Written for: Myths and Legends: Write about the ghost of a child who has 'unfinished business'. The ghost cannot be a poltergeist.
Written for: Fanfiction World Adventures II: France Notre Dame de Paris Prompts: (word) gothic, (word) lady, (word) unworthy, (object) stained glass window
Can you guess who the stange young girl is? Let me know :) I hope you like it.
She was a Lady. Her large, gothic dress shaped her elegant body. Black strings wrapped around the dark red bodice, tightened until every breath hurt. The gown fell over her dark shoes that lifted her height only a few inches. She held her chin tall; her controlled blonde hair braided and tucked in a neat bun on the top of her head. Her walk was strong, confident.
She looked like the type of Lady that attended events with Queen Victoria.
A Lady like her was rare in these parts. A Lady like her should be inside a large house surrounded by servants and governesses tending to her every need. A Lady like her should not be walking around the streets of London towards to ruins of a once majestic church. It wasn't proper.
If one looked close at the Lady approaching the ruins—not that anyone was around to do so—they would be able to recognise the Lady and would become more confused at her presence in the area. The Lady, with her cold mask of indifference plastered on her face, had once visited this church. When it was alive and thriving, she'd visit with her family in her Sunday dress.
She was there when it burned to the ground, taking her young sister with it.
When she arrived at the church ruins, she stared for a brief moment, taking a deep breath—though not as deep as she would have liked to with her constricting dress.
The church still held its frame, and even some of the stain-glass windows were intact. The mud bricks, stained with smoke and ash, still formed a large hall. The broken shadows created an eerie contrast against the evening light travelling through the stain glass windows and onto the stone steps.
The Lady's hands held a slight tremble, but she managed to still them after clenching them into fists. She brushed a stay strand of hair from her eyes only for the gentle breeze to brush it back into her eyes.
"Are you coming, Lady Daphne?" a voice drifted out of the dark hall.
The Lady—Lady Daphne—scowled at the whimsical voice, forgetting her wayward hair. She took her first step inside, not letting herself be proven to be a coward. Still, the tremor in her limbs, even if it wasn't visible, was hard to ignore.
Stepping into the hall, Daphne spotted the woman who'd spoken. Younger than herself, the girl was perhaps fifteen. At sixteen, and already thinking about marriage, Daphne saw the girl as just a child. Yet, there was something full-grown about the girl.
An old soul, her grandmother would say if she were still around.
"I am here, as you asked." Daphne's voice was regal, royal. She stared at the girl with hair as pale as the moon and intertwined with trimmings from all sorts of trees and flowers. Her large earrings and bright dress hurt Daphne's eyes, and she showed her distaste with only a slight sneer on her lips.
The girl smiled. "You are." The girl moved forward only a step. She knelt down and placed her hands on the dusty ground, tracing a pattern in the grime with her ring finger.
"Why am I here?" Daphne snapped when it was obvious the girl would not be speaking again. "Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter who I am," the girl said, ignoring her first question and maintaining her focus on the ground. "I am unworthy of such attention."
"Then why am I here?" Daphne was losing all patience she had. "You said it was about my sister, and I demand to know what you mean!" Her voice was almost at a yell, but her training wouldn't allow such a lack of control to slip through her lips. She slid her hands down the front of her dress, smoothing out imaginary creases as she tried to sooth her nerves.
The girl didn't seem at all bothered by Daphne's attitude. Rather, she seemed almost amused. "You will find out soon," she said as she stood from the ground. Running a careful hand through her hair, the girl pulled out a long branch with silver leaves that glowed in the ever dimming light.
"Wormwood," the girl whispered, seemingly talking to herself. "It will be the catalyst."
"The catalyst for what?" Daphne's voice was no longer confident and demanding. The girl's actions seemed wrong, unnatural; the actions of a person against God. Daphne wished she'd stayed at home, behind the tall walls and eating a warm dinner with her mother. She glanced to the stain glass window and wondered how much longer until it would be full night.
"It's time," the girl said, turning to face Daphne.
Daphne scowled at being ignored once again. She opened her mouth to demand answers to her questions when a bright, white light filled the room. Daphne brought a hand up to cover her eyes, and she took a step back without a making a conscious decision to do so. A wind picked up inside the broken walls of the church, and there was a high pitched whirl that made Daphne's brain itch. She wanted to scream, to cry, but she felt frozen on the spot as the light continued to grow brighter and brighter, burning her eyes.
As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Daphne kept her eyes close, unsure what she would see if she opened them, but a quiet sound registered in the sudden silence. It was so calm compared to the previous chaos, but it made her heartbeat increase. When she felt the gentle heat against her skin, Daphne realised why the sound was so familiar. Her eyes flew open, and a scream tore itself from her lips.
Flames rose around her, soft and controlled, muffled, but just as terrifying as if they were a loud roar. Tapestries she remembered once hanging on the walls of the church were burning again all around her. The walls that had been broken only moments ago, were now tall and strong like they'd just been built, but the flames were slowly destroying them again. It was as if her memories and her nightmares had joined forces to become one living hell in this moment.
"Do not be scared, Lady Daphne," a soft voice said from beside her. "The flames won't hurt you like before."
Daphne brought a hand to her side where—even through the dress—she could feel the puckered and raised skin. She shivered as her hand traced the scars, but the sound of wood cracking brought Daphne back to the present.
"What have you done?" she shrieked as she tore her mind from the agony of that day. All thoughts of control fled as her eyes darted around the burning room. She caught sight of a window that exploded as her eyes connected with it. She flinched away, but the glass fell harmlessly around her without a sound.
"This is not my own doing," the girl said with compassion that seemed wrong now. "It's the only way she can form."
Daphne brought incredulous eyes around to look at the girl who looked too calm in the situation. "Form? What—"
"Ne Ne?"
Everything seemed to freeze when she heard the young voice saying a name she thought she would never hear again. Without moving her body, Daphne scanned every inch of the room until her eyes rested on a glowing form sitting on a pew that hadn't been there before. It was facing forward close to the front and stared forwards, nodding like there was a person speaking the Lord's good words to her.
"Astoria?" Daphne whispered in a broken voice.
The form twisted around until the head was facing forward. Daphne looked into the eyes of her long dead sister, and she wasn't sure if she should scream or cry.
"Ne Ne, come sit."
Daphne heard the words, but the ghost's lips didn't move except to smile in the way only her sister could. Daphne let out a muffled sob, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. The surrounding flames didn't matter anymore, the girl didn't either. It was only Daphne and her little sister who she wasn't able to protect.
"Go on," the girl whispered behind her. "She needs to speak with you."
Daphne takes a step forward, and another. She barely noticed the strange girl disappear out the church with a small nod and a gentle smile, too focused on the form in front of her. Before she knew it, she was standing beside the ghostly form of her sister, staring at her with a mixture of emotions Daphne was unable to describe. One emotion was clear above all the rest, though. Horror.
Now that she was close enough to really see her sister, Daphne could see the disfiguration on her skin. The mark of burning, melting flesh as clear as a sky without clouds. Astoria was slowing burning in front of Daphne's eyes.
"Sit down, Ne Ne." Astoria didn't seem bothered by the burning building or her melting flesh, but Daphne couldn't pull her eyes away from the sight.
"Why don't you call me Tori?" Astoria asked when Daphne settled herself on the spot next to Astoria.
Daphne couldn't prevent the tears from falling even if she wanted to. Her little sister, only six years old, was dying in front of her all over again. "I. . . I'm so so sorry, Astoria. I can't call you Tori, I just. . . I let you die."
Astoria's features contorted into a frown, and her glowing body leaned forward as if to lean her head on Daphne's shoulder. A piece of burned dress brushed against Daphne's shoulder, sending a chill down Daphne's spine.
"You didn't let me die," Astoria said with a childlike whine in her voice.
Daphne shook her head and covered her ears with her hands. She felt like she was eight years old again, not the educated, controlled Lady she was only half an hour ago. Her vision blurred and she blinked desperately to clear it. She couldn't allow herself to look away, no matter how sick the sight of her burning sister made her. It's the least of what I deserve.
"You could not have saved my life." Astoria's voice floated into her mind. "It was my time to go, but not yours."
Daphne shook her head side to side to side. She couldn't allow herself to believe such lies. She killed her sister. She deserved all punishments that the Lord dished out to her, including watching her sister burn.
"Daphne," Astoria spoke her full name, capturing Daphne's attention and holding it. "I needed to die, but you needed to live." Astoria leaned forward even more and placed a small hand over Daphne's knee. Daphne gasped when she felt impossible love flow through her like heat from the sun.
"You need to live for both of us, Ne Ne."
Daphne blinked her eyes as the tears continued to fall and slowly lowered her hands from her ears. She stared at Astoria, looking past the burning flesh, the torn dress. She really looked into her sister's ghostly eyes and saw the peace resting in there.
"You're happy?" Daphne asked in a rough, weak voice.
"I will be once I'm able to move on."
Daphne clenched her fists in her dress, not minding the creases that were sure to form, and stared at Astoria. "How can I help?"
"My necklace, the one you gave me." Astoria's pale hand drifted towards her neck almost unconsciously. "I remember hiding it before I fell asleep for the last time. I was curled in that corner, and I buried it deep in the bricks." Astoria's hand and eyes moved from her neck and pointed towards the corner behind where the altar once was.
"You want me to get it?" Daphne asked.
Astoria turned her eyes back to Daphne's and softened. "I want you to wear it at all times and remember me as I was. Happy." Astoria's hand moved until it was brushing against Daphne's cheek where a loose strand of hair lay. She didn't touch Daphne, but a soft wind picked up the stand and tucked it into Daphne's messy bun.
Daphne closed her eyes and nodded. "Oaky," she whispered. "Okay, I'll wear it, always." Daphne sniffled, wiped a hand across her face, and looked up to her sister's smiling face.
"Thank you, Ne Ne."
A soft wind picked up, and Astoria stood from her seat. She turned, looked up to the stained glass window above the entrance to the church. The moment she stood, the fire died down until it was back to the ruined church Daphne had walked into that evening. She glanced at Daphne for a moment, and Daphne was relieved to see her sister's clear skin and unblemished dress.
"I love you, Ne Ne. I'll be waiting."
Daphne found herself unable to speak with the lump in her throat, but for the first time since she was that eight-year-old girl, Daphne smiled. She didn't need words to show how she felt, she could tell that Astoria knew.
In the next instant, Astoria was gone, and Daphne felt a peace she'd never felt before. She stood and approached the corner her sister pointed out. Kneeling on the floor like a Lady never should, Daphne dug her fingers into the ash filled crevices until her hand latched onto something metal.
Pulling, Daphne found herself cradling the thin chain with a small blue stone hanging off it. The stone was covered in dust, and there was a small crack down the centre, but Daphne barely noticed. She ran a hand over the small stone before undoing the latch of the necklace and locking it around her neck.
Standing up, holding onto the stone with one hand, Daphne smiled through her tears. "I'll never forget you, Tori."
(w.c 2,326)
WolfWinks-xx-