Capture

The room smelled stale, musty, dry, a flicker of candle snuff hanging in the air from a single or two white wax columns which had been thwarted previously by the wrath of The Original. He roused from a sickly sleep now, the rattle of chains making him feel delusional. The scent of witchy herbs grew prominent in the air and his nose wrinkled with disgust. Was it over yet? His mind panged with agony but his limbs were not free to caress. His mother had been prodding away in his mind for who knew how many incessant hours. He felt like he'd been here for days. Had he?

Elijah groaned softly, the candle light teasing his eyelids open. They sputtered hazily and he attempted to scan the blurry room. He could feel the heat cling to him from the several candles which remained alight engulfing him. His head still hung low, it felt too heavy to lift and the burden of his slumped body formed an accentuated pain at both his wrists. He didn't need to look to know the shackles were caked with lines of his blood for some fresh drops even now trickled down his arm, ignorantly increasing his unease.

Elijah now attempted to drag his aching feet, to straighten himself into a position that felt even the slightest bit less deranged. It was no use. He knew Esther was weakening him with her magic somehow as he looked down at his battered and flayed shirt. His chest was marked with agonizing lines. Some sort of blood ritual he assumed, hissing at himself at acknowledging this pain. The more he awakened the more every factor of anguish became more distinct; the cramp at the soles of his feet, the horrific twitch in his palm, the thirst lining his throat. He felt the sudden urge to roar with every fibre of energy left inside him but then methodically forced himself to decide against it.

The several bursts of twinge dancing mockingly up his body were only bewildering him more. He tried to fight to remain calm as pathetic as it sounded in his head. However as he ineffectively tried to battle with the army of pain impulses and their pointed spears, a spur most suddenly blasted over him. His vampire instincts were expanding now as he grew more alert and that scent...that scent...

Elijah's mind spun. That beautiful scent of the woody outdoors crushed freesias, irises, the bayou flowers... that sensuous faint wispy smell, fresh and soft but firm and strong. It smashed around him like fireworks and he blinked repeatedly.

"Hayley..." he breathed and then his eyes scrunched shut.

I'm going insane. He cried inside wanting to desperately to clasp the sides of his forehead and in turn tear out his dark strands of hair. He feared Esther had caused too much damage. Was he still hallucinating? Was this even reality? He grit his teeth, jaw line clenching, his eyes watering with frustration but still the scent wafted to him and he drank it in like a drug addict suffering from withdrawal.

Now this is torture. Elijah growled at himself inside, his fingers tingling to project the woman to who the scent belonged before him, to touch her.

He felt as if he would sob but then his heart stopped abrupt.

A timid murmur snapped into his ears and then a rustle, but Elijah forced himself to block the sound regardless to the fact that he could recognise that frequency anywhere. He simply felt this was another sign of madness.

Yet unaware to him...a metre and a half away, lay his bespoke brand of antidote...