The Godmother

34. hello, evil

Dim light from the night sky echoed shadows across a steep valley that Elizabeth was buried in. Trees that reached the clouds above loomed over her shedding tales of lives, the things that they had seen, imprinted in the dirty moss, bark and weeds that ran up and down their spines.

The secretive whispers of the animals that lived beneath bushes and inbetween the light vexed over the forest. A thin creek, less than a metre wide, drifted fresh water from the meadows above. Following the water Northward would lead her to Berat, from there, she'd walk the roads between the two small villages until she came across the infamous, rich, Jorkins' Mansion.

But for now, it was dark.

Elizabeth had set a temperature charm over her body to maintain the warmth emanating from her skin. She sighed, pondering. She felt like a starving man in a grocery store. Answers all around yet she needed to yield the coins in order to unlock.

It began to hurt to breathe. Her legs, rushing for the moment that her head would finally allow her body to sit down and sleep.

The hurt hugged her in ways that no human could. Enveloped her in a sense of misery that only misery could conceive. It was good to be human. It was good to feel. To know that she was alive. It helped her keep walking through the dense trees, untouched by civilisation. Only the birds had been here. Wild animals with no democracy or establishments to rake them into line.

Her insides churned until they felt as still as butter. Uneasiness set around her. Dead trees. Night sky.

She tripped over a branch, unseen by the light emitted from the tip of her wand. She collapsed. Too tired to get up. Her muscles ached.

Breath heavy with the influence of loneliness. Consumed by the trees. The nature. The poetry of dying while still being alive. How much closer was she to the earth? How much closer was she to finding answers? The way it felt on the tip of her tongue. Dense and unbroken, like a ravaging curse or an eternal lock. A secret that time had forgotten.

Consciousness became a blessing that was unwary of being sane. Drifting in and out.

Elizabeth hadn't drank enough water. Hadn't had enough sleep. The effects of Ingrid's potion were wearing off. Elizabeth was becoming a walking ghost. Climbing hilly mountainsides that turned into open plains of wheat fields.

Her goal never strayed. Never turned away. The only thing that she could see in her mind was Sirius. 16-year-old, freshly trimmed hair without the grin on his face. He was just looking now. Eyes wide. She could see the pips of black, like olives, staring out into the abyss of space that her soul stood. Hands dug deep into the pockets of his expensive dinner suit, while the wind gentle patted his clothes and ruffled against his hair.

The boy she fell in love with, standing in front of a mansion she'd never seen before. A white castle, rectangular but tall, standing in an open field of neatly trimmed grass. A grey stoned driveway led up to the mansion. A thousand windows, glaring at her like eyes. Red door. Wrap-around porch.

It wasn't his house. Sirius didn't live there. He lived in Grimmauld place, the small house, owned by the Black family. Owned by Sirius.

She'd never been there. Sirius refused. He once called it 'a place of nightmares'. The devil was instilled in the wall. Echoing through the hallway as she screamed profanities at innocent people.

James once told her when they were 12, that there were no lights in the cellar.

Why was Sirius standing in front of the mansion? In the wind? A storm was brewing overhead. Low, purple clouds wreathed towards them, overlapping like waves. Dark clouds, marching ahead.