Reapercussions (Part the Second)
Posted: Sat Nov 13, 2010 2:21 pm
Laura shivered and shook; tossed and turned.
She couldn't get that story out of her head. Every time she closed her eyes...
...the audience crawling over each other, tearing each other apart in rage and fear...
...glowing embers snowing from the ceiling...
...performers trying to escape; skin and flesh black from the spreading fire... except it wasn't flesh, it was those horrible expressionless masks...
...someone opened a door, or a window, and the flames celebrated in the surge of oxygen; jumping higher, filling the air with the stench of burning hair and flesh...
Laura barely made it to the bathroom this time. She had lost her dinner and probably most of her lunch earlier, now there was nothing left. It was a while before she finally stopped retching. She slowly rinsed out her mouth, and returned to bed. It was late: everyone was in bed – asleep, presumably – and she didn't run into anyone in the halls.
She lay down again, staring at the ceiling, her mind filled with the cries, curses and whimpers of those poor people: burned alive.
She must have eventually fallen asleep, because the specter was once again in her room. She pushed herself back against the wall as always, trying to put distance between her and the apparition, but once again, the air had turned to molasses and she could barely move.
The specter went through its act as it did every night, almost like it was a play it had rehearsed (Laura shuddered at the thought). It finally reached the end of the dance, and it dove at her. She closed her eyes.
It was about ten seconds before she chanced cracking open one eye, to assure herself that she was awake...
…and she jumped when she saw the specter's face – or what was left of it – frozen inches from her own. She took a shuddering breath, and looked into the thing's frozen, twisted face.
She yelped when it started to dissolve in front of her; its seared and puckered flesh turning into smoke which dissipated quickly into the air.
It took Laura a couple minutes to calm down, stop shivering uncontrollably and realize that someone had taken the specter's place at the foot of her bed.
Her eyes grew large as she took in this new vision. It was a woman: a dazzling, beautiful woman, wearing golden armour, a golden sword covered in glowing blue runes in a scabbard on her hip.
She held out her hand to the still-shivering Laura.
“Who... who are you?” Laura asked warily. “Did you... You got rid of that... thing?”
The woman chuckled. “I did, child. I have come to be your guardian against those memories that torment you so.”
Slowly and tentatively, Laura extended her hand to the vision, who took the teen's hand in her own. There was a flash of white light, then everything went black, as Laura drifted into a dreamless sleep that would last the rest of the night. As she faded, she heard the woman add one last thing...
“You can call me Angela.”
***
Serena rushed out of her Mistress' room, clearly agitated.
“What is it?” one of the guards asked.
Looking around furtively, as if she was afraid someone would overhear, Serena motioned the guards closer.
“I was tending to the Mistress,” she whispered conspiratorially, “while She was trancing. It was the oddest thing. She was just sitting there when suddenly...” Serena shuddered, and the two guards leaned in closer.
“She smiled.”
The guards looked almost as uncomfortable as Serena now, who ran off to find a well-lit room to calm down and tell herself it was going to be alright. That is, it was going to be alright for her, anyway. But whoever had put that smile on Mistress Angela's face would not be so lucky.
She couldn't get that story out of her head. Every time she closed her eyes...
...the audience crawling over each other, tearing each other apart in rage and fear...
...glowing embers snowing from the ceiling...
...performers trying to escape; skin and flesh black from the spreading fire... except it wasn't flesh, it was those horrible expressionless masks...
...someone opened a door, or a window, and the flames celebrated in the surge of oxygen; jumping higher, filling the air with the stench of burning hair and flesh...
Laura barely made it to the bathroom this time. She had lost her dinner and probably most of her lunch earlier, now there was nothing left. It was a while before she finally stopped retching. She slowly rinsed out her mouth, and returned to bed. It was late: everyone was in bed – asleep, presumably – and she didn't run into anyone in the halls.
She lay down again, staring at the ceiling, her mind filled with the cries, curses and whimpers of those poor people: burned alive.
She must have eventually fallen asleep, because the specter was once again in her room. She pushed herself back against the wall as always, trying to put distance between her and the apparition, but once again, the air had turned to molasses and she could barely move.
The specter went through its act as it did every night, almost like it was a play it had rehearsed (Laura shuddered at the thought). It finally reached the end of the dance, and it dove at her. She closed her eyes.
It was about ten seconds before she chanced cracking open one eye, to assure herself that she was awake...
…and she jumped when she saw the specter's face – or what was left of it – frozen inches from her own. She took a shuddering breath, and looked into the thing's frozen, twisted face.
She yelped when it started to dissolve in front of her; its seared and puckered flesh turning into smoke which dissipated quickly into the air.
It took Laura a couple minutes to calm down, stop shivering uncontrollably and realize that someone had taken the specter's place at the foot of her bed.
Her eyes grew large as she took in this new vision. It was a woman: a dazzling, beautiful woman, wearing golden armour, a golden sword covered in glowing blue runes in a scabbard on her hip.
She held out her hand to the still-shivering Laura.
“Who... who are you?” Laura asked warily. “Did you... You got rid of that... thing?”
The woman chuckled. “I did, child. I have come to be your guardian against those memories that torment you so.”
Slowly and tentatively, Laura extended her hand to the vision, who took the teen's hand in her own. There was a flash of white light, then everything went black, as Laura drifted into a dreamless sleep that would last the rest of the night. As she faded, she heard the woman add one last thing...
“You can call me Angela.”
***
Serena rushed out of her Mistress' room, clearly agitated.
“What is it?” one of the guards asked.
Looking around furtively, as if she was afraid someone would overhear, Serena motioned the guards closer.
“I was tending to the Mistress,” she whispered conspiratorially, “while She was trancing. It was the oddest thing. She was just sitting there when suddenly...” Serena shuddered, and the two guards leaned in closer.
“She smiled.”
The guards looked almost as uncomfortable as Serena now, who ran off to find a well-lit room to calm down and tell herself it was going to be alright. That is, it was going to be alright for her, anyway. But whoever had put that smile on Mistress Angela's face would not be so lucky.