The flame of the candle flickered. The slight motion captured Miriam’s attention. Raising her eyes from the ink-blotted paper, she peered over the rim of her glasses. Strands of her auburn hair had fallen loose. A melancholy sigh escaped her lips as she watched the flame dance. Then darkness fell. The flame had been extinguished by a draft of air. The room remained illuminated by the moonlight streaming through a closed window.
Her aunt’s house had always been drafty. Miriam recalled her childhood visits to the manor. Endless drafty rooms full of neglected and forlorn furniture. Another waft of cool air brushed against her neck, sending chills down her spine. She shivered. Since her aunt’s death the manor seemed gloomier. An eerie presence lingered within the very fibers of the house. Miriam placed her pen back into its ornate holder. Sliding open a drawer she proceeded to look for a box of matches to relight the candle. No such luck, there was not a match in sight. Annoyed, she slammed the drawer shut. Miriam considered walking to her room for the box in her nightstand. She was hesitant to wander the halls in such a dim light. She knew there was no other choice, the ledger was needed by the solicitor in the morning. Her aunt’s financials had been in such disarray. It would take the remainder of the night to finish sorting through it all. Rising from the desk an odd clicking caught her attention. Holding her breath as she listened carefully. The clicking rattle of an object rolling across the floor grew louder. Peering over the top of the desk, she could not find the source. Slowly, she walked around the desk surveying the floor for anything that could have made the sound. It was empty. No sign of anything other than a rug in the center of the room. The sound had stopped, as well. The door creaked, leaving it slightly ajar. Her eyes focused on the hallway. There was only darkness. The moonlight was too bright for the hallway to be so dark. She saw something move from within the door frame. The movement was followed by the clicking rattle. Slowly a pen rolled across the floor, pausing at the tip of her shoes. Her heart raced and eyes widened as she stared down at the pen. Quickly looking looked toward the desk at the holder to confirm her assumption. The pen was not there because it lay at her feet. She felt dizzy with questions. Gooseflesh prickled her skin as she looked down at the pen before her. It had rolled toward her from the hallway. Slowly she walked toward the door. “H-hello? Is anyone there? This is not at all amusing,” she called out. She would be furious if the servants were playing such childish pranks. She reached a hand out, grasping the door handle. Pulling it open slightly, she peered into the hallway. Something grasped her dress pulling her into the blackened hall. The door slammed shut behind her. Her screams echoed throughout the house, then faded into the night.
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The sound of scraping stilled her heart. She held her breath. He was coming. It had to be him. The scraping grew louder. She spied a large wardrobe on the far side of the room. A large sheet draped across. She began to work her way through the tower of sheet-covered furniture. She paused. The notion occurred to her he would look there first. It was obvious. She looked around frantically for another spot. A sofa lay nearby with boxes piled on top.
The tears rolled down her burning cheeks. Her eyes stung from the heat within her. She had been running and the exertion had drained her. Marianne drew in deep breaths to calm her beating heart. Her chest screamed with each breath. Her lungs confined in the tight corset threatened to burst. Wiping the tears from her face, she frantically looked for a place to hide. She had found an unlocked door in the mansion. She was fortunate to have found a forgotten room. The scraping rung in her ears, he was even nearer to the room. She glanced toward the door. Had she closed it? Had she bothered to lock it? There was no time now. She hurried to the sofa. Getting down on the floor in corset and dress was not an easy task. She lay on her stomach scooting herself beneath the covered sofa. She could see some the flooring through the small gap between sheet and floor. The scraping stopped. She tried not to panic. “Marianne…I know you’re near. Dearest Marianne,” his deep voice called. Silence followed. She closed her eyes as her heart beat frantically. “Dearest Marianne,” the voice pleaded. The doorknob jiggled. Her heart stopped. The creak of the door signaled it had been opened. His boots thumped on the floorboards with each step. She trembled as she could see his boots across the room. He stopped. Was he listening? Each breath was painful as she tried to be silent. Tears filled her eyes. He turned. She could see his boots draw nearer. “Marianne. My dove. I do not like playing such childish games. Nor does Frederick.” At the mention of Frederick’s name her heart sunk. She peeked down to see if she could make out where he was. Something fell and rolled toward her. She locked her gaze with a pair of eyes staring back. She screamed. Fredrick’s bloody head stared back at her. Are the shades of my beating heart to thus be polluted?
My soul aches. Deeply it's torn asunder. Callous disregard leaves way for the vestiges of me to pour forth. It spews violently, Leaving me empty, Leaving me frail. You have plunged thy icy dagger into my core. You did not retract, Nay - you have left it to broaden the wound. No recompense can be allotted for such a betrayal. The very fabric, the fibers of our alliance has been marred. Would you have but spat into my face I would have turned mine cheek. Yet what remains is thus left gaping. Do you not see I am mortally wounded? The rose of thine eyes lay intact. You are blinded by denial. I lay here shattered. Pieces scattered to the four corners of the world. Yet you go on. You persist where there is naught. The cold envelops me, I hunger for the embrace of its darkness. Release of pain ebbs upon my lips. So callous are you to turn from me. To exist as though there is no wound. Your eyes avoid what your heart knows to be true. I lay here shattered. |
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Escape into Insanity
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