Round three QL
Falmouth Falcons
Beater 2
Round 3
Prompt: write about a two-faced person.
Optional Prompts: Locket (object)
Wedding (plot point)
"You're better than this." (Dialogue)
Words: 2075
warnings: character death, blood, torture, violence.
(Massive thanks to CatherineMorganstern for being her usual awesome self. you are a super star)
Her wrists were tied behind her back.
That was Hermione's first, panicked thought as she woke up to darkness. She pulled, but it only made the rough rope scratch her skin. Nausea rolled through her and she paused her struggles in favour of breathing through it. Had she been drugged? The last thing she remembered was sitting down for dinner with her husband to celebrate their one month anniversary. Tom had insisted on celebrating so he'd had their cook prepare her favourite dishes but while she was eating, she couldn't help but feel unnerved by the way he'd scrutinised her.
Hermione tried to calm her racing heart. She needed to think. Perhaps this was a prank; a tasteless prank that they would laugh about years from now. But if it hadn't been Tom, then some other person had done this to her. She switched her attention to her surroundings which were a little more discernible now that her eyes had adjusted. Someone had placed her on a chair in a room she didn't recognise. There were bookcases and tables scattered around in no particular order; a strong odour - something that reminded her of pickled vegetables or meat - permeated the air.
Confused, Hermione turned her head and leaned to the side as much as her tied hands would allow. She spotted a circular window at the end of the room. Moonlight filtered through the warped glass and she could make out the graveyard on the hill that overlooked a small portion of Tom's land. Hermione shuddered. She didn't like the graveyard. All of the gravestones faced the wrong way. Graves should face east, so that when the second coming came and the bodies rose, they would be facing the Lord, ready to enter heaven. Should they rise, Tom's ancestors would have their backs turned to the Lord. Not that Hermione believed in such things, but the oddness of it still unsettled her.
She wriggled back until she was sitting fully on the chair again. A strange calmness had settled over her, perhaps because she'd figured out where she was now: the attic. It was the only place in the mansion Tom had forbidden her from entering. Naturally, that had only served to increase her curiosity exponentially during all those days she'd spent with her ear pressed to the door, wondering what Tom was doing as she listened to him walking back and forth.
Another wave of nausea crashed through her and she closed her eyes, fighting the urge to vomit. Tiredness pulled at her, dragging her down until she passed out.
The next time, she woke to candlelight and the sound of something heavy being moved. Her eyes darted around, landing on Tom as he dragged a full length mirror across the floor towards her.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Ah, you're awake. Splendid."
"Tom?" Hermione looked around in confusion, taking in the mirrors that circled her and the thick, black candles that stood in front of each one. "What are you doing? Let me go."
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
"Tom!" Hermione snapped. "Untie me."
Tom turned to her with a look of distaste twisting his features. "Making demands, Hermione? How very unpleasant."
Her breath stilled. His sudden change in behaviour startled her. She barely recognised him as the man she'd fallen in love with four months ago. Hermione wasn't foolish enough to believe that she knew him all that well yet but she'd assumed to know what kind of person he was at heart. She'd married him, after all. Although it still felt like a dream and she'd taken to calling it her 'mad moment'. Whenever she referred to it as that, Tom would curve his lips into a smile, brush his fingertips over the locket he'd gifted her on their wedding day, and tell her that she'd fallen under his spell - as he'd planned from the moment he'd set eyes on her. Surely, this was all a mistake. He couldn't possibly be that cruel. He'd seemed so sincere up until now.
"Tom, please. You don't -"
"I don't want to hear your voice again. Do you understand?" he interrupted. "Nod your head if you do."
Hermione nodded, sensing that it would be dangerous to disobey him. He moved to stand behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She watched as he closed his eyes and began to chant. It resembled Latin, but there was a sibilant hiss to it as the words slid off his tongue that sounded strange to her ears.
Hermione shifted under his palms, terror flooding her as the candles began to flicker. Her gaze darted around before it met Tom's in the mirror.
"What are you doing?"
Tom stopped chanting and slipped his hands across until they lay against Hermione's throat. "I'm making you immortal."
Shadows moved within the mirrors, forming into vaguely familiar shapes that were reflected dozens of times within the circle.
Hermione recognised those figures because she'd seen them before in mirrors scattered all over the mansion. They appeared whenever she touched the silver locket Tom had gifted her. The temperature in the room would plummet as soon as her fingertips would make contact with the cool metal and the room's reflection would immediately dim. Whenever that happened, shadows would appear to flow from the corners and Hermione would spin around in fright, convinced that someone was standing right behind her. Sometimes, she could have sworn she'd felt someone's cool breath on the nape of her neck. The lights would flicker a few times before everything would return to normal, leaving Hermione questioning whether or not she'd imagined the whole thing. But when her eyes would dart back to the mirror, she'd discover its surface foggy with condensation and words written across the middle in large, slanted letters.
Leave.
Go.
Danger.
Death.
"You're mad," she gasped, trying to struggle free.
Tom pressed his fingers into her throat. "Aren't we all to some degree?'"
When Tom shifted to the side, Hermione was able to glimpse the end of a table in the mirror's reflection. She froze at what she saw.
Heads. Human heads.
Dozens of them were suspended in formaldehyde with their long hair twisted into ropes that had been used to hang them in jars. Their eyes - wide and lifeless - seemed to stare right through her.
"Ah. My previous wives. They weren't quite as curious as you." He turned the chair so she could see them more clearly. "I never had to monitor them the way I had to with you." He brushed his hand through her hair. "Always looking into things that don't concern you. It's been quite the trial to have such a disobedient creature as my wife. It'll be somewhat of a relief to be free of you."
"You said you loved me."
"I'm very good at making others believe I like them, Hermione."
Hermione tossed her head away from Tom's grasp. "Why are you doing this?"
"I want to live forever. The only way to do that is to conquer death." He placed his hands back on her shoulders. "And to conquer death, I must first study it."
"I can help you!" Hermione gasped.
Tom gave her a condescending smile. "You're already helping me, Hermione."
He twisted his fingers under the locket's chain and pulled back until it bit into the skin of her throat. She gasped as he began to chant once more, matching his rhythm to Hermione's feet scrambling against the floor. Her eyes were fixed on the mirror in front of her and once again she saw the shadowy figures solidify. Little black dots danced across her vision as her face began to turn a deep shade of red.
Tom increased the pressure until she felt the silver chain cut into her skin. She made a raspy gurgling noise and Tom placed his knee between her shoulder blades, using it as extra leverage to pull the chain tighter. Finally, her flesh gave, allowing the chain to cut through her neck until it reached her spine. Blood flooded out of her, spurting onto the mirrors.
Everything went dark and then suddenly Hermione sucked in a breath. Icy air filled her lungs as she opened her eyes to a blurry attic. She frowned.
"You're trapped in here with us now."
Hermione spun around to see several women standing in a loose huddle not too far away. "I've seen you before," she whispered.
And she had. Three of them had appeared in the society pages of the national newspapers. Their pretty faces had been serene; so at odds with the words of sorrow written below their pictures in heartfelt obituaries. The other two had been displayed on the wall in Tom's study. He'd told her they were relatives; sadly deceased, but not forgotten.
"What's happening? Where am I?"
A dark-haired woman with black eyes grinned at her manically. "You're dead." She lifted her hand and pointed at Hermione. "You're never getting out. We're never getting out. We're all trapped, trapped, trapped."
"Hush, Bella," said a slim girl with long blonde hair. "Don't be cruel." She placed her hand on Bella's wrist. "You're better than that. We promised not to let him win, remember?"
Hermione frowned and looked around. "What does that - " Her words dried up as she spied herself lying on the ground surrounded by a pool of blood on the other side of the mirror. She watched as Tom leaned down and grabbed her head, giving it a sharp twist to separate it from her body. He held it up by her hair before turning to place it into one of the jars.
Once he'd put the lid on, he turned and looked into the mirror.
"Hermione?" he murmured.
Her eyes rose to meet his. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Tom sighed. "Another failed attempt, although you do look more corporeal than the others. Perhaps a slower death is the key," he murmured, tapping his lip in thought and leaving a smear of blood behind.
Hermione walked forward, fury rushing through her. She slammed her palm against the mirror's surface. It shuddered, but didn't shatter.
Tom's eyes snapped towards her. "Fascinating."
He crossed the room to a desk and began to write in his journal.
Frustration flooded Hermione. She tried to scream, but all that emerged was a feeble puff of air. Turning, she met eyes with the other women - spirits - who were trapped like her. Forever imprisoned behind the glass until the day that Tom decided to shatter their existence.
Nine months later
"She's lovely," Luna said, stepping next to Hermione.
"Hmmm," Hermione replied.
Bella scoffed behind them, but it didn't hold the same vitriol as it once had. She'd started to fade in recent months. Soon she would be as insubstantial as Astoria, Lavender and Fleur.
Hermione stepped closer to the mirror's surface. The ballroom had been decorated with hundreds of white roses. They covered every surface and Tom had placed his mirrors around the room to give the illusion of even more. At least, that's what he wanted everyone else to believe. Hermione knew he'd done it so that his dead wives could watch him marry his newest conquest; a pretty girl with fiery red hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks.
Tom stood before the priest, his face smoothed into pleasant lines. Hermione marvelled at how easily he hid his true self. Nobody would guess that a monster lay beneath his charming demeanor. As if sensing her attention, Tom glanced at the mirror and smiled.
Anger rushed through Hermione and she placed her hand against the glass, but she couldn't gather enough strength to break through. She cursed, causing Bella to cackle.
"There's nothing we can do yet, Hermione," Luna said softly. "We have to wait until they're married."
She nodded, her heart clenching when she saw the bride walk down the aisle. Her eyes shone with adoration as she stared at Tom. Hermione wondered if her own face had looked like that. She hoped not.
The wedding lasted for almost an hour, culminating in Tom slipping the silver locket over his new bride's neck. He'd ignored them throughout the ceremony, but at the moment they'd exchanged vows, he'd looked towards them and raised his eyebrows before turning to his new bride.
"Til Death Do Us Part."
He'd said it with a smile that chilled Hermione to the bone.
Thanks for reading lovely people. Take care out there!