6th Loshis, 2719
THE PAINTED LADIES| SOMETIME AFTER DARK
THE PAINTED LADIES| SOMETIME AFTER DARK
It was starting to turn into a proper home.
Don’t ignore me Charity.
The voice was a sharp crack in her thoughts, breaking through the song that was flowing through her mind, a nasty snarl of a hatcher in the darkness. Gasping, the blonde lost her place, halting her hands on the ivory and looking around. Of course, there was no one there. There was never anyone there. Even Rhys tonight was gone, working that particular evening, leaving the petite pianist to her own thoughts. Thoughts that lingered. Thoughts that spoke back.
She refused to answer it. For days now, she had been trying so hard to ignore it, to bite her tongue. It was crazy to reply to a voice being conjured by the fractured corners of her mind, even the pale creature could recognize that. So she tried, so hard, to ignore the echoing mocking tone that accompanied her endlessly. Lifting her chin, violet gaze back on the piano keys, Charity returned to her song. The storm raged outside, pattering heavily against the glass and wind shaking the exterior shutters. A small, but warm fire burned in the small fireplace that was contained in the parlour with her, and it lit the darkness with orange glows that should be comforting when instead they just added a sense of foreboding to the atmosphere. Her field drew close, giving a sense of protection wrapped around her like a blanket.
You can’t hide from me forever child. I will find you, and your wick.
The woman smirked, continuing her song. Damen didn’t know Rhys was a wick, if he did then all of Anaxas would also know and Rhys would be most likely on the hangmans noose. The voice knew too much, more than her real father, and it was just enough to remind the pianist that it wasn’t real. That she needed to continue to bite her tongue.
Charity!
Her name was loud in her ear, like the voice was right beside her ear, perfectly synchronized with a flatteringly loud burst of thunder from the skies above. Unable to help it, Charity scooted away from it, slipping off the end of the seat and scrambling to her feet with wide violet eyes and hands held up in defense.
No one. Nothing.
That’s because you’re crazy Charity Ann. Insane. Broken little girl.
“No, no, no. Go away, just go away.” The galdor hissed reaching up to curl a hand into her platinum locks, rapidly striding from the parlour in a sweep of the black silk of her summer night-robe around her legs.
When are you going to tell him girl? When are you going to tell your darling Rhys that you’re hearing your fathers voice huh? Huh?! Charity?!”
Reaching the library, the blonde put her hands over her ears and shut her eyes tightly, field simmering with the scarlet aura of rage that welled in the depths of her very being.
“Leave me alone, please. Please.” She whispered, covering as the patter of rain shifted to the sharp pitter of tiny pieces of ice, slush catching on the outside of the windows before melting gently. The voice continued, snapping relentlessly at the frayed edges of her mind, pushing insults and threats together in a mash of sounds, till the rain and hail and voice all became one overwhelming buzz in her head.
“Stop!” The blonde screamed, throwing the sharp sylables for a Push spell into the gutteral sound that escaped her chest, hands shoving outward with the sound. A rush of force rolled from the musician, smashing into the library cases with a BANG followed instantly by the shattering of glass panels.
Shock ripped Charity from her inner turmoil, and immediately it was silent.
“Shit.” She breathed, moving towards the cases and kneeling down to collect the shards of glass that littered the floor. Four, maybe five panels had cracked with the force, and two had completely imploded, raining sharp pieces like diamonds on the hardwood floor beneath them. Holding the larger pieces in her palm, the blonde could see her fingers trembling as she collecte them, catching her breath in a sharp inhale as a sliver of the panel nicked her thumb. Dropping the pieces gently, Charity stuck the bleeding appendage in her mouth, standing and moving to find her way through the house and upstairs into the bathroom. In the dim light of the candles that dotted the house in the night, she washed the cut under the water, wincing at the ruddy liquid that swirled around the basin and down the drain.
Stupid girl. Why stop there.
Swearing under her breath, the unsettled galdor looked at herself in the mirror, searching her own face for a moment. Her mind played through something in her head, something that she’d forgotten so so many months prior. Taking a small bandage from the vanity and a candle, Charity dressed her thumb as she moved away from the bathroom into the spare room they had begun to use as a temporary storage space. Digging through chests, she found a small black coin purse, tearing it open with an almost fervent eagerness and up ending the contents into her hand.
One small compact white pellet. One tiny pressed pill of Kings Crop, contained in a discrete pocket inside the purse and wrapped tightly in thin parchment. It would only take one.
She only needed a reprieve. Just briefly.
With shaking fingers, the blonde unfolded the paper, revealing the non-descript looking pill and taking a shuddering breath. Rhys would be furious if he found out, but…but she couldn’t bare it anymore. Damen’s voice was draining her, eating at her. Outside, the wind whistled eerily against the old roof shingles and the candle guttered slightly.
It’s only one. You’ve done worse. Far worse. Rhys won’t even know. The voice purred in her head, and with a hard swallow Charity lifted the small dosage of King’s Crop to her face, adjusting her hold so she could move to place it on her tongue.
“Charity—” The voice that barely breathed into the darkness beyond her candle light was different this time. It was almost inaudible, and very soft, feminine and patient. Hesitating, the pianist lowered her hand slightly.
“Hello!?” She called out with a waiver in her throat, eyes wide as she tried to see the source of the voice. There was a very genuine, very warranted fear in her field of Damen and Diaxio, and whispered voices in the dark were no less terrifying than raging voices in the light. Gripping the pill tightly, Charity shook her head.
“Not another one. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear another.” Lifting the drug again, her lips parted ready for the dosage.
“Charityyy…” This time it sounded like someone calling from far, far away. Definitely a womans voice. Something caught the corner of her eye, a movement in the darkness. Was it a movement though, or a figment of her broken imagination? Grabbing the candle, the pill pressed hard into her palm, Charity looked around the room with wild eyes. Her skin raised in goosebumps as the temperature around her felt cooler, sending a tingle up her spine and a shiver through her field. Moving through the room, she backed out, shutting the door in a bizarre ritual—as though closing the door would lock the voice out.
Taking the stairs slowly, free hand on the rail, the still trembling galdor made her way back to the parlour. She stood in front of the fireplace, looking down at the white knuckle grip she had on the Crop. Drawing her hand back, she tossed it violently into the flames.
“No.” She said out loud, whether it be to the voices or to herself. Moving woodenly to the library, the blonde recollected her shards, cleaning the mess with only the sounds of thunder and rain accompanying her. Over again, like a record stuck on a scratch, her mind replayed what was definitely a delusion.
Charity was sure she had seen her mother. For only a brief moment, but it was her as she’d last seen her. Pale face, pale dress and the red that stained her. It was the candle light in her eyes, the shifting of the flame against the shapes in the room. It had to be the only explanation, and yet, the pianist felt the rush of adrenaline in her chest. Finishing her cleaning, the silent galdor gutted the fireplace and returned upstairs, avoiding looking at the spare room as she entered their own bedroom and placed her candle on the nightstand. Crawling beneath the blankets and sheets, the petite creature curled into Rhys’ space on the mattress and tucked his pillow close, wrapping the bedding around her like a protective barrier.
She had to find a way to stop this madness, before it killed her. Before Rhys found out his wife was insane.
