Where You Gonna Run To?
Posted: Tue Jun 08, 2021 10:57 pm
9 Glade 121
Isabel had not woken since the wraith had taken her.
The woman didn’t know why that was, but she watched as Matthias fretted over his wife. The work in the sole blacksmithy on this side of Hahseu had been stalled for the sake of him being able to care for her, and the ex-legionnaire. An invalid that had brought the reason for his wife’s sudden illness. She chewed at her thumbnail, watched the sleeping woman she’d been tasked with at least watching for signs of continued life.
But this was no sleeping beauty that lay before her. Underneath her skin was the stirring of a ghastly vileness that the woman had let loose unwittingly. In the first hour of her having regained consciousness, the other woman had been moved and her wound redressed. A new splint on her ankle and a full crutch that dug into her armpit as she moved. By the way she’d hobbled, they’d suggested a full set but she’d managed to put them off. She couldn’t do much running away if she was impeded by a broken ankle and two crutches. Just the one would make for a decent means of protection.
Protection from what? The wraiths had not indicated a desire to harm her outside of the slow drain of her strength, which was lessened now with one wraith transferred to another body. But would it stop the person it had taken over? The toils of contemplation struck her for some time and she’d hardly noticed the woman waking. Not her, maybe, but the wraith. The creature opened her eyes and stared blankly up at the ceiling as the ex-legionnaire considered the weight of all things.
In her time with the Legion, she had heard of wraiths before. She’d known that they varied with the shades of dread and terror that flitted past the faces of the legionnaires. Like the stages of grief, one dealt with a wraith in phases. Maybe. The stories of their...actions were sometimes too exaggerated — but it was the Warrens. What would seem far-fetched anywhere else would make sense there.
Pain flickered through her thumb, forcing her to look down at the digit. She’d bitten to the quick of the nail in her pondering. The woman had never thought herself to be a deep thinker beyond the dabble at lyricism she enjoyed in her less troubled youth. But times had changed and so had she.
Beyond the pain of her thumb, though, was the groaning. A sound that started low, easy to miss. A dull hum to fade into the background. But it grew like flames eating up tinder until it was all she heard. The ex-legionnaire stared at Isabel. Fascination and concern had been far removed from her; replaced only by a continuing terror and the persistent flick of despair when reminded of the reason she’d survived.
She considered running. Running would have been a smart choice, if she could do that. The press of the crutch against her arm was a reminder of her current crippled state. She would get nowhere, fast.
The groaning persisted as the wraith wearing Isabel’s skin like a new dress forced the body into action. But it was no better than a horrid mimicry of movement. Arms that flapped in an attempt to move the blanket from atop her body. Legs that weakly kicked as Isabel was rolled toward the edge of the bed. The flesh and blood puppet the wraith had acquired would probably need some time to get used to it. It struck the woman as odd that she would even care about such things.
What was more important was that the creature was now moving toward her.
She stationed herself at the door for this very fear. Thinking that if she could get out fast enough and shut it behind her, the creature would be stopped. It probably couldn’t turn a knob with how it moved now. But she remained frozen in place, held captive by the power of the two spirits within her. So still, she felt as though she weren’t even breathing.
Up close, Isabel did not look sick. She looked drained. Her color had left her as the creature fed of her vitality, leaving her skin washed out. Her hair dull, falling out in some places. She’d watched Matthias sweep hairs from her pillow before he left. Her lips were cracked, even with all the water they’d been pouring into her mouth and making her swallow. Her breath upon the woman’s skin was cold as the snow of Frost.
It was only when she felt herself tremble that she knew the wraith had let go of her. Not completely; they remained, but they’d given her the movement of her body back. For the moment. Her fingers reached for the knob just as the Isabel-puppet lifted a hand to slap at it. A weak flop, the wrist bent at an odd angle as the creature attempted to move her limbs.
The ex-legionnaire stared for a moment, gaze sliding past Isabel’s figure to stare at Jieun. The girl held a hand up to her lips, as if hiding her laughter. A gesture that was very much like her own self. Maybe the wraith entering the other’s body had brought something good into the world. A smile cracked her lips, momentarily distracting her from her need to flee. But Jieun returned to her stoic stance, face impassive as she watched.A reversion to how she had been in death as she contended with being a part of the background. But she would never be so to her.
The woman made to step forward, to beckon her closer lest she fall back into the intended emotion of the wraiths. But it was Isabel and the puppetry her body was being subjected to that stopped her. A vacant stare and lips that moved too quickly to be normal. Words she couldn’t understand were flung her way and she was frozen once more. This time of her own volition. The creature lifted a limp hand to paw at the knob, and waited. For her? The ex-legionnaire felt her frame shake as her hand rested on the cold metal of the knob and turned. The door creaked as it opened, slow on its hinges. It filled the space of silence between them.
As it swung out, the Isabel-puppet marched forward. Bumped into the frame but continued on. As if this were normal. The woman followed after the creature with a gait hobbled by her crutches and the pain returning from the medicine in her system dwindling. Down the steps they went, one of them with lumbering, shuffling steps. The other with a third leg that tapped against the wood. Her hands found the wooden rail to carry her down faster, a sweat breaking out on her forehead with the effort.
By the time she’d made it down, the hallway was filled with the clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen. It was shock that had her pausing in the threshold. The puppet had gotten better at movement. A quick adaptation to the new body. One that moved decidedly better than the ex-legionnaire. There was a smoothness to the way it lifted the knife from the drawer. A clean blade, shining in the light that filtered in through the small window in the kitchen. The woman’s face was illuminated for a moment before a cloud blocked the sun and cast a shadow into the space.
The creature held the knife, head tipped to the side as if it were considering the object. For a short moment, she felt fear. Even if she moved better, she was no faster than the puppet on a bum leg, she reminded herself. She hobbled back a step, wide eyes trained on the blade as it winked in the faint light. But rather than turn it on her, the puppet lowered it.
While Matthias had taken over for cooking, it seemed he wasn’t one to do much cleaning. He overlooked some of the basic things in favor of what caught his eye most prominently. The cutting board was still out on the counter. The puppet lowered its hand and the knife to it, palm flat on the surface. The ex-legionnaire watched as the blade lowered over fingers, first gently. A soft press as if to test the flesh. Her stomach churned as the knife lifted again, came down faster. Not enough to fully sever fingers from hand, but enough that the crunch of bone could be heard.
A splatter of blood flashed up onto Isabel’s face, painting her sallow skin red. The blade didn’t lose much of its shine as the puppet swung again, the clack of the knife hitting the wooden board beneath filling the kitchen. Blood seeped down to the floor, rolling in thick pools. The knife clattered to the floor as the puppet regarded its work. A smile too wide stretched Isabel’s lips as it saw that it was good.
Outside thunder clapped. The door opened. And the puppet collapsed once more as the woman backed out into the hall in halting steps until her back hit the wall. Footsteps thudded through the entrance.
“That storm drain sent us some goodies —” Matthias’ expression was only marginally brighter than she’d seen in days, but it dimmed the minute their eyes met.
The creature had done good work, indeed.
Work so good that the woman couldn't even warn him not to get close. The man was upon his wife faster than she'd seen anything move. Maybe that was the perk of him having grown up so well. His panic had her in his arms, large hand cradling her neck and head as he pleaded for her to tell him what happened. But when her lips moved, there were no words that left her. Just the horrid smoke of the wraith coiling through the air to slide up his nostrils and into his body.