Chapter 13- A past hidden from the world.

73 3 9
                                    

          The faint sound of Ray’s words still filled my mind with a frustration and yearning to know more. What was he going to say? Why had he taken off? I shook my head harshly, dismissing the thoughts and leaning back against the bathtub, letting the water creep over my shoulders as the scent of vanilla soap rose and filled my nose. It’s presence soothing, loosening my muscles, making my body feel in one piece again. Only one more night. Then it’ll be over. But it never would be over, whatever is happening to me will change who I am. My life and future, as a lady of London would evaporate, the promise written in sand, for the waves to wash away. The thought is something that cannot fend off the chill I feel now, remembering the transformation at it’s most vicious, it’s most merciless. I lifted my hands out of the water and inspected them in the candlelight, the marks on my wrists were gone, only the pale complexion of my skin showing through. The nails had already begun to heal, a few having been ripped off completely, now were nearly grown back to their original length. Lucy had said that her healing would work fast, but never had I imagined her ability to be so…. fast.

“Is everything okay for you?” Cooed the soft voice to indicate Lucy had returned with another dress she had promised before leaving me to my own thoughts.

I sat up and reached for the towel, “I’ll be just a moment, just admiring your work.”

“Thank you, it’s nice to know my gift is appreciated by others.” Her voice carried into the room and held a smile.

I stepped out of the bath and wrapped the towel around me, walking through the screen and slipping on my underskirts Lucy had left clean for me. The material was soft against my damp skin and hugged my body comfortably for something meant to be so tight. Lucy’s humming began to sound and I slowly walked into the bedroom. She stood at the end of the bed and gently lifted a grey dress, brushing it lightly and lying it down by the foot of the headboard. I knew she was aware I was now in the room, her shoulders tightening slightly even though her back is to me and my footsteps remained silent, another gift the transformation gives I presume. She slowly straightened up and turned, a smile on her face as she brushed down her own skirts.

“Here is the dress.” She indicated at the frock on the bed and then shrugged, “The colour is not as intense as the black but I’m afraid we lack creativity in our wardrobes. Perhaps your own influence can help make the dresses a little more creative.” The gold of her eyes glinted at the amusement and her smile lit up her face, making her strong features soften and show her youth even more.

I shrugged, “I don’t mind, honestly, it’s better than the clothes I spent the night in. I am grateful.”

Her smile widened, “Well let me help you into it, the lacing is always a pain to do by yourself.”

I smiled back and nodded, walking over to the bed and watching as she lifted the dress up into the light, letting the length of it loom over her and show her small height. The candlelight flickered against the grey and the colour shot me back to the paintings in the study, the one of battles. There was a smaller one by Papa’s chair, said to have be painted around the time of the Napoleon wars. The ships crashing through the huge seas, their sailors furiously pulling the ropes in, a few with their swords un-sheathed and raised to the sky, the grey of the clouds sharp and powerful in the array of different colors.  As the sunbeams came through the curtains, I began to see how delicate Lucy’s arms were, and the glint of a mark on her wrist. I stepped forward slightly and stared at it more. No. Not a mark. A scar. It ran from the bottom of her palm down and into the sleeve of her dress.

“How did you get that?” I gestured at the mark and Lucy followed my gaze, coming to rest on her wrist and snapping back up, her attention all for the detail of the dress as she lowered it back down and the sleeve fell back over her lower arm again.

ALMIRA THORN- Knowledge of Another Kind.    [Editing]Where stories live. Discover now