Is this what it's going to be like?
Floating here. Floating here forever? The ice is cold to the touch, it chills my flesh. My hands are rid of any color, barely a tinge of pink remains. Somehow I know this, although I haven't opened my eyes yet. Not since Mary's daughter sealed the well. Not since then.
I hear voices sometimes. Voices of the realms. They speak to me, as they did once. Once, when I was young, and I still had Mary with me. Or should I say, Virgina. She'll never be Virgina to me, though. She will forever be Mary Dowd, a scared school girl too afraid to fight for power, to fight for the choices she thought she had.
My senses wander from the cold to the quiet. There is nothing to hear. If I could find the strength to speak, I would begin reciting poetry, books, epics, stories, anything to keep myself sane. I no longer wish to listen to the murmers of the realms' creatures. No more listening to the whispers of magic, or conspirices, or the sounds of change. Sometimes all I hear is water, slowing circulating, and sometimes it is the crackling of ice.
I can breathe somehow. I thought that as I fell, I would die. I would die as I thought I would once. As I should have. As Mary has. But no, I live. And I breathe in the water of my entombing cage.
Gemma. The girl I fear I grew to care for. Her spirit, her spunk. Her pale skin. Her red-gold hair. Her glass green, upturned eyes.
Perhaps if I had not been dismissed from Spence, I could have been with her longer. Heard her stories, and had grown closer to her, learned of her. Perhaps we could have truly been friends. I knew who she was the moment I saw her. But not at Spence. I saw her for the first time on the streets of India, with a monkey.
Damn Mary for betraying me as she did. She was kind enough to send me a letter, asking for me to come. I, of course, was surprised. Mary, now donning the name Virgina, sent for me, calling me Sarah, as I had once been called. And, of course, I followed. I came to her, even when I did not know fully what I was doing. Soon as I came, soon as I came looking, the Rakshana were about, after me. They must have seen me somewhere, for as I walked, I could feel them trailing me, watching me. I ended up on a street corner, and for a moment, saw the girl, who I would know as Gemma, standing with her servant and mother before a monkey.
They are quarreling, I had come to realize. They were talking about a trip, a return. She wanted to go to London. I would normally have been pleased that Mary was a mother, blessed with the good fortune to have such a lovely daughter, but no. Anger had built up in me, and I am suddenly furious. I could feel the Rakshana growing closer, so quickly, I slipped into a shop unnoticed, hopefully. She, my dear sister Mary had given me up.
My heart had been broken somehow, and I watched as a man, one that I recognized as the Rakshana that had been trailing me, speaks to Mary. Warns her.
I remember my eyes flashing with rage, and soon, Mary was beginning to send her daughter off, before the daughter ran off on her own, angry, resentful, just as I had been.
I block out the rest of it. The suicide of the woman that I still think of as my best friend. The murder, in my mind. And I can't help but remember that it was in a blind rage that I... I inspired my best friend, my sister's death.
So here I am, lying less than peacefully under the water of a cursed well. This is what I deserve, is it not? It is cold, and I am reminded once more of the chilling winters of Spence. My head is rushing, but nothing is there to soothe. All I am able to see is the blackness of my eyelids, as I am still unable to move.
With a shock of fear, I feel as if I'm being watched. My hair, my dark hair floats around me, and I try to listen. The icy water creates a barriar, perhaps ice itself, and I can feel the deathly cold as I have never felt before.
"You're dead", I can hear. It is Gemma's frightened voice, heavy with fear and doubt. "I killed you," she says, afraid.
And suddenly, I feel the strength to open my eyes, my mouth. I find my voice, and it comes out courser and darker than what I intend. "You're wrong, Gemma. I live."
The moment is gone. I am floating alone again, eyes slowly closing out the light, voice lost again to the silence. I wish only to speak and keep myself entertained, but I am not worthy of such luxaries I find. I am to be doomed forever, I suppose, living through my sins and misdeeds, wondering what would have been if I had chosen differently. There is no going back, only moving forward, however here I am, with no where to move forward to.
Only death. And hell. And maybe, perhaps, a glimpse of Gemma once more, or even my lovely Mary. I am lost in a sea of sadness, a sea of loss, a sea of endless bitterness. Mary, for that is what Mary means. I am lost in my regrets to everyone, but mostly, to my only true friend, sister, and family. I need not God's forgiveness, I need only yours.
Circe, formally Sarah Rees-Toome