Categories > Anime/Manga > Weiss Kreuz > Schwarz Kreuz: Spawnverse
AN: For a Halloween challenge. Let's do the time warp. Placed after Exodus for reference purposes but takes place way back when...
*
"Are you a hostage?" Cailin asked, eyes wide and dark. Burnt amber studying a problem, not sure if they wanted it to make sense. "If you are, then I'm not supposed to talk to you. It's against the rules."
And she was already breaking a rule now, wandering deep into the attic like this. Eight year olds weren't supposed to climb all the way up here, especially not by themselves. But there had been that horrible noise, muted and shifting. Not going away, until she couldn't help but see what was causing it. Because it didn't seem /right/, those sounds.
And the cause was so still-calm now.
There was a woman sitting bound on an old chair, seated like a queen on her throne, right beside the small, circular window. She could have watched the world outside but she didn't. Cobwebs and forgotten dust appeared in patches around the large room, this place so far removed from everything else.
No one came up into the attic anymore, not really. Only for the occasional safekeeping of scared dolls. Then it was a bustled of motion, a grown up always stomping up or stomping down, phone calls exchanged and long hours until money or satisfaction arrived. Certainly no one paid attention to the room's other occupants, even during those times. Just a few trunks and duffel bags tossed to the side, faded grey and dull black with long lost letters. Just remnants from a lifetime ago.
She'd asked her Da once, what was in those treasure boxes, and that's what her Da had said. "Only a lifetime..."
Only, only. Nothing of importance.
"Hello?"
Chains rattled, a hesitant slide of metal against metal. A frown on her pretty face, Cailin took a few steps forward. Her foot hit a patch of drained sunlight that had snuck past the room's defenses and scrawled across the floorboard. Hastily, she stepped around it as if it would burn her if it grew too attached.
There were no shadows in the attic, except where there shouldn't be.
The bound woman moaned suddenly behind the cloth wrapped around her mouth, dainty lace and rust-brown stains tied tightly. She might have been familiar, with copper-red curls escaping from a veil and a line of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose.
And her /eyes/, when they stared at the young girl. Strong and wondering and faraway.
"You were making a lot of noise," Cailin scolded softly, hands clasped behind her back and leaning forward to better glance at his new-familiar face. "Are you afraid? Or maybe lonely? Who are you?"
It was too silent now.
Glassy eyes turned, sharply, suddenly, to stare into her own gold gaze. There was a flicker of something, almost understanding, but it was gone in moment. Hands started to claw at carved armrests, slow at first but faster and faster, figure shaking and wailing in a high keen. The whole room shook then tightened, walls pulled in like a momentary playhouse within the confines of their home.
With a startled yelp, Cailin fell back on her hands, breathing hard and frantic for the first time in her life. It wasn't right, none of this was right. She crawled backwards, getting dust allover her apple-red dress. This didn't happen in her house. The air was wrong, with the damp scent of age-/green rain dried blood/.
"Stop it!" she yelled because someone downstairs would notice. Had to have felt this happening.
"You're not very nice," she said even louder, quite sure of herself, "and you make too much noise!"
Arms reached out for her then, dirt stains and rough scrapes from a path that wasn't there. Cailin had felt those once, when she's tripped and fallen at the park. But these were worse, so much worse, and older by far. Reaching, closer, fingers curling like dead spider-legs. Crying like a nursery rhyme that no one knew. Mouth moving beneath stained lace, poppet poppet again and again, a new type of prayer. And Cailin could only watch and see and drag her nails across the wood floor until splinters caught and pinched.
One dug too deep on her soft fingertip, a drop of blood running over onto the ground in a smeared line.
Pain.
Fear.
Sorrow.
Calm fell.
Cailin stared up at the writhing woman, eyes that seemed empty but still pleading for something, and bit her lip. There was a gleam of sickly wetness across the lady's stomach, staining her black dress as much as it could.
She didn't stay to help. She simply turned and ran without looking back, bounding down stairs-picking herself up each time she fell-and not pausing until she was safe, sitting on her Da's lap as he ran scarred fingers through her hair. Sweet lilting words, because she was his princess and eventually she realized that nothing could hurt her.
But it still wasn't until later, much later, that she tugged on her Da's hand and told him. Hushed girl whispers soothed by his deep brogue. And she'd held that scarred hand as he led her up the stairs again, where everything was quiet but for the murmur of her cousins and the laughter of her uncles. Their own patch-work world, far better than any other.
Door sliding open, room sprayed red-orange by the setting sun, turning every corner and wall beautiful.
There, Da, she told him and pointed to the chair, chains now limp and empty. Waiting for the next lover they would hold.
And a crucifix, those precious inches away, tarnished with a hint of green. Patiently sitting for someone to stumble upon and remember.
What is it, she asked as her Da held its beads in his palm, cross swinging in a slow pattern. He took it and walked to a far corner, to a worn leather bag filled with clovers and rain.
It disappeared inside the shadows and Cailin knew she'd never see it again.
"Nothing of importance."
*
"Are you a hostage?" Cailin asked, eyes wide and dark. Burnt amber studying a problem, not sure if they wanted it to make sense. "If you are, then I'm not supposed to talk to you. It's against the rules."
And she was already breaking a rule now, wandering deep into the attic like this. Eight year olds weren't supposed to climb all the way up here, especially not by themselves. But there had been that horrible noise, muted and shifting. Not going away, until she couldn't help but see what was causing it. Because it didn't seem /right/, those sounds.
And the cause was so still-calm now.
There was a woman sitting bound on an old chair, seated like a queen on her throne, right beside the small, circular window. She could have watched the world outside but she didn't. Cobwebs and forgotten dust appeared in patches around the large room, this place so far removed from everything else.
No one came up into the attic anymore, not really. Only for the occasional safekeeping of scared dolls. Then it was a bustled of motion, a grown up always stomping up or stomping down, phone calls exchanged and long hours until money or satisfaction arrived. Certainly no one paid attention to the room's other occupants, even during those times. Just a few trunks and duffel bags tossed to the side, faded grey and dull black with long lost letters. Just remnants from a lifetime ago.
She'd asked her Da once, what was in those treasure boxes, and that's what her Da had said. "Only a lifetime..."
Only, only. Nothing of importance.
"Hello?"
Chains rattled, a hesitant slide of metal against metal. A frown on her pretty face, Cailin took a few steps forward. Her foot hit a patch of drained sunlight that had snuck past the room's defenses and scrawled across the floorboard. Hastily, she stepped around it as if it would burn her if it grew too attached.
There were no shadows in the attic, except where there shouldn't be.
The bound woman moaned suddenly behind the cloth wrapped around her mouth, dainty lace and rust-brown stains tied tightly. She might have been familiar, with copper-red curls escaping from a veil and a line of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose.
And her /eyes/, when they stared at the young girl. Strong and wondering and faraway.
"You were making a lot of noise," Cailin scolded softly, hands clasped behind her back and leaning forward to better glance at his new-familiar face. "Are you afraid? Or maybe lonely? Who are you?"
It was too silent now.
Glassy eyes turned, sharply, suddenly, to stare into her own gold gaze. There was a flicker of something, almost understanding, but it was gone in moment. Hands started to claw at carved armrests, slow at first but faster and faster, figure shaking and wailing in a high keen. The whole room shook then tightened, walls pulled in like a momentary playhouse within the confines of their home.
With a startled yelp, Cailin fell back on her hands, breathing hard and frantic for the first time in her life. It wasn't right, none of this was right. She crawled backwards, getting dust allover her apple-red dress. This didn't happen in her house. The air was wrong, with the damp scent of age-/green rain dried blood/.
"Stop it!" she yelled because someone downstairs would notice. Had to have felt this happening.
"You're not very nice," she said even louder, quite sure of herself, "and you make too much noise!"
Arms reached out for her then, dirt stains and rough scrapes from a path that wasn't there. Cailin had felt those once, when she's tripped and fallen at the park. But these were worse, so much worse, and older by far. Reaching, closer, fingers curling like dead spider-legs. Crying like a nursery rhyme that no one knew. Mouth moving beneath stained lace, poppet poppet again and again, a new type of prayer. And Cailin could only watch and see and drag her nails across the wood floor until splinters caught and pinched.
One dug too deep on her soft fingertip, a drop of blood running over onto the ground in a smeared line.
Pain.
Fear.
Sorrow.
Calm fell.
Cailin stared up at the writhing woman, eyes that seemed empty but still pleading for something, and bit her lip. There was a gleam of sickly wetness across the lady's stomach, staining her black dress as much as it could.
She didn't stay to help. She simply turned and ran without looking back, bounding down stairs-picking herself up each time she fell-and not pausing until she was safe, sitting on her Da's lap as he ran scarred fingers through her hair. Sweet lilting words, because she was his princess and eventually she realized that nothing could hurt her.
But it still wasn't until later, much later, that she tugged on her Da's hand and told him. Hushed girl whispers soothed by his deep brogue. And she'd held that scarred hand as he led her up the stairs again, where everything was quiet but for the murmur of her cousins and the laughter of her uncles. Their own patch-work world, far better than any other.
Door sliding open, room sprayed red-orange by the setting sun, turning every corner and wall beautiful.
There, Da, she told him and pointed to the chair, chains now limp and empty. Waiting for the next lover they would hold.
And a crucifix, those precious inches away, tarnished with a hint of green. Patiently sitting for someone to stumble upon and remember.
What is it, she asked as her Da held its beads in his palm, cross swinging in a slow pattern. He took it and walked to a far corner, to a worn leather bag filled with clovers and rain.
It disappeared inside the shadows and Cailin knew she'd never see it again.
"Nothing of importance."
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