Categories > Original > Horror > Angel Moon
Play: Blackout ~ Muse
"Belle, go to bed." Logan sighed, "You'll feel awful in the morning."
I stared at him from my sentry spot on the floor, in front of the door to Caine's room. My eyes ached with tiredness, and I often drifted off to be woken again by him scratching at the door or whining. I hadn't moved, only to attend dinner, where Valentine had taken my place.
"No. Just leave, ok?" I murmured, hugging my knees to my chest as Caine tapped on the door again. Logan frowned at me, and patted me on the head.
"All right, all right. Just... Be careful. He's not his usual self, and you don't even know that side of him either. I'm out to hunt, I'll be back at dawn, sweet."
"Okay, okay. Bye dad." I didn't look up at him, but I knew it had made him smile. To me, Logan would always be my dad now. Though, Lucretia wouldn't be my mother. I didn't really know how it worked out like that, but it did. It was ironic how I thought of this just as I was about to totally disobey him. I waited until he was gone, and then turned, leaning my shoulder against the door. I knew Caine was on the other side, I could hear his ragged breathing, the low whine that sounded when he was in pain the most.
"Caine..." I whispered. "It's me. Can I come in?" There was a shuffling, scraping noise as he moved away from the door, retreating to the shadows probably. The light hurt him. I opened the door slowly, unlocking the heavy padlock placed over the iron handle with ease. The room was dim, spare a few candles in one corner, and had been torn apart. The four poster bed was draped in heavy, thick material, and I saw him lying there, gaps in the tattered curtains casting beams of the soft candle light onto his pale skin.
He stared at me blankly, and only as I stepped closer could I see how ghostly he looked. His once light grey eyes were now pools of a dark red, as if the poison had spread to even his sight. He'd caused damage to his left, and it was blackened and weeping. Also, Valentine hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that he'd been cutting himself up. Patterns of scars already covered his arms and chest, and there, just under his eye, all the way down to his jaw, was a deep crimson cut that would most definitely be a permanent feature.
"Don't look at me like that." he said, the sadness in his voice almost cutting. "Look at me with disgust or loathing or guilt but do not look at me with pity." I instantly made my face as neutral as I could, unaware that I'd been betraying anything to him. "Your face is too pretty for sorrow over a monster like me, Belle."
"Don't say that." I muttered quickly, and then fell silent again. We stared at each other for a few moments, before he looked up at the ceiling, up into space. I stayed stock still, so full of concern, but not wanting to make him feel agitated. "I came in to see how you were. I was worried." His smile of thanks was quickly tarnished by a whine of pain as he held his ribs. "Oh, Caine..." I murmured, and sat on the floor next to his bed, staring up at him, worry making my face ache. He just stared back down at me.
"Like I said, don't worry about me. I'm old, I'm dying, and I've done so many horrible things, that I most likely deserve it." he sighed, his eyes closing for a second. "And could you move, closer, I can't see you." I nervously shuffled up onto the bed from the floor, sitting gently next to him. I stared at my hands, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable.
"And don't say that, don't. You're good, you're strong, and dying is the last thing I will let you do." I murmured, daring to glanceup at him. He stared at me, looking suddenly quite sober.
"People aren't as understanding as you, you see. Just being the way I was before made people treat me differently, the people closest to me. A lot of them tried to kill me." His face, scarred as it was, still showed a sickly mixture of fear and sadness, and he looked down at the cuts on his hands. I didn't think about it, I just did what came naturally, and my pale hand reaching for his, and he twitched away from me, a little intake of breath that made his lungs ache. Looking apologetic, I stared at the floor for a brief few seconds before I felt a pull on the ends of my fingers, he held on to them gently.
"Thank you for saving me." he said quietly.
"Belle, go to bed." Logan sighed, "You'll feel awful in the morning."
I stared at him from my sentry spot on the floor, in front of the door to Caine's room. My eyes ached with tiredness, and I often drifted off to be woken again by him scratching at the door or whining. I hadn't moved, only to attend dinner, where Valentine had taken my place.
"No. Just leave, ok?" I murmured, hugging my knees to my chest as Caine tapped on the door again. Logan frowned at me, and patted me on the head.
"All right, all right. Just... Be careful. He's not his usual self, and you don't even know that side of him either. I'm out to hunt, I'll be back at dawn, sweet."
"Okay, okay. Bye dad." I didn't look up at him, but I knew it had made him smile. To me, Logan would always be my dad now. Though, Lucretia wouldn't be my mother. I didn't really know how it worked out like that, but it did. It was ironic how I thought of this just as I was about to totally disobey him. I waited until he was gone, and then turned, leaning my shoulder against the door. I knew Caine was on the other side, I could hear his ragged breathing, the low whine that sounded when he was in pain the most.
"Caine..." I whispered. "It's me. Can I come in?" There was a shuffling, scraping noise as he moved away from the door, retreating to the shadows probably. The light hurt him. I opened the door slowly, unlocking the heavy padlock placed over the iron handle with ease. The room was dim, spare a few candles in one corner, and had been torn apart. The four poster bed was draped in heavy, thick material, and I saw him lying there, gaps in the tattered curtains casting beams of the soft candle light onto his pale skin.
He stared at me blankly, and only as I stepped closer could I see how ghostly he looked. His once light grey eyes were now pools of a dark red, as if the poison had spread to even his sight. He'd caused damage to his left, and it was blackened and weeping. Also, Valentine hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that he'd been cutting himself up. Patterns of scars already covered his arms and chest, and there, just under his eye, all the way down to his jaw, was a deep crimson cut that would most definitely be a permanent feature.
"Don't look at me like that." he said, the sadness in his voice almost cutting. "Look at me with disgust or loathing or guilt but do not look at me with pity." I instantly made my face as neutral as I could, unaware that I'd been betraying anything to him. "Your face is too pretty for sorrow over a monster like me, Belle."
"Don't say that." I muttered quickly, and then fell silent again. We stared at each other for a few moments, before he looked up at the ceiling, up into space. I stayed stock still, so full of concern, but not wanting to make him feel agitated. "I came in to see how you were. I was worried." His smile of thanks was quickly tarnished by a whine of pain as he held his ribs. "Oh, Caine..." I murmured, and sat on the floor next to his bed, staring up at him, worry making my face ache. He just stared back down at me.
"Like I said, don't worry about me. I'm old, I'm dying, and I've done so many horrible things, that I most likely deserve it." he sighed, his eyes closing for a second. "And could you move, closer, I can't see you." I nervously shuffled up onto the bed from the floor, sitting gently next to him. I stared at my hands, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable.
"And don't say that, don't. You're good, you're strong, and dying is the last thing I will let you do." I murmured, daring to glanceup at him. He stared at me, looking suddenly quite sober.
"People aren't as understanding as you, you see. Just being the way I was before made people treat me differently, the people closest to me. A lot of them tried to kill me." His face, scarred as it was, still showed a sickly mixture of fear and sadness, and he looked down at the cuts on his hands. I didn't think about it, I just did what came naturally, and my pale hand reaching for his, and he twitched away from me, a little intake of breath that made his lungs ache. Looking apologetic, I stared at the floor for a brief few seconds before I felt a pull on the ends of my fingers, he held on to them gently.
"Thank you for saving me." he said quietly.
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