writing_shadows

The house was deathly silent. There were no strains of music; no sounds of a television, not even the distant ticking of a clock could be heard. It was almost as though the entire place was holding its breath and waiting for something to occur. She stood like a statue to one side of the main window, at first glance someone might have even mistaken her for one, so still was her form.

Dark, shadowy eyes looked out on the sleepy, quiet area of Inverness that she lived in. The house Bane had gifted her with was detached and apart from the others, a veritable fortress of locks and doors to fit his paranoid nature. Part of her wondered what she was still doing here. She had half expected people to come here and attack, though the consequences in a sleepy suburb might be bad for them. A voice in her head suggested that she rig the place up with booby traps to cause as much injury as possible to those who sought to kill her. Despite this, she still stayed still and did nothing, instead she watched and she waited.

Her thoughts were somewhat troubled, not about the fact that she could very well be dead shortly, that did not bother her; it was something else that nagged at her and gave her no peace. She had asked Goodenough for a dream containing what he knew of what had happened to the girl and he had delivered such. To her pain was something to savour, like a fine wine or a beautiful dagger, but that was not the experience that the girl had gone through. Her agonised screams echoed through Velvet’s mind and she frowned, puzzled and struggling to understand.

A memory flashes, of looking upwards while strapped down to something, unable to move. There is little light in the room but you can hear the disturbing sounds of clicking and clacking from something nearby. A female voice speaks then, as smooth as honey, “Again, do it again.” Another figure the bends towards you and searing agony engulfs your whole body and a ragged, raw, pleading scream tears from your throat.

Velvet staggered slightly, it was rare for memories to come to her so vividly. As usual she had no idea if this one was one of hers, or one of the ones her Keeper’s work had left her with. But that voice had unmistakably been the Lady’s and something in the recollection felt... real, like it belonged. She frowned again, had there been a time once when pain had been as bad for her?

Casually she flicked a knife out from the sheath at her side, digging the blade into her forearm and cutting until the sweet release of blood and pain sent waves of pleasure through her. Something in the experience felt off though, as if a coldness had settled inside her, a doubt almost. Carefully she wrapped her arm in a bandage and moved to sit down.

The fate of the girl she had persuaded to go with Darken Fel to save Aria bothered her. That wasn’t how it was meant to happen. Few seemed to understand that she had done it to save those of her Court, because that was important to her, because they mattered. Her own Court seemed to hate her for her actions and many others would see her dead for them. Silk, her reason for returning, for trying to be Free was gone. Part of her wondered what was stopping her from walking into the hedge and towards Arcadia and not stopping until she was back there.

Something was stopping her though. Instead she found herself sitting and waiting with impossible patience, waiting to see if she even had a future to do anything with. Tangled emotions wound their way through her, Cormac’s words still haunting her “I don’t think you are monster.” Still, he was wrong about that, she knew nothing else but how to kill, how to hunt and hurt. There had even been a thrill in her actions in London, the power in succeeding at persuading the girl, her enjoyment at accusations having initially flown everywhere else but at her. She couldn’t even really argue that they would be wrong to take her life for it, because they were probably right.

Whatever part of her had once been human seemed dull and very distant to her now, like an echo of a dying scream inside her mind. It seemed as though everything had gone that she had cared to hang onto now. Silk was dead, her Court despised her. Perhaps when her death came at last it would at least grant some peaceful oblivion.

But for now, for now she would wait and see what tomorrow brought her.