Queens of Higher Mystery // [Bird vs. Helle, Day 4]
Jul 4, 2020 21:17:03 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jul 4, 2020 21:17:03 GMT -5
Hellemine Cauchemar, freed of her earthly bonds and demonic possession, found peace.
Stillness.
Eternity.
All that she had prayed for, searched for, sacrified for a better, safer life for her family. The debt was paid. Her life was forfeit. Nothing would divide her from the stars.
Except, apparently, one fucking thing.
Her cleansed soul collided into her battered body with a violent shake. She sat bolt upright in a locule, carvings of bones arrayed around her. The catacombs had a strange half-darkness to them, a light's edge, a corona -
She jerked one arm, elbow first, upward. Laid her scarred palm across her eyes and pressed gently.
One eye gave.
The other - glass or wood or cybernetics, she did not know - was cool and firm to the touch. Wrist, fingers, wrist, fingers, her hand skittered down her pale face until it came to rest between two blanched lobster claws.
Her token remained, untouched.
But her knife - her offering - was long gone.
Helle slapped the cold stone floor. "No no no!" She cried petutantly.
It echoed: no no no, no no no, no no no.
When she spoke again, it was but a whisper. "We had an agreement. My life for my sisters'. The debt is paid." She lifted her knees to her chest, her hands to her hair - only to find it chopped, cauterized. Helle groaned, gripping the lobster's exoskeleton instead. For a time, she rocked.
The music came faintly at first.
A whisper of an echo, threaded between no's.
Then louder. Commanding. Not a vision or a ghost, but present.
Helle stood, heart thundering in her chest. She studied the faces and felt sure they had been in the Training Center with her, though she could remember neither one. Dead?
"Dead dead?" she asked of the tomb, and sent the terrible curse echoing.
What did that make her?
She scrambled over the carved bones, checking every crack and cranny. Nothing. She craned her neck down the hallway to see it splinter and splinter again. Open pathways, branching possibilities.
She gripped one of the lobster's claws, unsure if it had survived as she apparently had, and almost stepped into the hall.
A crackle of static.
Helle lifted both pale claws to her ears, letting the sharp tips rest against her temples. "What's been done to me?" She asked shakily. Static like a summer storm. "Hello?" A crackle. A fissure. "Can you hear me? It's Helle. Oberon? I think - I - is this better?" She paced the half-circle of her locule, climbed onto the carvings. "Please answer, did the boy and the girl die? I'm -"
Static.
All night she tried. Little squeals and clips of words made it through.
She had no more answers.
But she felt grounded nevertheless.
She felt free.
So when Hellemine Cauchemar, the exorcised, heard the footsteps of someone else, she did not flee. Seated, she crossed her legs over the alabaster bones, let the white claws rest face up on her shoulders, and hugged her arms across her chest.
"Who dares disturb me?" She demanded, voice booming, stretching the limits of the echoing catacombs.
Title Quote by John Ruskin:
“And whether consciously or not, you must be in many a heart enthroned: queens you must always be: queens to your lovers; queens to your husbands and sons; queens of higher mystery to the world beyond, which bows itself, and will forever bow, before the myrtle crown, and the stainless scepter of womanhood."
“And whether consciously or not, you must be in many a heart enthroned: queens you must always be: queens to your lovers; queens to your husbands and sons; queens of higher mystery to the world beyond, which bows itself, and will forever bow, before the myrtle crown, and the stainless scepter of womanhood."