Notes on Chapter Four:

Not much to say for this chapter - If it's worth anything, it will speak for itself. I hope.
It gets kinda creepy now, or, at least, it's beginning to get a little creepy... So I guess I'll up the rating a bit...
Soon, there should be some real plot development... Some real intrigue - If there isn't already... I'm not sure, so let me know what you think! Ah, yes, please, please, please, tell me what you think of this little (although it's getting to be pretty darn long) fic! It's the commentary that keeps me going. So, a preemptive, Thanks!'
Hope you enjoy!
SnM



The sound of footsteps, she decided, was the thing that had disturbed her sleep. Rather, to be more precise, it was the sound of someone pacing in the room above hers. She had not seen the third floor at all yet, so she did not know what the room above hers might house, but she had the feeling it was a bedroom, like the one she was in. The telling fact was that accompanying the footsteps was the faint sound of conversation.

She closed her eyes, trying to fall back to sleep. The voices rose and fell, following the footsteps. It sounded, she thought, like a man and a woman. She tried to let the dull, fairly even sound lull her to sleep, but it was all in vain.

Just as Utena was beginning to drift off, the footsteps stopped altogether. She couldn't discern the sound of a door shutting, or someone descending the staircase. The sound just stopped. Perhaps,' she thought, they have just gone to bed, whoever they are...'

Then it began: The woman was crying. Utena was struck with the odd notion that, if the Widow Saionji ever cried, which, Utena had to admit, she couldn't really imagine, it would sound like sobbing she heard now.

Utena rose from her bed, and pulled a robe on over her chemise. Fastening the sash, she decided that she would go up and make sure that whoever was crying was all right. Certainly, she wouldn't get any more sleep with them crying like that, and she did hate to see another person suffering. And if they want me to leave,' Utena reasoned, putting on a pair of slippers, I shall simply leave...'

Out the door she slipped, a strange inquietude about her as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. The silent, dark staircase evoked in her that same sense of death that she had felt the night before. She couldn't pinpoint a location for the strange aura - it seemed to permeate the entire house. The steps, the floorboards, themselves, seemed to whisper mournfully beneath her feet. The utter blackness of the manor was chilling.

As she stepped onto the third floor, she noticed a rather surprising change: The air around her had grown surprisingly cold. She had goose bumps on her arms, even beneath her robe, before she had taken three steps away from the stairs. She took in a sharp breath, shocked by the cold. Recalling the heat of the music room, she was confused as to how, exactly, the temperature could differ so drastically, especially when she could hear the rain droning down in exactly the same pattern as it had been earlier.

The young heiress walked down the stifling dark hallway, following the same path that she took to her bedroom from the second story landing. She found herself, within a matter of seconds, in front of a door. A small line of weak light played in the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. Utena watched it spill across her white-skinned ankles like a ray of sunlight cutting through thick clouds. The air in front of this door was much colder, colder still than the rest of the third floor. But Utena knew - She knew that this was the room where the voices had been coming from.

She could still hear it - the crying. It was like a ghost in some ancestral home, a sound you only ever hear stories about. The sound of the woman's sobs sounded, to Utena, to be something epic proportions. Her pain,' Utena thought, surprised by her own thoughts, is the sort of thing that poets write about... This - this is no ordinary sorrow.'

It then dawned on her that she was standing, still as a statue, in front of the door. She shook herself from the trance she had fallen into, shivering slightly, and raised her hand to knock on the door.

Please, do come in. Though voice was soft, and further muted by the door, Utena recognized the speaker. But how had the Widow Saionji known someone was at her door, even before Utena had knocked?

Hesitantly, Utena opened the door, and stepped into the poorly-lit room. The first thing that caught her attention were the three still shadows standing attention on the wall. They looked like women's silhouettes, almost painted on the wall, they were so still... Perhaps they are a mural of some sort,' Utena thought to comfort herself, shivering again.

Then she looked at the bed, and heard the gasp that slipped past her lips echoed by the Widow. The Widow Saionji looked utterly distraught. She was crumpled on the bed, her black crepe dress fanned about her in a disorganized, but striking, fashion. Her lovely face was pale, and tear tracks stained her face, spreading like roads on a map from her reddened eyes. Her expression was one of total shock.

L-l-l-lady Tenjou! the Widow cried, putting a hand to her chest, her eyes wide.

Lady... Saionji...? Utena said softly.

I'm so sorry! She paused, her eyes moving back and forth frantically. Did I wake you? Please, excuse me, I -

It's fine, Utena cut in. She looked at the bed. May I sit?

The Widow seemed incurably startled. Her delicate hand stayed over her heart.

Before the purple-haired woman could do anything, Utena crossed from the doorway, shutting the door behind herself, and sat down on the bed beside the Widow. The sound of crepe crackling softly alerted Utena to the fact that she was sitting on the skirts of the Widow's dress. She did not move to alter the situation.

You shouldn't, you know... the other young woman said weakly. Her eyes drifted to the wall where the three shadows had been standing sentinel. Utena followed her gaze, to notice that their heads were now inclined towards each other, as though they were whispering amongst themselves. The heiress felt her heart skip. Those were no paintings. Nor were they shadows cast my some diaphanous objects in the room. Utena had the sinking feeling that they were, in fact, sentient creatures in their own right.

In the silence of the room, Utena heard a soft sound running beneath the sound of her own and the Widow's breathing. Whispering,' she realized suddenly, a shock running up her spine. Those shadows - ghosts - shades - women - were whispering. Utena felt she should respond, somehow... She could find no words.

They'll call him back... They will, if you stay. The sound of Lady Saionji's voice made Utena jump slightly. She sounded so distant, so sad... So helpless.

Utena tore her eyes away from the whispering ghosts on the wall to look at the woman next to her. The Widow was looking at her, a melancholy expression on her lovely face. She seemed to have given up.

You speak as if they weren't in the room, Utena said softly. Can't they hear you...? When she heard her own words echo in her ears, she was surprised. Why had she said that? She didn't know.

They can, I suppose... Her voice was soft, speculative, though no less sad. She titled her head, gazing at the figures on the wall. They do speak to me sometimes... Sometimes I speak to them, but they seldom answer... We haven't much to say to each other... Usually, they're silent.

Utena stared at the Widow for a moment, trying to absorb this information. ... I've seen them elsewhere in the manor... Utena swallowed against the thickness in her throat. She was glad that she at least had sufficient reason to be terrified. Are they yours?

the Lady Saionji said, still watching them. They're... his... They like the dark, like he does...

The pink-haired woman struggled to understand. The other woman's voice was so strange, a little eerie... She wondered whether Lord Kiryuu didn't keep such a close watch on her because she was somehow insane.

You see... Well... Lady Saionji stopped talking as one of the shades broke away from the group. It - She?' Utena wondered - slipped along the walls, distorting over the three-dimensional objects against the plane, heading toward the door. Once that goal had been achieved, the living shadow slipped through the gap between the wall and the side of the door, and out into the hall. The two remaining shadows straightened, and resumed their watch over the two women.

the Widow moaned softly. She's gone to get him... You really should leave...

Utena looked at the frail woman at her side, the way her body seemed ready to drop fully on the bed. She felt a strange sense of protectiveness well up in her, but she decided it would be best if, given the present circumstances, she did not act on it.

Finally, Utena spoke: Who is he?

Lady Saionji laughed delicately. Oh, I just couldn't tell you that...

Before she could respond, the air in the room seemed to literally freeze. Utena could suddenly see her breath in front of her face, and her skin tightened, a chill creeping across over her body. She was distracted by the reappearance of the third silhouette woman, who resumed her place next to her two sisters.

The voice shook her heart. What are you doing here?

Utena looked around. The Widow had not spoken, and neither had the shadows. It was a man's voice, besides, smooth but not soothing at all. Utena felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end at its sound. She stood, turning slowly, still looking for the source of the voice.

What right have you to be here? the voice continued. Utena then realized what part of the power of the voice was - This was the same person with whom the Widow had been conversing earlier. Whoever it was speaking - whatever, perhaps - had made the lovely, purple-haired woman cry.

You hurt her, Utena said firmly, not fixing her eyes on any one spot.

There was a soft, rumbling laugh, still bodiless. Accompanying the sound have the heavy scent of roses. Utena almost choked on the sickeningly thick scent.

She took a deep breath before continuing. I don't care who you are. You made this woman, here, she gestured vaguely to Lady Saionji, cry. To make her feel better. That's why I'm here.

The stench, for that was the only appropriate word for a smell so overwhelming, redoubled, seeming to brush over Utena in a tangible wall of fragrance. She coughed, blinking as if the smell of roses were a fog wrapping around her.

You should care, my dear girl... You should care, the voice continued. It is not your place to interfere with what this woman' does. You don't know what's good for you, girl.

Utena's jaw clenched, half against the smell, half in anger. She glanced briefly at Lady Saionji, who was still sitting weakly on the bed, looking worried, but not at all distracted by the strange, stifling scent bearing down on the room. I don't think you can say that, Utena shot back, her fists clenched, shivering.

The bodiless laugh rumbled through the air again, like distant thunder. I think I can... The air seemed to shrink around Utena, and she gasped. How does that feel? Can't I do that, as well? It seemed that the air around her, itself, was conspiring against her. She could not breathe, the breath in her lungs inaccessible, and the air around her was pressing against her, unbearably cold. She continued to struggle for breath, struggle to move, struggle to fight back.

Stop, please stop!

Utena turned her eyes towards the bed, where the Widow was leaning forward, a frantic look on her face. Please, don't... Don't kill her, please, don't!

For what seemed like years, there was not a sound. Utena, herself, was not breathing, and she could not hear the Widow breathing. The bodiless voice was silent, as were the still shadows against the wall. Then the frigid air around her doubled back on itself, pulling away, and, as she sucked air into her lungs, time started again.

The prickling cold, along with the sweet stench of too many roses, disappeared. The room was still unusually cold, but Utena did not care at the moment. She was too busy breathing, grateful for even that.

When she finally had the sense to look back at the Widow, the lovely young woman was gazing at her with a strange look in her eyes. Her hand had dropped from her chest, and was toying with a ring on the ring finger of her other hand... A silver signet-style ring... With a rose etched into the flat face. Utena felt the air drop from her lungs again, although this was shock and not the power of some unseen force. The Widow Saionji wore the same ring as she did...

You should go now, the Widow said coolly, her voice soft, and sweetly husky. She looked vaguely apologetic, but her expression was mostly unreadable again.

Utena could not pursue the matter of the ring at the moment... As she tried to think of something to say, she was distracted by the rose petals that dusted the skirts of the Widow's black dress. Utena knew - she knew - that the white, blue-tipped petals had not been there before. She again had trouble drawing breath, her heart feeling heavy in her chest.

Without another word, Utena turned away from the Widow and left the room, walking back down to her bedroom, never once making another sound.







P.S.:
I have a sort of annoying (and certainly off-topic) question... This is my new debate:
I have about waist-length hair that's a little wavy. People tell me how nice it is, but I never wear it down, so it seems like a waste... What I'm wondering is, should I cut it? Really short - like, above chin length.
So, I'm going through a comment period,' and at the end of the summer (which is, admittedly, a long ways away), I'll decide whether or not I'm going to cut it... Yeah, so, basically, do you prefer really long hair, or really short hair... ::Snick.:: Regular' Utena, or Movie' Utena here, folks? That's the question. That is question.
SnM