(Many thanks to Emlyn's player who played this out with me. It was a horribly hard thing to do.)
The woman that people had once called Bloody Marie moved through the trees that dotted the glen as if she were gliding. The rustle and whisper of ancient red velvet and black lace punctuated her every movement. Her face was stoic, void of any hint of emotion. Crimson lips were painted into a line across her face and her eyes were free of the contact lenses that she had used so often in order to fit in. Free of those thin pieces of brown tinted glass, they were the color of sour blueberries ringed in black. She held tight to her little blond companion's hand and if the fear rolling off of the girl bothered her, she never made it obvious.
"Come on dear. We've a lot of work to do." Ever calm, ever soft was that voice. A cotton soft melody coasting on the back of an otherwise extinct Southern accent. Georgia perhaps, or the South Carolina of yesterday.
Corrine-Called-Fleck didn't know what was going on. Couldn't know despite the screaming in her ears. It was a Sunday and Preacher Man said bad things aren't allowed to happen on Sundays. You were supposed to rest on Sundays. Clad in a dingy nightgown draped over an even filthier flannel shirt with her blond hair a knotted cloud that had been left to fall where it wished, she looked as if she had crawled her way from a Grimm Brother's fairy tale. Marie was far more graceful than she was, and Fleck tripped and tumbled several times before finding her footing.
When they pushed their way out of the forest and into the Glen, she suddenly became aware that this wasn't a game. Fleck's mind screamed for her mouth to put some effort into stopping Marie, but as blue eyes moved over the other woman's face, beautiful in its coldness, she found herself unable to let go of anything other than a whimper.
As they had painfully, slowly arranged the Mage was horrifically early. Those minutes and hours oozed by too slowly, and that letter was kept with her within the envelope in her hand. Yellowy eyes were so soft, that strength being miles away from the look on her face that was jaggedly broken in the shifting reflection of the waterfall. Emlyn looked into the water, reaching for it to trace fingertips through the downpour, but pulled away to clench that hand.
She wore a dress, a newly purchased corset strung tight to keep that spine well straightened. There were patterns of red, bronze, and rich mocha embroidered roses along the corset, the laces being a Merlot in color. The black skirt was gathered up like a stage?s curtain to show bronze underskirt. Upon her shoulders was a black blouse of Egyptian cotton, bell sleeves showing wrists. A belt hosted a pouch, hosting basic possessions, along with that letter just a few moments ago before she produced it.
Was she to be a witness? Perhaps she was to be a notary that such an event occurred? Or even worse, was she to be made the messenger of bad news? Emlyn cared not, it was a request she would honor unconditionally. Hair was gathered half up, half down showing gold hair clips of leaves with red and green gemmed berries about them. Emlyn was one to be dressed well, but this outfit was different. She looked dressed for a funeral of timeless proportions. The two were spotted, and the tall Mage Adept came to face them, waiting for them to be in proper distance. She waited, hands folded before her.
Not looking at Corrine, not catching her gaze, seemed so much kinder to Marie. If she allowed herself to look at the girl for too long then her resolve would weaken. Ivory fingers strengthened their grip on the girl's hand hard enough leave bruises had it been mortal flesh. She saw the waterfall long before she saw Emlyn and took in its beauty as if it was the last wonderful thing she would ever see. Those sour eyes scoped out the Mage easily enough and the ghost of a smile curved her lips.
The look on her face said so much; it spoke of resignation of both humanity and the beast. A deal struck and answered with mutual consent. She kept her gaze locked on Emlyn even as she drug Corrine along with her.
She spoke to the girl again, maternal and still so very soft.
"It will be alright Corrine. You have to trust me."
All of the pieces came together in her shattered mind, forming a puzzle that she wanted no part in assembling. Fidgeting turned into a full on hysterics when she spotted Emlyn. This had happened before; not in the real world but in a nightmare. She cried out like a trapped animal and scratched at the hand gripping hers, the noises bubbling from her throat inhuman and terrified.
"No! We can't! We'll get in trouble! You can't! No! Don't make me do this! Please don't make me do this!"
Red tinted tears streamed down her filthy cheeks, drawing faint lines in the thin skin of dirt coating her flesh. No matter how she tried, she couldn't get away.
Emlyn's head dipped, closing those eyes to host that pain in a solemn quiet. Was that a veil? The black diamond-shaped netting rested on the back of her hair, ready to be drawn over that face to offer respect and indication of the death of a dear friend. One not fully known, but cherished for the connection fostered in those small moments they had shared. It was wrenching at her heart, but pain was no foreign entity to the woman.
She was a woman of nearly 27 years of age, young to the one about to be taken from this world, but so very learned in the ways of loss and agony. She received the sight of vicious struggle with a frown that was beyond grievous. Emlyn didn't approach just yet, hoping those hysterics would be calmed for the rest to proceed. But she did nod that chin downward before bending her knees in a slow and deeply low reverence. She came to stand straight again, and watched with patience.
Marie ignored the child's protest and each scratch was met with cold distance. Her fingers only gripped Corrine's wrist tighter. That marble exterior, a personality and life she had built around not letting others get close, was chipping away with the passing of each and every second.
"Emlyn dear," there was a catch in her voice to betray the anxiety she felt. She cleared her throat and spoke once more in her cotton soft drawl.
"Emlyn dear. I assume you received the letter. I would not blame you if you didn't want to watch."
The delicate bones in Fleck's wrist cracked and crumbled, but her mindset was bleeding into that of an animal with its leg caught in a trap. She wrenched her hand free and threw her arms around the elder's waist. She pressed her face against the woman's side and flesh and fabric muffled her screams, made them into barely audible pleas.
"Don't make me do this! Please don't make me do this!"
Forcing herself to ignore the hysterical girl at Marie's side,Emlyn lifted the letter in her hand to show a slow nod. The white paper was folded within those slow and tasteful hands, kept safe from unwanted creases and damage with those hands.
"Yes. I will watch."
Yellows were showing the solace of a discord that was set on receiving this passing. Many others should be here, but they would not come upon Marie's request. That made Emlyn turn her jaw away with the suppressed grief bubbling to the surface. But she kept herself composed, reclaiming herself and turning back to Marie and the pleading girl. Emlyn's eyes remained on the ground after that spectacle.
Red painted lips stayed still. In a painful frown but one in denial of what was going to transpire. Many should be present, but were not. She would have to answer to many of them, take their wrath and their pain and grief into herself in honor of Marie. And she was willing to do too much, but Emlyn always was excessive in paying respects and tribute to the dead. And in this instance, it was simply the final departure of an expired ghost.
Hysterics were easily ignored, and even though it broke her heart to do so- even though the only thing Marie wanted was to hug the Fleck close and tell her everything she had ever meant to say- she wedged an arm between the terrified blond and herself and shoved her backwards as if she were nothing more than an overly excited dog. A nod was given to Emlyn, a gesture of respect. She knew what she had asked of the yellow eyed beauty was far too much but there was a strange sort of relief knowing that she was there. Marie gripped the edge of the ribbon that held her hair at bay and gave it a tug, sending those brown curls tumbling to her waist. Her attention then moved to Corrine and she slowly moved down to her knees.
"Don't hate me Corrine. Please don't hate me."
It could have been a plea but for the lack of inflection. In a sense it was Marie's way to telling the girl that she loved her.
Emlyn continued to keep her distance and tears prepared themselves to cascade down her cheeks. But she refrained as best she could. Lips hadn't begun to tremble yet, but she lifted her chin to better receive the sight. To take in every final moment before her. It was her gift to the one so eager to leave this life. Fingers were tightening around the envelope, and she decided against grasping the paper. She slid it into her purse and replaced that lid with a clasp. All without taking her eyes away from the forbidden ritual unfolding before her.
Emlyn's eyes had softened, yet narrowed in a struggle to just look away. She would watch, she would force herself to behold this moment, and the dreaded ones to come.
"I'm so sorry," it was said to nobody in particular, perhaps to Fleck.
Even after those stripping moments of discomfort, the poor lunatic didn't deserve such a duty. The responsibility was a heavy one to bear, and the thought of it being bestowed forcefully made Emlyn's fists tighten and loosen before falling to rest on the flawless fabric of her corset.
The pain in Fleck's wrist cleared her mind just long enough for her to understand. She cradled her crushed hand in the palm of its twin and lowered her head in a dog's show of respect. The pain in her heart raged far brighter than that brought about by shattered bones and crushed cartilage. As she approached the kneeling vampire she looked over at Emlyn; her face calm and lucid. This moment provided her with just enough thread to keep her mind tethered to this reality and what a painful reality it was.
A reality where the one person that had ever showed her any amount of kindness was about to die by her hand. In a rare display she willed Fleck away and replaced her with Corrine. She knelt down in front of Marie, her head still bowed, and reached her good hand out to embrace one of the elder's.
"Okayokay. I'll do it."
She looked up and into Marie's face, tears still pouring from her eyes.
"I'll miss you."
Marie hated herself for it. Hated herself for putting such a burden on someone she cared, in her own way, so much for. It was so hard, so brutal to look into Corrine's eyes and see an understanding staring back through years of crippling madness. But that was it, wasn't it? Marie Chalfont had lived her terribly long existence shielding herself from things like love and all of the horrible trappings that came with it. Love ruined you, it made you weak.
It was amazing just how much that little madwoman had effected her and she hated herself, deep down, for that most of all. And in the end Marie was how she was always going to be and it was that hatred that gave her a tiny bit of solace. It was always so much easier to hate than to love.
When Corrine took her hand into her own, Marie gave it a squeeze. Selfish pressure to reassure herself more than the shattered blond at her side. She craned her head to the side to give the child better access to her throat and the powerful blood that pumped beneath.
"Go on then Corrine. If we finish it quickly then I'll be nothing more than a memory to you."
Callous, but she didn't want Corrine doubting herself anymore than she already was.
The woman that people had once called Bloody Marie moved through the trees that dotted the glen as if she were gliding. The rustle and whisper of ancient red velvet and black lace punctuated her every movement. Her face was stoic, void of any hint of emotion. Crimson lips were painted into a line across her face and her eyes were free of the contact lenses that she had used so often in order to fit in. Free of those thin pieces of brown tinted glass, they were the color of sour blueberries ringed in black. She held tight to her little blond companion's hand and if the fear rolling off of the girl bothered her, she never made it obvious.
"Come on dear. We've a lot of work to do." Ever calm, ever soft was that voice. A cotton soft melody coasting on the back of an otherwise extinct Southern accent. Georgia perhaps, or the South Carolina of yesterday.
Corrine-Called-Fleck didn't know what was going on. Couldn't know despite the screaming in her ears. It was a Sunday and Preacher Man said bad things aren't allowed to happen on Sundays. You were supposed to rest on Sundays. Clad in a dingy nightgown draped over an even filthier flannel shirt with her blond hair a knotted cloud that had been left to fall where it wished, she looked as if she had crawled her way from a Grimm Brother's fairy tale. Marie was far more graceful than she was, and Fleck tripped and tumbled several times before finding her footing.
When they pushed their way out of the forest and into the Glen, she suddenly became aware that this wasn't a game. Fleck's mind screamed for her mouth to put some effort into stopping Marie, but as blue eyes moved over the other woman's face, beautiful in its coldness, she found herself unable to let go of anything other than a whimper.
As they had painfully, slowly arranged the Mage was horrifically early. Those minutes and hours oozed by too slowly, and that letter was kept with her within the envelope in her hand. Yellowy eyes were so soft, that strength being miles away from the look on her face that was jaggedly broken in the shifting reflection of the waterfall. Emlyn looked into the water, reaching for it to trace fingertips through the downpour, but pulled away to clench that hand.
She wore a dress, a newly purchased corset strung tight to keep that spine well straightened. There were patterns of red, bronze, and rich mocha embroidered roses along the corset, the laces being a Merlot in color. The black skirt was gathered up like a stage?s curtain to show bronze underskirt. Upon her shoulders was a black blouse of Egyptian cotton, bell sleeves showing wrists. A belt hosted a pouch, hosting basic possessions, along with that letter just a few moments ago before she produced it.
Was she to be a witness? Perhaps she was to be a notary that such an event occurred? Or even worse, was she to be made the messenger of bad news? Emlyn cared not, it was a request she would honor unconditionally. Hair was gathered half up, half down showing gold hair clips of leaves with red and green gemmed berries about them. Emlyn was one to be dressed well, but this outfit was different. She looked dressed for a funeral of timeless proportions. The two were spotted, and the tall Mage Adept came to face them, waiting for them to be in proper distance. She waited, hands folded before her.
Not looking at Corrine, not catching her gaze, seemed so much kinder to Marie. If she allowed herself to look at the girl for too long then her resolve would weaken. Ivory fingers strengthened their grip on the girl's hand hard enough leave bruises had it been mortal flesh. She saw the waterfall long before she saw Emlyn and took in its beauty as if it was the last wonderful thing she would ever see. Those sour eyes scoped out the Mage easily enough and the ghost of a smile curved her lips.
The look on her face said so much; it spoke of resignation of both humanity and the beast. A deal struck and answered with mutual consent. She kept her gaze locked on Emlyn even as she drug Corrine along with her.
She spoke to the girl again, maternal and still so very soft.
"It will be alright Corrine. You have to trust me."
All of the pieces came together in her shattered mind, forming a puzzle that she wanted no part in assembling. Fidgeting turned into a full on hysterics when she spotted Emlyn. This had happened before; not in the real world but in a nightmare. She cried out like a trapped animal and scratched at the hand gripping hers, the noises bubbling from her throat inhuman and terrified.
"No! We can't! We'll get in trouble! You can't! No! Don't make me do this! Please don't make me do this!"
Red tinted tears streamed down her filthy cheeks, drawing faint lines in the thin skin of dirt coating her flesh. No matter how she tried, she couldn't get away.
Emlyn's head dipped, closing those eyes to host that pain in a solemn quiet. Was that a veil? The black diamond-shaped netting rested on the back of her hair, ready to be drawn over that face to offer respect and indication of the death of a dear friend. One not fully known, but cherished for the connection fostered in those small moments they had shared. It was wrenching at her heart, but pain was no foreign entity to the woman.
She was a woman of nearly 27 years of age, young to the one about to be taken from this world, but so very learned in the ways of loss and agony. She received the sight of vicious struggle with a frown that was beyond grievous. Emlyn didn't approach just yet, hoping those hysterics would be calmed for the rest to proceed. But she did nod that chin downward before bending her knees in a slow and deeply low reverence. She came to stand straight again, and watched with patience.
Marie ignored the child's protest and each scratch was met with cold distance. Her fingers only gripped Corrine's wrist tighter. That marble exterior, a personality and life she had built around not letting others get close, was chipping away with the passing of each and every second.
"Emlyn dear," there was a catch in her voice to betray the anxiety she felt. She cleared her throat and spoke once more in her cotton soft drawl.
"Emlyn dear. I assume you received the letter. I would not blame you if you didn't want to watch."
The delicate bones in Fleck's wrist cracked and crumbled, but her mindset was bleeding into that of an animal with its leg caught in a trap. She wrenched her hand free and threw her arms around the elder's waist. She pressed her face against the woman's side and flesh and fabric muffled her screams, made them into barely audible pleas.
"Don't make me do this! Please don't make me do this!"
Forcing herself to ignore the hysterical girl at Marie's side,Emlyn lifted the letter in her hand to show a slow nod. The white paper was folded within those slow and tasteful hands, kept safe from unwanted creases and damage with those hands.
"Yes. I will watch."
Yellows were showing the solace of a discord that was set on receiving this passing. Many others should be here, but they would not come upon Marie's request. That made Emlyn turn her jaw away with the suppressed grief bubbling to the surface. But she kept herself composed, reclaiming herself and turning back to Marie and the pleading girl. Emlyn's eyes remained on the ground after that spectacle.
Red painted lips stayed still. In a painful frown but one in denial of what was going to transpire. Many should be present, but were not. She would have to answer to many of them, take their wrath and their pain and grief into herself in honor of Marie. And she was willing to do too much, but Emlyn always was excessive in paying respects and tribute to the dead. And in this instance, it was simply the final departure of an expired ghost.
Hysterics were easily ignored, and even though it broke her heart to do so- even though the only thing Marie wanted was to hug the Fleck close and tell her everything she had ever meant to say- she wedged an arm between the terrified blond and herself and shoved her backwards as if she were nothing more than an overly excited dog. A nod was given to Emlyn, a gesture of respect. She knew what she had asked of the yellow eyed beauty was far too much but there was a strange sort of relief knowing that she was there. Marie gripped the edge of the ribbon that held her hair at bay and gave it a tug, sending those brown curls tumbling to her waist. Her attention then moved to Corrine and she slowly moved down to her knees.
"Don't hate me Corrine. Please don't hate me."
It could have been a plea but for the lack of inflection. In a sense it was Marie's way to telling the girl that she loved her.
Emlyn continued to keep her distance and tears prepared themselves to cascade down her cheeks. But she refrained as best she could. Lips hadn't begun to tremble yet, but she lifted her chin to better receive the sight. To take in every final moment before her. It was her gift to the one so eager to leave this life. Fingers were tightening around the envelope, and she decided against grasping the paper. She slid it into her purse and replaced that lid with a clasp. All without taking her eyes away from the forbidden ritual unfolding before her.
Emlyn's eyes had softened, yet narrowed in a struggle to just look away. She would watch, she would force herself to behold this moment, and the dreaded ones to come.
"I'm so sorry," it was said to nobody in particular, perhaps to Fleck.
Even after those stripping moments of discomfort, the poor lunatic didn't deserve such a duty. The responsibility was a heavy one to bear, and the thought of it being bestowed forcefully made Emlyn's fists tighten and loosen before falling to rest on the flawless fabric of her corset.
The pain in Fleck's wrist cleared her mind just long enough for her to understand. She cradled her crushed hand in the palm of its twin and lowered her head in a dog's show of respect. The pain in her heart raged far brighter than that brought about by shattered bones and crushed cartilage. As she approached the kneeling vampire she looked over at Emlyn; her face calm and lucid. This moment provided her with just enough thread to keep her mind tethered to this reality and what a painful reality it was.
A reality where the one person that had ever showed her any amount of kindness was about to die by her hand. In a rare display she willed Fleck away and replaced her with Corrine. She knelt down in front of Marie, her head still bowed, and reached her good hand out to embrace one of the elder's.
"Okayokay. I'll do it."
She looked up and into Marie's face, tears still pouring from her eyes.
"I'll miss you."
Marie hated herself for it. Hated herself for putting such a burden on someone she cared, in her own way, so much for. It was so hard, so brutal to look into Corrine's eyes and see an understanding staring back through years of crippling madness. But that was it, wasn't it? Marie Chalfont had lived her terribly long existence shielding herself from things like love and all of the horrible trappings that came with it. Love ruined you, it made you weak.
It was amazing just how much that little madwoman had effected her and she hated herself, deep down, for that most of all. And in the end Marie was how she was always going to be and it was that hatred that gave her a tiny bit of solace. It was always so much easier to hate than to love.
When Corrine took her hand into her own, Marie gave it a squeeze. Selfish pressure to reassure herself more than the shattered blond at her side. She craned her head to the side to give the child better access to her throat and the powerful blood that pumped beneath.
"Go on then Corrine. If we finish it quickly then I'll be nothing more than a memory to you."
Callous, but she didn't want Corrine doubting herself anymore than she already was.