Hey readers! I really need your help! I've got mixed emotions on how I feel about this story. I know where I want it to go, but I'm not sure if it's worth it. Please review and tell me if you like it and want to see more!
In the woods beyond Verte Branche…
Gripping Ghost's bridle tightly in her hand, Daphne inched closer to the edge of the forest. In the distance she could see the roof of the manor, beyond the house inky black clouds of smoke billowed against a dismal gray sky. Daphne cocked her head to listen. The world had fallen silent; all but Ghost's steady breathing.
Daphne absently stroked the stallion's neck. "He said wait for quiet."
She paused to listen a moment longer before swinging up into the saddle. Ghost started forward with slow lumbering steps. Daphne listened to the way his hooves swished through the tall grass, smiling to herself. Jean was right, he was quiet. The evening breeze brushed through Daphne's hair, she nearly gagged on the smell. Decay, blood, and smoked mingled together in the wind. Daphne turned her head to escape the breeze and found herself looking over a field of death. Bodies were strewn across the meadow, pocked with bullet holes. The ground was wet with blood. Daphne collapsed over Ghost's side and vomited into the grass, closing her eyes in a vain attempt to erase what she had just seen. The sway of Ghost as he pranced impatiently tore Daphne out of that temporary sanctuary. Resolutely she urged Ghost onward. The manor was coming into view, Daphne's heart swelled with relief. She could run to Jean and her father and let them soothe the horrors away. The view of the manor became clearer through the haze of smoke; angry red flames licked the walls of the stately home, the manor was ablaze. A desperate scream tore from Daphne's throat; Ghost reared slightly and took off at a gallop. Daphne watched in horror as the flames consumed the eastern wing of the house. She was stricken, unable to think enough to calm Ghost. As the horse clattered over the cobblestones, Daphne could just make out the form of her father collapsed on the steps of the manor, the back of his skull was gone. One thought kept racing through Daphne's muddled mind. She had to find Jean. She needed him. Suddenly her resolve returned, Daphne jerked on the reins as hard as she could. Ghost slid to a stop on the muddy ground, going up onto his hind legs. Daphne threw her arms around his neck, whispering quietly into the horse's ear. Finally the black stallion quieted his whinny to a contented snort and Daphne slowly guided him down the hill to the village of Verte Branche. Daphne's lip trembled as she absorbed the disaster around her. The village had become an inferno. House upon house was ablaze, livestock lay dead in the street. The corpses of men and dogs littered front stoops, some farmers still clutching their weapons in defiance. Two large bonfires raged in the town center. At first Daphne could not tell what they were, but then amidst the flames, she could make out faces. Daphne's jaw dropped in horror as she slowly began to recognize the boiling and charred faces as her Jewish neighbors. A sharp pain began in Daphne's temple, slowly blooming across her head, and seeping into her neck.
Daphne shook her head violently. "Stop! Please stop!"
The buzzing began in her ears; the shadows cast by the fire began to warp into the phantoms she feared so much. Daphne quickly jumped off of Ghost's back. She had to find Jean, now. Daphne bolted down the alleys and streets, calling Jean's name. The buzzing in her ears slowly gave way to disembodied voices. They were whispering and taunting, making her mind go numb. Daphne darted back into the street, tears rolling down her face as she muttered to herself. She could feel the phantoms picking around in her brain, shuffling through her memories and replacing them with odd symbols and numbers. Out of the corner of her eye, Daphne could see a familiar green shirt and in that shirt a familiar figure, slumped in the doorframe of a burning house.
"Jean!" She cried, a smile lighting up her face.
Daphne rushed to the door frame, laughing with relief and happiness. He almost looked like he was sleeping.
"Jean, my love, I thought…" Daphne froze.
A bloom of scarlet soaked the green shirt over his chest. In his hand, his ax lay limp, the handle was speckled with gore. The fire in the house had come so close that the fabric of his trousers had began to smolder. With an anguished cry, Daphne wrapped her arms around his waist, tugging frantically to move him far away from the angry flames.
"Jean. You have to stand up, you have to walk." His body was cold in her arms. "Please, Jean, please! You cannot leave me here! You cannot leave me here, oh God please!"
Sobbing and screaming, she dragged her beloved out of that doorway, collapsing onto his strong chest as they both lay in the street. Daphne gingerly pushed his shirt aside to reveal the neat round hole where the bullet had entered his heart. A small gold cross hung from a chain around his neck. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Daphne gently stroked the sides of his face, unmarred by death. His handsome features relaxed, as though any moment now he would wake up and grab her waist the way he had always done before.
"I'm sorry, my love." Daphne whispered, pressing feverish kisses to his forehead and cold lips. "I should have been here. I never should have left you."
Again the buzzing began in her ear; Daphne looked up to see the shadows moving in, figures reaching out to grab Jean's boots.
"YOU GET AWAY FROM HIM!" She screeched, lunging at the shadows.
The figures retreated, only to advance again. Daphne reached down and removed her shoe, throwing it into the shadows.
"YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE! LEAVE US ALONE!" She wailed, chasing the demons that only she could see.
With a cry, she rushed back to Jean, laying down beside him and snuggling into his bloody shoulder. He was the only one who had ever chased them away. Men were so big and strong, like her Jean had been strong. How did they not scare themselves? Daphne sat up and looked into Jean's face, then down to cross around his neck. Gingerly she reached out and unhooked the chain, sliding it around her own neck. The cross dangled low between her breasts.
Daphne reached out to caress Jean's face. "I have to go now, mon ami, but I will see you again very soon."
With one final kiss, Daphne left Jean's side and returned to where Ghost was waiting. From Ghost's back Daphne glanced again over what was left of Verte Branche, there was nothing for her here; tearfully, she galloped up the hill to the manor. Daphne stared up into the windows of her home, lit with hellish fire. Leaping down from Ghost's back, Daphne fingered the chain holding the cross. There was no question in the fog of her mind that this is what she must do. With slow deliberate steps, Daphne strode past her father's corpse and entered the burning home. All Daphne could hear was the buzzing in her ears, but for some reason this time she felt no fear. Around her, all was in flames. The wallpaper was black and peeling, her father's portrait all but consumed. Still, Daphne quietly ascended the staircase, not minding that the marble stair rail was burning hot to the touch. She entered her room as calmly as she would any other night before bed. Daphne stepped in front of her large looking glass. Hair the color of a raven's wings, eyes like smoke, skin as pale as death. That's what she looked like was death. Daphne slowly removed her simple dress, then her corset, petticoat, and stockings to stand naked. The light of the flames cast harsh shadows on her body. She was small and light, the curve of her hips subtle, her breasts more lush now that she was eighteen. The fire engulfed her room; her skin began to redden with the heat. Daphne smiled slowly. She was ready to die. She reached up to touch the cross. It was time for her to go. Daphne's smile faded as the shadows began to crawl around the sides of the mirror. Her mouth making a small "O" of surprise as the apparitions snaked all over her naked reflection tugging at her limbs. Daphne began to slap at her own arms, but nothing was pulling at her. The shadows merged together to form the image of a tall, bony figure, wearing a black hood. Daphne could not see his face, nor his body, just bony hands that raked over her reflection intimately.
"Stop it." Daphne's voice cracked. "Don't touch me, please leave me alone."
"You're not ready to die." It said darkly. "You honestly think that burning to death in this god forsaken house is going to bring you back to Jean. He's so gentle and good. The devil's got your soul."
"SHUT UP!" Daphne screeched.
"See?" It teased, "All you've got is that cross around your neck and enough anger to raise Hell on Earth. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." Daphne whispered.
"You're going to make the fuckers suffer!" It ordered her. "You sold your soul when you walked through that door."
The phantom gestured towards the front of the house, one bony hand played with the curly strands of Daphne's hair.
"I hate you." Daphne sneered, her lip curling in disgust.
"That's all you are is hate. Hate and fear." The phantom whispered in her ear. "Why don't you go fulfill your purpose? With Jean gone, who's going to love you?"
Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, trembling with rage. "Leave me alone."
The buzzing in her ears had reached a fever pitch. Distant voices and foreign tongues swirled in Daphne's brain. Behind her eyelids the shadows danced with the flames that now licked at her naked feet.
"WHY DON'T YOU JUST DIE?!" Daphne shrieked, her eyes snapping open.
The flames leapt up around her as she threw herself into the looking glass, shattering its pristine surface. The cool calm of Daphne's desire to die gave way to a burning need to survive. Daphne scrambled for her door, the pieces of the broken mirror slicing her heels. Pushing the pain to a dark place deep inside her, Daphne burst into the fiery hallway and dashed for her father's chamber. The angry flames lunged at her as she pushed the heavy door open, causing Daphne to reel back and lose her footing. She dragged herself back to her feet, hurling her body over the flames; she bit back a scream as a tongue of fire burned her leg. At the window, she could see her father's chest. Throwing the lid open, Daphne shifted through these odd belongings. Her efforts produced a heavy traveling coat of black leather, a pair of combat boots from his days in the French service, and three large knives. Daphne threw the coat around her shoulders, the smell of leather a comfort in this Hell she was currently trapped in. A beam crashed down from the ceiling, sending a shower of embers over Daphne's coat. There was no escape. Thinking quickly, Daphne smashed the glass window panes, creating a jagged hole for her to slide through. Daphne tightened the belt of the coat around her, as she climbed onto the window sill to look out. The cobblestones below looked hard and unforgiving. Daphne tossed her boots and knives out the window, frowning as a resounding thud announced their fall.
"Better to be broken on the rocks than burned alive." Daphne muttered, easing her legs out the window.
A glint of light caught her eye. Daphne turned back to her father's chest. The reflection of the fire danced marvelously in the eyeglass of a black gas mask; another relic of her father's military service. The empty eyes of the mask seemed to see into her, into the shadows and the phantoms. In a way, the gas mask was a phantom; a dark, empty symbol of doom. Daphne could not just leave it. Another beam creaked with distress and Daphne quickly scooped up the mask and jumped out the window. Her feet hit first and with a grunt of pain she crumpled to her knees, the air knocked violently out of her. For several moments, Daphne just lay there gasping for air as the pain in her legs began to subside. Tentatively, she pushed up onto her feet; testing the bones. Nothing appeared to be broken, just a sprained ankle. Daphne straightened herself as she stood, moaning with release as the bones in her spine popped and creaked. Daphne walked over to the boots that lay on the cobblestone, hurriedly pulling them on to her feet. It was lucky that the leather had shrunk with time, there was no way they would have fit her before. Scooping up the knives, Daphne marched around the side of the house to where Ghost still waited.
"You knew I wouldn't do it, didn't you."
Ghost turned with a snort, staring at her with his blue eye. The Devil's eye, as superstition called it. Daphne thought back to what the phantom in the mirror had said about her soul.
"Maybe you do see the Devil." She muttered as she swung up onto his back.
Without another glance at her burning home, Daphne raced off into the darkness of the woods. She was not sure where she was going, but she was certain what she must do. She must find Colonel Hans Landa and all men serving the German army… and she must make them suffer as she had suffered.