According To Plan
By Seniya
Chapter Fourteen
The charming summer night could be heard sighing sweetly; a gentle; wistful sound. One that could be felt rather than listened for—made real by the chilly night breeze.
Will, to her own annoyance had fallen right back into old habits—insomnia in this case; although this time it was purely Irma's doing. The girl's words had acted as a catalyst, evoking a terrible change in the sufferance that had already been too excited in the pit of her stomach. Now it was agitated, like a nest of ants, crawling; moving; picking away at her last bits of sanity until they had destroyed it all. And then still unsatisfied, they had spread throughout her body, infecting her limbs with the same turbulent sensation.
Lying in her bed flat on her back with her arms neatly folded on top of her stomach; Will felt worse than she had in days, an ironic impression actually, since for the majority of the daytime, she had been soaring in skies of blissful stimulation. He had kissed her—yes; he had told her such breathtaking things…Such perfect things. But he hadn't mentioned anything about Cornelia. He was still to be married. Kisses and compliments hadn't changed anything.
Maybe…maybe she had been right earlier in her thinking; perhaps it was better to just give up, it wouldn't work. She couldn't be spiteful or selfish in this situation because there was simply too much at stake.
'You're just afraid that's all.' Her conscience a true politician, had after Monday's activities suddenly decided to change its position; now it was fully supportive of running away with Caleb—so long as he asked.
"I'm not afraid." Will muttered, more as a means of quelling the uncomfortable feelings in her belly than silencing the voice in her ears.
'You are,' it countered, 'you've seen what he can do to you and you're terrified!'
"You're being stupid." Will hissed, covering her face with her hands. "The only things that I'm afraid of are the consequences of this little romp, that's all."
Especially after today; her mother knew—Will was certain of it. Joseph Potter's unexpected presence was more than proof of that fact. And nothing had pushed her off of cloud nine faster than the knowledge of that incredible detail.
It didn't matter how she had found out—no, just being aware that she knew had caused the happiness in Will's being to evaporate…and it had been such a nice feeling. Now all she could taste in her mouth was shame, flavored with that same troubled dissatisfaction. She had behaved like some whore—lusting after her sister's fiancé…and he didn't even seem to care. After everything he was still her sister's fiancé.
She should end things—or perhaps he would; she hadn't seen him all day, maybe he was avoiding her.
That dog! He had taken advantage of her that's what this was, yes, he had kissed her…And she should be angry.
Sighing, Will pulled herself into a sitting position. She wasn't furious, not even a little—she was confused; she was depressed; she wanted so much to just crawl into a tiny little ball and to awaken tomorrow in a world where none of this had taken place.
It wouldn't be so bad if she had never known what it was like to feel so genuinely uplifted…so juvenile and happy, so much so that it didn't matter that you looked like a complete clod. And she wanted that feeling again—oh God help her but she needed him more than she needed her next breath.
And with that notion came the panic.
"What's wrong with you?" Will whispered. "Stop it! Stop it now!"
How could she have allowed herself to become so vulnerable? Even at this moment she could feel them…words and thoughts that felt heavy against her tongue. But she forced herself to ignore them…she had already decided that this, regardless of how much she wanted it, was finished. And she didn't need to think on these things…and she most definitely didn't need to say them.
For she knew, instinctively almost, that once her lips parted; once those words were allowed out into the open, that they would be transformed—that they would no longer be mere sounds but that they would take the form of a weapon, a dangerous one; one that would pound away at her barricades. And so she swallowed the words; choking, gasping and flinching at their wistful taste…
No, she definitely couldn't allow this to continue this. She had gone far too long already. It wasn't right; it wasn't fair, not to anyone…And she refused to be knife that tore this family apart.
Her mind made up, Will removed herself from the wilderness of blankets and pillows and blindly walked over to her closet. She would do this tonight—before she lost her nerve. She would go to his cottage and tell him just what was on her mind.
That it had been…lovely, but it couldn't persevere. She had her dignity and her family's name (what was left of both) to consider.
'But what will you do if he asks to marry you instead?' A ray of hope, deadly in the current circumstances, winded its path through the murky chasm of self sacrifice. Such was a thought that made her entire body freeze just as she was pulling on her robe. No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't dare. And even if he did…she'd refuse.
"Yes," Will decided as she was rummaging through the drawers of her dressing table, "this is for the best—it won't be so terrible…" But even when her hand succeeded in finding the brass key that she had been looking for, she could already feel her resolve dissolving into a cloud of tears.
"I am not afraid." She muttered, shaking her head to remove any sorts of self pity, this time when Will spoke she sounded far more believable. "Why would I be?"
Gallantries always sounded better in theory, Will could appreciate that now as she stood facing the oak door of the cottage; a piece of wood that she had been staring at for ten minutes…at least. And even before that, she had a hell of a time getting here.
She had managed to make it out of the tree by her window alright—sustaining only minimal damage from the fall that she had endured after a particularly traitorous branch had cracked under her weight.
It was only then that she had noticed that she had forgotten her shoes…well, that didn't truly cause her that much distress, but seconds after that she'd observed that she was wearing her bedclothes…and her hair was simply horrible!
'What a strange state you are in!' her conscience had teased, referring not to her apparel but to her train of thought. 'I have noticed that recently you have been thinking about your appearance more and more.'
If there had been a way to bash that little voice into oblivion without injuring herself, Will would have done it then. So frustrated was she with its condescending commentary! But she continued on, taking long, powerful strides across the grass—before changing her mind and retreating to the security of her precious Elm tree.
Now this was just becoming disgraceful, Will had resolved, she wasn't really this pathetic. And so, jaw fixed and shoulder's squared, she headed off towards the cottage once more, this time walking leisurely—with each step she reassured herself of her upcoming success.
And when she had finally made it; she of course, hadn't been able to muster the courage needed in order to open the door.
The cool night wind blistered her exposed skin; her feet were damp and caked in slippery mud due to her walk across the lawn; her toes now were beginning to feel numb because of her tensely rolling on balls of her feet against the rough stone that formed the stoop. All of this of course just added to the overwhelming misery that was stitched onto her very core.
This is stupid Will—you can do this!
Biting the corner of her lip, closing her eyes, Will pushed the key into its lock…and waited with bated breath for that tell tale click.
"I told you that I wasn't afraid." She grinned to herself, knowing that she at least must look at lot braver than she felt.
The door opened on its own accord, as though aided by some ghostly man servant.
"Caleb?" She called from the stoop. No answer. Shit! She hadn't wanted to go inside! No, the plan had been to tell him what was what while remaining outside where she was safest from his advances—and her own imminent surrender.
Well, there was no turning back now. Swallowing the bile that had crept up the walls of her stomach to cling to her throat, Will pushed open the heavy door and grudgingly inched her way into the darkness of the house.
Sudden warmth engulfed her small body, and once again she was made painfully aware of the fact that she was clad simply in a mere nightdress with only a robe shielding the majority of her virtue.
'A wonderful final memory of you he'll have.'
"Caleb?" Will repeated. And as per usual only the sound of her disturbed voice replied. He must be upstairs, she noted…in the bedroom. Her stomach clenched reflexively propelling more of that same tart taste into her mouth.
"You could have done this in the morning," Will lectured herself as she took step after grave step up the narrow staircase that led to the bed chambers. "And stop calling him Caleb—his name is Mister Olsen…"
Her voice drowned in her throat—she had arrived—and she had spotted him; suddenly she found that it was much harder to breathe.
Calm down! She clamped her eyes shut and pressed a frigid hand to her forehead.
He was asleep; lying spread-eagled atop of the covers…bare-chested…oh God. This wasn't going to be easy. Why couldn't anything ever be easy?
Resisting the urge to run away; ignoring the heated blush that was currently coloring her cheeks red, she walked cautiously over to his bedside. "Mister Olsen." she called, rejecting the urge to look at him; refusing to comment on just how gorgeous he looked sleeping.
Still, no answer…
So, what was he, deaf?
Her chest was threatening to collapse if her heart continued to hammer away at her rib cage so frantically, yet she reached out to touch his slumbering form…well it was only to awaken him, and so the contact was warranted, and even so she was simply pinching his nose (a flawless method that had always worked with Irma).
And it worked with him as well, for only seconds later he awoke with a start—only to grab her offending arm in his vice like grip. The next few moments played out like a dream—Will tugged her hand away as though she had been stung, almost retching at his touch. Her breaths started coming in short gasps—and from the pain being emitted from her chest; she could only assume that it had already fallen in.
How, how could he do this to her?
She swallowed, looking into his confused eyes with an expression that spoke of bewilderment and panic. "Will?" was his question; although by now it had become quite obvious that it could be no one else.
A thousand jumbled thoughts, all preaching of what she should have done (remained in her bedroom) pounded in her mind. She avoided his gaze at all costs; knowing that to look at him would be ensuring suicide.
Do you see now? She thought; this is why I have to do this! It's driving me mad!
"Is something wrong?" He asked after a moment's pause. "Did something happen—is that why you're here?"
Still half naked he practically jumped to her feet and walked towards her, and childishly, Will responded with a small shriek and backed away from him until she ran into the bedroom wall.
"N-no," he had stopped walking, obviously surprised by her behavior—well that made two of them. "I came here," she cleared her throat and fixed her gaze on the clear night sky outside the window, "to speak with you."
"Now?" he smirked, she could feel it. "What's so important that you needed to come see me now?"
There was an insult here, she knew, but currently she was far too submerged in dark feelings of panic, wretchedness and anger to think much of trying to destroy his ego. "I-I…" the redhead swallowed a mouthful of the crisp night air, willing the flavor to calm her frantic nerves. It might have worked had he not decided then to step closer to her at that moment, reaching across the tension filled air that separated them to place a gentle hand on her chin, tenderly pulling her face towards his.
"Why aren't you looking at me?" Had he really wanted an answer he wouldn't have laid a hand on her. She was so exceptionally aware of the heat of his fingers on her frigid skin…and when those same fingers pressed against her velvety lips, slowly parting them—the tumultuous emotions that were rampant in her chest erupted.
She could feel his eyes on her face, burning holes in her flesh due to their sheer intensity of his looking; she had wanted so much to be the ice queen—but already she could feel him thawing her. The crowd of treacherous ideas and expressions that she had so vigilantly buried deep within her heart were being exhumed by the power of his staring…
My mother knows—that's all Will, go on now.
"I don't know what I'm doing." She blurted out forthwith, carrying the treason one step further by seeking out his heated gaze in the darkness. "I-I…" she paused and gasped…she was drowning once more, she just knew it. Will was fighting now…kicking and thrashing away at the bottom of this lake, burdened by her own accursed desires; here she was; fighting for her life; for her sanity…only to realize that it was far more than likely that she wanted to drown.
"I never know what I'm doing when I'm near you." It was too late now she realized, and judging from the blood that was presently making its way to her face, she knew that it was potentially a very good idea to get the remainder of this foolishness out of her system soon…and then to make a speedy retreat. "And I don't know why…" All you needed to do was to tell him those three small words, "…and I spent my entire day thinking about you," you could have avoided all of this—do you have any idea of what you're even saying? "But I know that I…missed you." Already she could feel his arm as it snaked around her waist—pulling her under, "Oh God, I missed you…"
The finale of her mindless confession was impeded with the unexpected collision of his lips with her forehead; they slowly grazed against her sweaty skin, creating a slight friction that warmed her entire body. A trembling sigh escaped her lips, never, had she anticipated that something this small could force her insides to melt. But here she was, dissolving in his arms, agonizingly smoldering in that never-ending flame of lust…and yet, begging the fire to consume the rest of her.
She had expected him to kiss her on the mouth as he normally did—but given the ridiculous nature of her mind and conduct for the day, she was entirely grateful for anything that he gave her.
He loosened his grip on her, and pulled his hand away from her lips, running it trough her hair instead. Now more than ever she wished that she had had the foresight to run a brush through the scarlet locks.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—simply unwanted…she felt exceedingly foolish after her outburst, and now she all but prayed for him to say something; to laugh; or even to echo her foolish words…because the silence was like a thousand blades tearing away at her self confidence.
Half expecting a meltdown; Will peeled his hands away from her body before staring blankly at her bare feet. "You should get dressed." She mumbled. It had become obvious that her mission was a total failure, which wasn't surprising; nothing ever went right around him. He could erase each and every one of her rational thoughts with the meager slanting of his eyebrow. She was powerless against him…she had surrendered herself to the unavoidable heartbreak that he would cause her; one way or another.
She knew that she should run away now—this was too much, she couldn't bear it. "I-I should go…I shouldn't have come here in the first place." Eyeing the staircase covetously, she forced every ounce of autonomy that she had into her feet, but that still wasn't enough to get her away from him.
He had been plausibly very surprised when he had awoken to find her hovering over him…and for one long instant he had believed that this had been a part of one of his dreams; that was of course, until she had yanked her arm away and stumbled haphazardly backwards, in what could only be described as her fruitless attempt to become one with his bedroom wall.
Sadly—very sadly, although not surprisingly, his hedonistic plan to allow himself the privilege of savoring her mouth and body; if only so he could concentrate on his work—was a total failure.
The dreams had worsened if anything, which was serious considering that last one, had been—disturbingly graphic to put it mildly. Now, the act of physical intimacy had disappeared completely from his imaginings; now, when he closed his eyes there was only the sound of her laughter in his mind, the sight of her blushing face and the feel of her trembling lips…this time, when he had awakened he wasn't afraid that she would drive him to do something that he would regret, rather he was guarded against the fact that he was potentially becoming every bit of the besotted fool that Taranee had predicted.
He had wanted to kiss her; to run his hands along her porcelain flesh and to bury his fingers in her scarlet hair—he had even gone so far as to consider the concept of pulling her into bed with him and seeing where that led. That idea had come tumbling down around him when she had opened her mouth. Her admission had shrunken him; and severed the strings of his dignity.
It was shameful how he had used her, all because she had so effortlessly exhibited such unflinching control over his emotions and desires. Yesterday—it had deepened, he had seen her for what she really was, a strong, beautiful and intelligent girl—no, woman. And now he knew, that the only thing that he could do for her was break her heart, her careful assertion had ensured him of that, she too was falling…now, he was certain that Wilhelmina Vandom was far too good for him, and that this, all of this needed to end.
Now.
His feelings—they were distracting, but really, they were a torment that he would eventually teach himself to endure. The idea of her suffering because of that myth that she had begun to believe about him…that was something that he wasn't certain that time would heal.
He had obeyed her command, more as a chance to hide the letters that Taranee had given him this morning, than because of actual modesty. Never one to let something as trivial as disease get in the way of her work, Taranee had scribbled all sorts of notes on several pieces of paper and thrust them into his hands the moment that he had entered the house today. Orders that included feeding her horse and returning some keys that she had borrowed from the Countess; and notes about Phobos that he had been reviewing when he'd fallen asleep.
Glad that Will was apparently distracted with her feet for the moment, he tucked the documents away safely behind the headboard.
"You…don't have to go," he began without looking at her, without thinking about what he was saying. "I mean, you…what did you mean by you wanted to talk?"
"It was nothing," he could scarcely hear her anguished tone.
"Nothing?" Casually he took a seat on his unmade bed and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes watched her somber face, which was gracefully painted by the dusk; she almost eclipsed the lady moon with her guiltless beauty, forcing the broken fragments of light to take the role of a shadow...in his mind anyway.
He swallowed to clear his head, "if it was nothing then why did you come here now?" He regretted the words the second that they'd left his mouth—she'd already told him why; and the answer wasn't honestly something that he wanted to hear repeated.
"Why?" her voice, amazingly carried a twinge of humor at the end. "Did I frighten you?"
"Of course not," he replied, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "what do you weigh; six, seven stone? Oh yes, you're terrifying, really."
She laughed slightly, a sound that made his spirits rise significantly. "If you must know I've been having an intruder problem since I've been staying here."
"Are you serious?" She clasped her hand over her mouth, making her expression hard to discern.
"Very." It wasn't a complete fib; Taranee had scared the shit out of him on more than one occasion. "Did you ever have that problem when you were living here?"
"No, because you see I had the common sense the lock the window."
"You came through the door."
"But I have the keys." As if to toss salt onto his already very large wounds (which she probably would enjoy doing in any case), Will flaunted the tiny metal object in her hand by dragging it through the air.
"I suppose that you think that that's very clever." He rolled his eyes and shifted his gaze over to the window.
"Not really," sighing, she walked past him to tamper with the porthole. "This, I think is very clever." With extreme patience, and as though directing a child, she reached for the latch, and swung the wooden flap shut, immediately engulfing the room in absolute darkness.
He gulped, oh she had to have known that that would happen; although, his own heightened awareness of both her company and their awkward situation—well, he wasn't too sure that she wasn't complete ignorant about that.
He heard her fumbling with the latch seconds after, speaking only to emit apologies and curses, simultaneously, he might add. "So, do you expect a round of applause?" He spoke only to draw her attention away from the window, for after an entire half a second of itch driven meditation; he had decided that the concept of being alone with her…for at least one night wasn't at all unpleasant.
Now…would have to be postponed. Tomorrow was a far more pleasing date.
"Well, I did just save your life." She replied, although not abandoning her efforts to encourage the moonlight.
He waited for a long minute, listening to her on going struggle with the latch. "Are you afraid of the dark?" he questioned, this time with no ulterior motive; he was simply curious to see is she actually had such a frivolous crack in her armor.
"No, it's just that…" her voice vanished, turning into a laugh sometime during its path to destruction. "…Nothing."
He didn't pursue the topic any longer; besides, after his inquiry, she seemed content to submit. The subsequent hush swallowed them both; the carefully modulated hum of his breathing and her slightly more erratic gasps, were the only sounds in the room now.
"I imagine that you must be incredibly proud of what you've done to me." She spoke at last.
He wished that he could feign incomprehension, or at least nonchalance, but he knew better than to even attempt such—blasphemy. "As a matter of fact, I happen to like you better this way."
"Why?" She breathed.
The answer to that question was one that he had already deciphered—it just also happened to be the one thing that he stubbornly refused to consider. "Can't I ever just tell you something without you always asking me; why?"
"No, you can't." She snapped.
"It's annoying."
"Good."
More silence slipped into the room, although this time it was far more awkward in its origin.
"Come here." He broke first; the last thing that he wanted was for her to be angry at him—arguably, he'd have enough of that tomorrow. Tonight, he wanted to hold her; to immerse himself in that wonderful aroma of her…that sweet spicy scent that clawed at his very soul…and to forget what awaited them both come tomorrow.
"I've told you that you shouldn't tell me what to do."
"Please?" He groaned. That did it, whether it was from the shock of actually hearing him beg, or solely based on the fact she truly wanted to…She complied, and joined him on the opposite side of the bed
Well, it had been a start, and he was grateful for the fact that she had at least agreed to the first part of his request on her own accord. But that hadn't been what he had meant, although Caleb (with good reason) still didn't trust his mouth to accurately convey his intentions in a non-offensive manner.
He rearranged himself so that he was sitting up in bed, with his back against the mahogany headboard, and then motioned for her (with his hand outstretched as a means of welcome) to join him.
She hesitated…but that pause he had anticipated; a virgin's qualms, he had readily dismissed it as. It was only after a full minute and a half of her virgin's qualms did he make up his mind to bite the bullet. "So I get it now; you're afraid of me."
"I'm…don't be stupid." Will narrowed her cinnamon colored eyes at his accusation.
"I would never hurt you…you know that, right?"
He honestly had never taken the time to consider the irony of that statement…Or what he would have done had she said "no". Luckily, he would never have to. Not now at least. "I know," she whispered and so to prove the point, she crawled forward to take his hand.
Her skin was freezing, Caleb recalled, but he expected that his was most likely no warmer. It was clumsy work; positioning her in front of him; adjusting her petite body so that they could both be comfortable…which certainly meant that she was touching him as little as possible. His body was already alight with the unadorned thought of having her so close to him—if she were to run her hands against his skin; well, he just might burst into flame…so to speak.
He folded his arms across her, positioning his hands very carefully; very lightly beneath her ribcage. She was holding her breath, he noticed; something that worried him more than he thought that it should. Was she in reality so nervous about this? If such was the case then maybe he should just…stop.
Those ponderings disappeared instantaneously when she sighed, just audible over the scolding of his conscience, and relaxed her spine, allowing her back to curve fully into the embrace. He rested his head atop of her wild cherry tresses, and finally her hands grazed his own before their fingers intertwined above her stomach.
Presently, the silence wasn't so unbearable; the feeling of her chest, rising and falling on top of his was implausibly soothing. He could picture an overwhelming feeling of loss once she decided to go back to her house—or once he told her of the finer points of this relationship (if that was even what it was).
He dragged his hands along the smooth skin of her arms, mesmerized by the goose flesh that his touch left there. "What this?" He inquired after encountering a rather large raised scar near her elbow. From the looks of it, he suspected that it was the memento of some particularly idiotic tryst.
She turned her head to see what he was looking at, "Oh, the doctor cut me when I caught chicken pox at finishing school."
"Were you ever not sick?"
"Nope, I can't say that I remember being healthy for too long." She admitted with a good natured chuckle. "Why? Are you immune?"
"I wish that it was like that." He replied vaguely, thinking of the swelling of turbulent emotions in his chest as well as his immune system; still he carefully replaced her arm.
"Isn't this strange though?" Will expressed. "A few days ago we couldn't stand each other…and now look."
"Well, I think that despite everything you've put me through, that you are easily the best thing about your family." He concluded with a yawn. Morning was breaking; he suspected that outside the closed window's lattice that ribbons of pinks and cerulean were fluttering across the lilac sky.
"Well, you won't get far with that attitude because the rest of the clan will be here by Thursday…" The wedding—right; Will bit her lit in frustration…why couldn't she escape it?
Suddenly uncomfortable, she shifted her weight so that she was leaning less against him in the bed. Abruptly, the wistfulness of this scene abandoned her, leaving her to fend for herself in the harsh moors of reality, and truthfully, she wasn't handling herself too well.
She was nervous—and it occurred to her that that was extremely inconvenient emotion to be feeling at this particular moment, but yet, there was nothing she could do to chase it away. Her heart was dancing erratically in her chest, something that she was certain that he was well aware of, due to his—closeness.
She was being silly again; her anxiousness was perfectly justifiable, especially seeing as she was so…inexperienced when it came to these things. She was completely unsure of what to do, so she stayed still, exceedingly afraid that if she spoke he'd vanish (like he should) so she remained quiet, focusing on the steady thumping of his heart against her shoulder blade.
This was all too perfect—if she said anything…especially anything about that, the entire thing would be ruined. She just wanted to loose herself in this fantasy for a little while longer; tomorrow when she awakened the dream would come to an end.
It was strange almost, Will thought, because of all the stories that her Governess had ever read to her as a child, she had been able to identify with Cinderella the least of all. Yet, here she was, dutifully waiting for the clock to strike twelve, for all of her heart's desires to fade into nothingness.
"I should leave now," she whispered shortly, there was no use in prolonging the inevitable. "I don't want my mother worrying about where I've gotten off to."
She disentangled their limbs, unhurriedly, reluctantly, and then turned to face him. "Good night."
He echoed her farewell, and she didn't wait for anything else; the pieces of her heart were crumbling with every second that she hesitated, and she wouldn't allow him to see her broken.
Her retreat was delayed when his hand darted out from the darkness to grab hold of her wrist. Unable to deny himself the pleasure any longer, Caleb pulled her towards him in one quick, sharp jerk, covering her mouth with his before she could even find time to protest.
Her surrender was uninhibited, her lips moved fiercely against his, all reserve forgotten. This was everything that she had ever wanted, every lonely cry of her soul. In this kiss lay a thousand wishes and wants, all unfulfilled, but still she wanted him to know…
Her hands reached into the unruly layers of brown silk—his hair and pulled him closer wanting more—oh so much more; but unsure of what exactly more was.
Her lips were burning, and she was certain that he was the only one who could quench the flame. With each gasp, with each caress—his tongue; his mouth led her towards something that was essentially too good to resist.
"Caleb…" she whispered against his mouth, although Will doubted that he heard much, because his lips were sliding over hers again in a heartbeat. In this kiss lay the goodbyes; the apologies; the fights. This was everything that could have been and wasn't. This was them admitting defeat.
Inside she was screaming, driven half mad by the growing emotions within her heart. Gone was the fear, at least temporarily…that little girl inside of her that she had tried so hard to keep safe, she had vanished. And when he pulled away, panting—she stared at him, confused; curious; fascinated. Her entire body was trembling, unable to withstand the pressure of these feelings for much longer. She swallowed, tasting him on her lips.
"Caleb," she whispered, already dissolving just because she knew that all of his attention was on her. "I-I…" she didn't know what to say, how to put the rush of spiritual intoxication into words. No, words wouldn't do then…not right now.
With a steady hand she touched the shirt that she had insisted that he put on earlier. Her breath was trapped in her chest, unable to move because truthfully, there was no space left in the cavern. With infinite care her fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, all the while a bright red color staining her pale cheeks; but too far gone to even consider stopping.
He did it for her, casually he reached for her tiny pale hand; briefly she registered just how small she was in comparison to him. He brought her fingers to his lips and blessed each one with the tenderest of kisses. Then, he folded her hands neatly in her lap, "Good night Will." He whispered.
She nodded, too overcome to even query his behavior…or to even feel humiliated; although she assumed that the shame would find her tomorrow—err— later today. Quietly, she turned and exited the bedroom, looking back once to glimpse him one last time; because she knew that upon their next meeting…it wouldn't be the same.
If the castle merely appeared terrible in the daytime—then at night, it defined the feeling of fright. It loomed ever so dreadfully over the swamps and forests beneath it; its dreadful towers and arcs, all centuries old perhaps, still managed to evoke a gothic sort of grace when silhouetted against that twilight canvas named sky.
He knew, as he had known all of his life, that the people of the village below all believed the building was deserted; haunted at most. And perhaps they were correct in their beliefs. After all, what man in his right mind would willingly inhabit such a dreary place? No man, merely a specter—a lonely vengeful one, who was cursed to wander this earth forever; searching, though never finding…something.
Someone.
Her.
Oh no, the house hadn't always been this forlorn; this desolate. Regardless of how it had always looked on the outside, within, deep within, she had always managed to paint the rooms of this house with the colors of happiness.
Her sweet voice, a melody that could be so effortlessly compared to the precious hymn of the stars, would probably haunt him until his dying day. Once, such had been a sound that had brought with it the feelings of exquisite joy—of ecstasy so splendid that it was impossible to describe it with mere words.
But now—her voice only added to the unimaginable torment of this house. Her words had become a siren's song. A tune that would slowly; tauntingly beckon him; dragging him towards his poetic demise. To a death that was truly more mental than physical and hence, one that he was determined to stop.
The destruction of his body, he could accept; after all, his body was merely a prison in which his soul was trapped; upon his death—well, he'd be free, that was certain. But the deterioration of his mind was obviously more than he could, or would take.
Bittersweet madness! Oh yes, he would give a thousand fortunes to spend his nights being lulled asleep by her harmonious voice, so long as it was sung by her and not by his memories. Yes, he would offer up his life itself in order to know that she was safe, to know that she still was alive.
"Gods Elyon," he whispered, staring into the fire and glaring at the dance of the flames; but seeing only her face there. "What I do, I do to grant you life."
These were those thoughts that had polluted his mind ever since the night of her death, then he had prayed, and cried to a deaf God…hoping against all hopes that she would somehow reappear at his side…to dance again; to sing.
But she had remained an immobile corpse; silent; unseeing; death had claimed her for its own.
That selfish bastard.
What right had he—what right did he have to take her away from him! She was all he had, his entire world embodied…without her, this life had become meaningless. How long had he wandered; aimlessly; pathetically; hoping for death, for the ability to embrace it on his own.
But then he had ceased to take solace in such silly ideas—for his grief had transformed itself into something far more sinister: if the Gods were impassive to his plight—then he should play God shouldn't he? He should become the master of his own destiny, the weaver of his own yarn.
And those thoughts had become intensified each time he heard her voice—every time that he saw her flaxen head skip along those corridors; trapped forever in the dawn of life—or perhaps dragged far too quickly to experience the sunset.
It was then he had known: there was no other way.
And so he had become every bit of the monster that the villagers talked about…All to bring her back to him, and to a lesser and far less important extent: to this world.
The beast in the castle; they would say to their trembling children; oh yes, for even he had heard their stories—tales traded over steaming mugs of ale and whispered later that night to those wide eyed youngsters, ensuring a night's worth of demonic nightmares. Oh, he'll swoop down through the chimney for you; or perhaps: he'll drink your blood lass, or sometimes even; he's been dead for over a thousand years, and he searches for his still beating heart.
Phobos rose from his large armchair, forcibly ignoring the perfume of age that followed him as he moved, and walked towards that night's supper, or more particularly, that night's Brandy; its amber tint collecting the tears of the crescent moon.
She hated it when he drank; he could recall her words even now, "it inpairs the mind." She would quote her governess directly, and then run off to hide with his alcohol in hand.
But now, more than ever, he found himself addicted to its bitter, spicy and warm taste. He longed for the sweet caresses of the liquor as it made its way into his body. And of course he desired all that it had hinted at; sweet ignorance; cherished deliverance from his feelings of guilt…
Such horrendous thoughts that had begun to infest his mind only recently; that perhaps those girls hadn't deserved to die—that perhaps his plan wouldn't work.
Nonsense; all of it, and it would fade in due time once her voice entered his ears once again.
Oh, that sweet lullaby, the drink slipped over his tongue without him tasting it, and his barely had time to register the feeling of warmth that surged in his stomach as welcome.
This no longer helped, he realized; soon nothing would be able to quell these sensations…Elyon, oh God, help me!
Silence—mocking silence, something that he had craved for so long but now, upon receiving it, found himself very displeased by its presence. Without thinking he flung the glass against the wall, spraying his hand with whatever was left of his drink; if only to hear the crash of crystal as it collided with stone. The wall would win, he knew, the hard, cold stone would forever prove victorious in such a battle.
Breathless from the outburst, his eyes lingered on the assorted jars that were constantly displayed in his bedroom. Even the moon seemed to be afraid of them—for tucked away in this corner, quite plainly he might add, were the fruits of his labor, currently lost in the darkness, invisible unless one knew exactly where to look.
His treasures, his collections; he had gathered them all like a magpie; a wig of the most golden curls, a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever gazed upon; and of course, perfect white teeth, extracted from his victim with the utmost care.
Elyon had loved to smile after all, her teeth would be very important.
A knock at his chamber door destroyed his thoughts, and so, straightening his back he approved the intrusion. Cedric, his loyal friend and servant entered his sanctuary, walking with brisk, large steps until he was comfortably standing before him.
"What is it?" Phobos asked, careful to verbalize his annoyance.
"A letter came for you my Lord." Cedric announced his thin lips curved into a slight smile as he continued: "It is from that girl again."
Phobos frowned, feeling more than impatient. Once he had tolerated that child's cries of teenaged heartbreak and angst. Once her thoughts had reminded him so much of Elyon's that he had relished in listening to her fears and desires; but now, he had grown tired with their correspondence; not only that but he no longer had the time for such fantasies, not when the reality was only a hair's breadth away.
She was simply no use to him any more; actually it would be better to sever contact all with her before things got more…serious.
"I still wonder how she found my address. Or why the damned post master still insists on delivering things to this house! I swore that they all believe it to be deserted."
"Now, now, my Lord." Cedric extracted the letter from the pocket of his trousers; the blotchy marks, the powerful aroma of cologne—yes, it was her. "I believe that this time, it may be important to us. There is a wedding approaching, now would be the perfect time to strike."
"Now?" Phobos echoed, "At a wedding?"
"The family will be distracted, no one will notice until it is too late."
Phobos shook his head feeling dubious. "Forgive me Cedric, if I appear to be a bit of a misanthropist, but at these weddings, the brides are always the center of attention. We won't be able to get her."
"She speaks of her family; a large group is coming from what I gather. You know the house like the back of your hand in any case. As long as this is executed properly, we will have no problems. We'll steal her away from the house before they even realize that she's gone, since there are so many of them…the chaos will be unimaginable. I implore you Master, you mustn't allow this chance to pass us by."
Phobos imagined that this was what had attracted him to Cedric initially. The man had a certain charm about him—one that could be easily compared to the persuasive techniques used by a serpent to lure Adam and Eve out of their Eden. Right now, the picture that he had painted of their plan seemed impossible to resist.
"I would hate for my strategy to be ruined Cedric; especially when I am so close to what I want." His gaze instinctively ran to the fire again, and contained by the flames he swore that he could see Elyon dance.
"The plan is flawless my Lord." His voice lowered to a barely audible hiss, "trust me."
"My, my," Phobos continued, his mind was already decided, a fact that he trusted Cedric to already know. "A wedding…that was fast, even by her Mother's standards."
Cedric bowed his head in acknowledgment before slipping the letter into his pocket. "It would be such a shame to disappoint them; after all, you were invited."
Phobos smiled as the red glare of the fire caked his face. "No, no disappointments, merely surprises."
Author: Congrats to those who guessed right, the shit will hit the fan at the Ball. Won't that be fun? And guess who invited Phobos—yeah, I know. Hehehehe. Yeah, I know that some of you thought that Phobos was coming for Will right? Well, I knew that if I made him kidnap Will, then this wouldn't be a WillxCaleb fic anymore. Catch my drift?
Anyway, thanks for all of the support—long time reviewers like Ruberta and hells agent and gabys heart and Shalbrenfan and probably a gazillion more of you that I can't remember right now because it's 2 am and I'm sleep deprived. But thanks!
I'm going to be 18 tomorrow the 28th, and I'll celebrate it by going back to school. Whoopee, it's like a dream come true. Math first thing in the morning, heh, I'm always the oldest. Updates will slow as a result; I don't know how bad senior year will be to me. I'm really disappointed that I didn't get to finish this story by the end of summer…Ah well. I don't know why I thought that I could, I've got at least seven more chapters left. Probably more…