The Forgotten Portrait:
Chapter 2: The Melancholy of the Deep
Silence. Creeping, eerie silence—as if there was not a soul in the entire museum, though that was actually to say that as of now, it was true—not that she knew quite yet at the moment.
Eve paused, blinking as she looked around, turning back to see if the other girl had followed, wanting to call out to verify though what met her eyes was the emptiness of the halls, save for the various paintings and sculptures, of course—and all basically supposedly non-living things. There was no one here. And all she could hear was her own breathing, and the soft scratching of the rubber of her shoes on the floor from the motion, however soft it was given the deafening silence that verified that she was suddenly alone.
A feel of dread soon slowly crept up her, hand fisted near her chest as she looked around, wondering why even with these strange events happening, there was a sense of nostalgia…or perhaps de ja vu would have been more accurate. Though, try as she might, there was nothing that had come to mind except that she instinctively turned to the large piece of art, finding blue paint trickling down and oozing from the ceiling, traveling down the wall, the said colors slowly forming a message as gravity pulled,
Come, Eve.
You shall find what you seek.
She blinked, approaching the wall and reaching out to examine it, her fingers resting on the liquid that was oddly warm and a strange but familiar viscosity and consistency that reminded her of something else that was a little more than just disturbing, for now pursing her lips, wondering whether she should even heed the message, despite the fact that logic was telling her that she wouldn't really like what was to come. Except, there was a nagging part of her that sought out the meaning of the message written in blue liquid—a desire for the answers that had forever plagued her heart.
Retrieving her hand from the wall, she backed up a few steps, turning back the direction she had supposedly been running away from, her body perhaps remembering what her mind could not, finding it rather puzzling that despite the fact that there had been no clarification as to where she must go, she had a feeling it was here. Down stairs… Past the lobby and reception and to…
The painting of the deep sea and its various alien-like fish creatures.
'Abyss of the Deep.'
Just beside it, leading to the painting itself, smeared blue shoe prints…
Despite her reservations about the idea of stepping on a priceless work of art, she was compelled to obey the message—not because she had no other choice…or well, in another light, perhaps she didn't, given if she wanted to know, she would have to do something. And, even if she didn't wish to find out what it was that called out to her, there was currently no way for her to turn back now, the whole gallery oddly devoid of life and it was perhaps strange that deep in her subconscious, already knew that the door at the lobby in the next room was not the way out—not that she desired to get out, strangely, but instead followed the insistent tug that was telling her to step inside.
Step in she did, soon surprised to find the painting sucked her in with a splash, making her close her eyes tight as cool wetness engulfed her, surrounding her as she sunk deeper into the ocean, the pressure building and building whilst she attempted to hold her breath for as long as she can, wondering if she should open her eyes to see though decided against it as she clutched her sides, arms crossed over her front, feeling a change in the direction of the water that surrounded her—as if something large had swum near her, panic rising inside while her breath was nearing its limit…
And then she dropped suddenly more quickly than she had sunk, water replaced by cold air, making her blink her crimson eyes open, finding she was suddenly back in the gallery, though obviously a different area…
Part of her wondered if what had happened was even real or if she was dreaming. She had a feeling that it wasn't, however much it was the logical thing to believe. And no, that was not because she still felt as if she was dripping wet and shivering from the odd trip, even though nothing in here indicated such a thing.
There was not even a single drop of water, nor were her clothes soaked. And, looking up to the ceiling did not reward her with the view of that ocean.