the side of me and it penetrated the ground or rather a grave behind me. It was then that I truly looked around, and then I realized that all traces of life in this part of town has ceased to exist. I was going to face this on my own. Not that I would accept help from the likes of that pompous overstuffed idiot who eats like a pig and has been trying to sway my father in to allowing him to marry me. I can't bring myself to say the man child's name, because even to this day just thinking of him makes me want to hit him with my fist-hard.

My attention was then swept to the horseman's powerful stallion as it came to stand in front of the small, low white fence that surrounded the church. I slowly backed away from the dark rider and gradually walked towards the grave that suddenly had a new and sharper marker; piercing its sacred earth. More of the headless horseman's story came to mind, that 'his' head was taken off with a cannonball and lost. But given what I came to know as truth I knew then that it was lost on purpose, or perhaps misplaced was a better way of looking at the facts. My curiosity was always stronger than most, as was my logical reasoning; so many things I've always intuitively known about people and situations.

I walked up to the sword and pulled it from the ground. Its elaborate hilt, adorned with carvings in the metal that were meant to mimic the feathers of a raven and the eyes of the weapon were represented by two giant rubies affixed on both sides. Since time seemed to be stalled to the dark rider's initiation I could only stand by and watch as she wound up the spinal whip and with an actual bone-cracking movement a small shovel with an average length handle, that had been lying just beside the fence was easily it was ensnared by the tail of the spine whip, the end seemed to grasp it like a hand. Then it was thrown in my direction and landed directly beside me as intended with sound precision.

It was glaringly obvious what was required of me. I was to dig up, desecrate another grave and I knew exactly what for. I removed my cloak this time and rolled up the sleeves on my plain white shirt. I chose to plunge the sword back into the ground where it was at the head of the simple wooden marker, as I reached down and picked up the shovel. The air remained still and it felt like I was living in a dream-like state, far removed from any reality. I looked back at the dark headless rider who simply stood sentry at the edge of the churches earth. I turned away from my watcher and sunk the sharpened end of the shovel into the moist earth with as much force as I could manage.

The digging was tedious and the very definition of monotonous, particularly since I wasn't resurrecting a loved one's corpse. With each shovel full of damp dirt I threw over my shoulders the deeper I sank. My breathing and the dark rider's horse whinnying on occasion was the only noise that filled the space. After an untold amount of time I brought the shovel down and it finally struck against wood with a hollow thud. I tossed the shovel to the side of the pit and wiped off my sweaty face with the back of my arm, before I knelt down and moved the loose dirt off the lid of a simple casket.

There was no name imprinted on the marker that was nothing but two wooden stakes formed into a cross. When I moved the dirt off the coffin I felt something under my fingers; a carving on the wooden lid. I leaned closer and in doing so I smelled the richness of the soil and then the lingering scent of old death. An inscription caught my eye and so I traced my fingertips over each engraved word as I read them: 'His castles were without number, but yet 'he' sat buried in mediation, the supremacy of the rebellious scepter.' The words are eloquent, abrupt and an absolute testament to what I'm sure of that lies in wait inside.

I rose up off my knees and placed my feet on the small area around the outside of the casket; in preparation for my next action, which was prying off the lid. Knowing I wouldn't be able to move it off with my bare hands, I reached for the shovel and used the pointed end to pry under one side of the top. I strained against the resistance, but finally after three full tugs the nails screeched and the lid of the coffin lifted from its seal. Once more I cast aside the shovel and then used my hands to lift the lid up little by little. I felt as if my heart could stand no more of this whole ordeal, but still I had to see this to the end, after all I started this. I had awoke what I thought was a myth, but at the same time I was also hard pressed to label my feelings too much.

The old decrepit lid cracked every time I urged it higher, and when I had an opening wide enough to see inside the contents I leaned down. Burlap sandbags filled the coffin in a poor imitation of a body, but there was a head or more accurately a skull. I was right about exactly what I would find. I reached in with my bare, dirty hands and grasped it. From my fairly deep pit I knew that the dark rider couldn't see me, but I still knew that she was watching me. And so it should be since I held her skull in my hands and gazed into those empty sockets that once held eyes. The horseman's great black stallion whinnied loudly and I startled, but I calmed myself before my heart ceased beating in my chest from strain.

I turned away from the coffin and given my height I stepped up on the lower undisturbed end of the casket and began to climb out of the pit. I placed the skull on the ground at the very edge of where I dug into the ground, and then I hoisted myself out with what little shred of strength that remained in my body. Looking up I noticed that the dark clouds had parted slightly, but the sun behind it was still dimmed and barely any shafts of light had penetrated through the cracked veil. Tiredly, I walked once more towards the dark headless rider and its powerful midnight ride.

She stood almost motionlessly, waiting as I drew closer. When I was less than a foot away, yet still within the churches grounds, she flicked her wrist and the spine whip coiled tighter than a snake in her hand. I jumped, stopped at the action and remained fixed in place even as she placed the ungodly whip on her hip. Hands covered in dark metal gauntlets reached out for the skull that I held in my hands. I stepped forward just enough and placed it as an offering back in its owners metallic grasp. Strangely I found myself once more admiring the workmanship of the gauntlets. The mock plumage seemed to fan out across the metal before my eyes, instantly making me liken it to a bird stretching its wings. The headless horseman gripped her skull tightly between both hands and began to place it where her head should have always been.

Knowing anatomy as I do the sights I would witness wouldn't be a pleasant one but I couldn't force myself to look away, even though it was one of those moments very few people would want to see. I watched as the aged off-white skull with still perfect rows of teeth was placed upon an empty opening, and just beyond the collar of the armor I saw the protruding nub of the spine straighten and welcome its lost half with a loud crunch. Once more all manner of life brought the passageways that carry blood wound themselves up from the exposed spinal column and then reattached behind where ears would form and along the jawline. But the formation of tissues, skin and then the eyes in all their bare glory didn't mar the face that formed before my eyes.

It was a vision that I quickly found to be ethereally beautiful and rightfully so since she is not of this earth anymore. Pale and flawless flesh skin slid across delicate cheekbones and onto a strong jaw. Full lips with a rosy color soon followed then everything seemed to haze for me or perhaps my mind just wouldn't let me see everything, when long almost black hair framed the face. I took a deep breath that I had to force out because I hadn't realized I had been holding it. But when I saw two dark eyes open and appear to look past my being, I saw them as belonging to some great predator that I've read about in books. I wanted to speak and I wasn't going to wait for this ghost to change its mind about what it was or wasn't going to do to me.

"I just needed your sword...for my family."

It was a simple sentence and one I felt lucky to have said without my voice failing, given as to what I was trying to have a conversation with. Those dark eyes fixated on me like any good predator, only fear is not what I felt. Shocking as it was, especially to myself, but I felt an intense sorrow and longing from the being that looked so intently at me.

"Take it then, however by doing so it means that I am yours as well." Her voice was almost melodic and colored by a charmingly proper English accent. I felt my body release a shiver at the sound of it. "You needn't be afraid of me." She said upon noticing my shiver which was not motivated by fear. "Even though at one time during my life so very long ago I wanted to be feared more than anything else a person could attain. You see my father firmly believed that a woman's place was under the boot heels of her husband. But I knew I could never live like that, I would hardly call that living really."

Her rich accent commanded my attention, but it's not like I had a better distraction. After all how often does a living person find themselves speaking with the death and then have the dead talk back to them. I took in every small detail that I missed before and I found myself staring not at her face but my eyes wondered down to the spurs I heard earlier. They were also meant to look like the talons on raven; grasping around her boots and the jingle was courtesy of a blunt but curved metal that also gave the distinction of a claw.

"I understand." I found my voice at the same time as my eyes met her's again, and oddly I witnessed a small smile briefly come and then go across her lips as she ran her hand through her stallion's long black mane. "But why would you have wanted to aide in bringing war here?"

The horseman dropped her hand from her horse and both rider and animal seemed to gaze through me. "I was better than my brother in the art of combat to phrase it quite bluntly. My father knew that to be dishearteningly true, so I defied them both at every opportunity because my freedom meant everything to me. I was of noble birth and as such the honor of my family's name in the war effort was a mandate. I thought it pointless to enforce the will of a monarch upon a young nation who purposely fled to have their own empire. So you see the cause meant nothing to me, for I respected the idea of freedom in all forms. Regardless though I boarded the ship for America to live, to fight, and die on my own terms."

"As noble as you make it all sound I know that you've killed people."

The dark rider who was also a very beautiful woman smirked at me before she dropped her intense gaze briefly. "I won't lie. People did die by my hand, but I certainly never beheaded another person strictly for the sake of malice."

"That's not how your legend is really told." I said more pointedly than I meant to.

"The dead know and a restless soul like mine is all too familiar with my ill-begotten representations."

Apparently not only do the dead 'know' but it's refreshing to hear them speak the truth. I suppose once a person has lost all that they will ever truly have-life-there is no need for lies, omissions and all the other underhanded ways that the living trick themselves into each other's lives.

"I know that it was my father who ordered my demise." The dark rider continued and I was thoroughly engrossed in the sound of her voice again. "I had been on these shores less than a month before my death, which was swiftly dealt by my own compatriot's cannon. Once my father and Charles realized what I had done, they saw to it that I would find my end here."

I had no words for the contempt and sorrow that laced her voice. What could I possibly contribute anyway? So I listened to this spirit that I felt a connection to and the whole time a silent question replayed in the background of my mind like a muffled voice: Why am I still alive? I watched her closely but only while she spoke did I notice that she barely breathes. Are those lungs that I saw just a part of the illusion of her? I was too silent for too long and when I caught the dark rider inspecting me, only then did I dare to speak.

"Please continue. I was just caught up in your story."

The wind picked up once more and I was awestruck by the almost repulsive glamor in front of me. Her tattered leather cape billowed in the strong gust while her long black hair fanned out away from her face. Meanwhile her stallion pranced in place then turned to stare at me. I didn't know what to expect anymore or how much else I would bear witness to. I reached down and pulled my warm, dark red cloak off one of the headstones I placed it on earlier and pulled it tighter around me.

"The Wells name could not be tarnished by a woman who did not know her proper place. So it was fabled that my brother Charles came here to fight but ultimately survived. It is an undisputable fact that my brother only set foot on this land to attend to my burial or rather in my opinion concealed disposal." The wind began to still again as she spoke and it was then that I realized that I had been lulled into some kind of space where time truly had no hold. "Placing my head in an unmarked grave ensured that the secret would never get out. Fate or other spirits it would seem had other plans. So I after my death I would ride here to this place night after night as far I was allowed. I hoped and waited for someone to find my body, that they wouldn't be driven away in fear, even though I was made to inspire that emotion."

I was mesmerized by the experience of what my actions had brought, but questions were always in my nature and I had one that I wanted to know the answer to more than anything else. And she seemed to be more than willing to tell me anything and show me anything.

"Do you know what year it is?"

Those dark eyes sparkled with understanding and for an instance I felt silly for asking that question, but the dark rider offered me a small smile.

"Time doesn't exist for me Myka Ophelia Bering; it has not in well over a hundred years."

I should've been surprised that she already knew my name but I wasn't. Absently, I wiped my hands down the front of my long skirt, which was hopelessly soiled for all time in my estimation, after digging not one but two graves up.

"I suppose it doesn't matter and really why should you start worrying about it now?"

She smiled at me again but I could still see her crippling sadness. I decided then to leave the safety of the churches land and step over the invisible threshold that held the rider at bay. Slowly, I kept moving closer and the rider's horse turned to look at me with his pitch black eyes, and as close as I was I saw that the horse looked alive too. The impressive animal breathed deeply while his powerful muscles twitched in his flanks, legs and across his broad chest. The dark rider also began to appear more alive with each passing moment.

"I must confess to you that these last few years I have watched you and I would be remiss in saying that I could not keep from doing so." The dark, beautiful rider said while watching me drawing nearer. Unexpectedly, I found that that I wanted to be even closer. "I would never hurt you, Myka. After all you have become my savior and now I can be free, but I want to stay for a while longer and I shall as long as you keep my sword close."

Her voice sounded so seductive and she felt familiar to me. I found myself looking at her lips, which had a rose-tinged coloring; they didn't look like death had ever touched them. I knew what I wanted and with her looking at me so intensely I felt that we were of the same mind. The dark rider's horse whinnied and broke the moment between us. I couldn't help but let loose a low chuckle, because I had just realized even though this whole scenario was fear incarnate I was also calm in her presence. She smiled at her horse's outburst as if she heard a dialogue from him that I hadn't or couldn't hear.

"His name is Darkness." The once headless rider said while she removed one of the gauntlet's from her hand. I watched a delicately feminine and pale hand emerge. "And my name is Helena."

In that instance I moved to shake her hand but then with a simple flex of her long elegant finger's her sword was drawn back to her hand. I jumped away from her and if I hadn't been paying close attention I would've missed the way she flinched at my action.

"Please take the sword that is only if you still desire it, Miss Bering." She stated while holding the impressive weapon loosely perched across the palms of her hands; as if it were some fragile, precious thing and not a steel forged instrument made for killing.

I looked into those dark eyes and nodded, but before I moved so much as a muscle she moved forward instead. I inhaled deeply when she stood less than four inches from me, and I would have to have been blind to have missed the lascivious smirk that presented itself since she didn't miss my reaction to her.

"Thank you." I said quietly while I took her sword in hand again.

I wanted to say more but I felt as if the spell that was cast had almost run out, so I clutched the sword tight to my body while a rapid bitter breeze blew hard against my frame, making me lean to the side ever so slightly. With those actions I sealed my fate, but not what I would ever call cursed and certainly not damned. I closed my eyes for maybe two breaths trying to anticipate what would become of me, but when I opened my eyes the rider was no longer standing in front of me and the sounds of life started to reemerge. The dark rider mounted her tall horse and smiled at me, and then as if she were no more than the equivalent of the sun in your eyes; I blinked and she was gone.

After I had recovered from the whole ordeal for a few days at home, I removed the jewels from the sword and journeyed two days from my home to sell them. They fetched an almost astronomical price in New York and to me it seemed in the span of a few days my family's home was going to become immune to misfortune. My father never questioned where or how I came across the sword, or our families sudden turn of good luck. Then just two weeks later after my return, our village doctor suddenly required an assistant and my name was the first on his list due to my knowledge and reputation. It seemed to me that being a woman was of no importance anymore.

When I uncovered the bones and took what was proposed to me from 'him', I had no idea of the unspoken covenant that was made at the time. When I began to look back at that whole experience occasionally at an odd moment; it began to remind me of diving underwater. First the plunge then the subtle deafening of water pressing into yours ears, and then when you resurface your head breaks. Then you gasp for air as if it was the first breath that you dared to take in this new world, and the pain that goes with it has a raw quality. Then another thing began to happen, something I didn't expect or more accurately someone.

I saw her again exactly one month after our fateful kismet. It started simply enough late one night when I was still awake long after the rest of my house and the village was off in dreamland. I felt her presence long before I opened my eyes to see her standing in my bedroom. I wasn't afraid; in fact I realized how much I had missed her and wanted to hear her voice again. So for many nights I listened and spoke with her, all the while taking note that with each visitation a piece of her armor would be gone. And after the first few weeks she appeared before me in just the simple black shirt and pants that was underneath the leather and armor.

I also found that the horseman or Helena as she preferred, is extremely intelligent, articulate, witty and very charming. After the first month of our secret nightly chats I could hardly stand it anymore; I wanted, needed her to touch me and by then I was past being ashamed of that fact. The more time I had to think over all of the nights we spent together in detail, the more I realized that I had already subconsciously felt her inherent 'goodness'. I wanted to believe in it and I do to a greater degree every time I saw her. Helena felt the same way as it turned out and that first kiss was unlike anything I could compare it to, and from then on I never wanted to let go of her.

Even knowing how I've spent the long days and too short nights that have passed, I still can't hardly believe all of this began exactly five months ago tonight. And even though every night I've had the same visitor that I always long to see, to make real, because when we are together our other issues cease to matter in my mind. To me life only exists in the hours that I'm with her and the hours that I'm not I only feel half alive now. Tonight is another one of those nights that I waited through the daylight for.

Every night is the same; it starts so simply, but the sensations that I feel are all forms of complex. I'm a haunted person who lies half-awake each night for my visitor. The room grows colder for only a few breaths, but then my crackling fireplace and its alight and dancing flames chase away the intruding chill. Then I become cognizant of her, and I close my eyes at the first faintest of touches on my ankles. My body is riddled with want as hands caress up over my legs; parting them but I open them even wider and freely. The hands find and begin to pull down my undergarment, which makes my back arch off the bed; it's always like this, and I always want it that much more the next time.

I feel weight settle fully atop my body and the best part is the press between my open legs. I open my eyes and look down to see luscious raven black hair covering my chest. I should be repulsed by the notion of being loved by the dead but I can't bring myself to feel that. Rapture, a victory over loneliness as the pleasure treads the fine line towards paroxysm. Her body is warm and alive to me and it doesn't matter anymore that I found this by digging up her bones. I have no illusions anymore of what life truly is and what it means. I hadn't been with anyone in such a long time, and the only other person I had been with, I have to admit he didn't make me feel the way Helena does. I've always felt like I was never meant to be in this time or place, but with Helena I finally felt like I belonged.

"Myka, darling are you ready?"

Her voice is a warm caress and I would be lying if I didn't admit how much I love the way she says my name. I haven't made this choice on a whim or under some misguided belief. There is always a price for something like this and I'm happy to pay it.

"My life is yours." I answer before closing my eyes when I feel her lips touch mine.

With those words my heart managed an incredible feat; it was as if it was being held so gently, even when it was beating at a furious pace. My breath left my body and warmth filled every last inch of me. I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful face I've ever seen up close, and like so many times before those dark eyes were waiting. I smiled at her and my eyes slid closed, because I couldn't hold them open one second longer. The world fell away but I held on to the source-Helena-while I succumbed to an endless peace.

I crossed over that night after reaching the limits of my mortal coil. I knew it would happen. Helena told me for every night that I spent with her intimately one year would be removed from my life. It was a fair trade as far as my heart, mind and soul were concerned. I did hate to leave my father behind but at least he still has my mother and my younger sister; who is happily married now. I left them the sword and they still have the money from the sale of the jewels. They all should bind together even more when they realize I'm gone; I want them to go on living. I found nirvana in another soul whose intent would seem dark to someone else. But her soul was more alive than most and so very strong, and couldn't be quieted by her wrongful death over a hundred and fifteen years ago.

===|[END]|===

Soundtrack: "Dead Memories" by Slipknot, "Paint It Black" by GOB, "Dead But Rising" by Volbeat, "Descending Angel" by Misfits & "When Love And Death Embrace" by HIM

Final Words: Don't get ruffled that both characters are dead, one did start out that way. (F.Y.I: I've never 'killed' a character before.) My motivation for doing this wierd mess was that I wanted to experiment by doing some cool madcap cray-cray with a pinch of gore and sprinkling of ultra light smut. *shrugs* (Honestly, to testify by holey jeebus I've browsed stranger stuff than this!) Moving on, I had fun writing this in honor of my favorite holiday and for the 'ship' that keeps on giving.