WitchBite

Curses Three

 I was left utterly questioning and confused as to not only the size of this house, but it's configuration as well. The hallways I was led down seemed far too numerous and without a specific system of any note to guide your way. Each one filled with portraits that stared inwards with an almost palpable discontent, and only the odd few wearing clothing that resembled anything close to the current times.

A macabre feeling crawled from my spine and crept its spindly legs over my shoulders at the thought; that maybe it was specifically designed to be this way. A maddening maze, an unwinnable game, a trap for whatever poor soul was to play the mouse in a den of cats. My eyes followed this train of thought, eyeing darkened patches of wood with acute suspicion, every upturned corner of a rug was cautiously stepped over as if an invisible trip wire lay in that specific spot.

I was apprehensive; on a slow come down from the high of somehow standing up to Bethany. My instincts threatened their shaking hands over the much used panic button, readying itself to plunge my body with adrenaline at the slightest aggressive display that danced into my twitching vision.

We'd mostly travelled in silence, Elizabeth and I, as we navigated the halls of this house. She led the way confidently, quietly. The clack of her heels just barely noticeable, and I wondered if my own heartbeat was the loudest thing here. Her arm was hooked around mine comfortably, conjuring images of Victorian spring walks by the riverside or through esoterically cultured parks. It soothed my panicked soul somewhat, musing over such imaginations. I think I'd rather suit a cane and bowler hat. White gloves and a well-tailored suit. This is all assuming I was a wealthy socialite in Victorian times of course. Which I most certainly would not be. No; I'd be closer to the near homeless boy asking to spit shine your shoes, or the greased up warehouse employee, lamenting over becoming obsolete thanks to a new machine, while collecting my teeth that'd fallen out to lack of hygiene available. One can dream though.

Eventually she relinquished my arm, as we stopped in front of a dark wooded door. It's handle made of a blackened metal, spiralled outwards in a manner that made you think of flowers, which she gripped with the gentle gloves of her hand and opened it.

It swung inwards as we both entered, I was met with the pleasing, whimsical, scent of old books. The room was taller than I expected. Books plastered each and every surface, challengingly tempting as their spines displayed their contents in proud shimmering fonts of gold or silver. Some were piled five or more high, atop desks and tables. Errant papers or marks growing out over their pages, like familial placeholders. A gentle stream of pale light, cut softly through a gap in the heavy curtains that blocked the large, arched window on the far side of the room.

Elizabeth led me to a comforting table, tucked neatly in one corner of the room. It was curiously decorated like the outside of a cafe, or pub garden. A soft, round, wooden table with chairs adjacent from each other, and a small hole in it's centre where one would plant an umbrella or shade. A lantern hangs nailed and fastened to the brick wall, a half melted candle on it's inside, and a green and red canopy is just above that, stretching over the table in its entirety like it was to protect us from the sun above. There lay another, small, candle on the side closest to the wall, also half melted, and a few books just beside that.

I couldn't help but smile at the scene, it was nice, and oddly romantic.

"Sit if you'd like" Her voice rang sweetly, as she tucked her dress beneath her and took a seat on one of the metal chairs that squeaked ever so slightly.

"Thank you" I replied, suddenly becoming very aware of my manners. My eyes darted over the spines of the books that lay on the table beside me. 'The Secret Storm's End,' 'Witch Eyes.' Somehow I expected books of sorrowful poetry or philosophy, and yet I find works of fiction. I'm not sure why it sparks my curiosity so, I guess it's just grounding to find evidence of, what I would consider, normalcy in this enigmatic and powerful figure before me. "You like to read then?" I ask