Chapter 2.

The scream was a rather impressive one. Though, for the most part, locked within the confines of the flimsy shack, it still reverberated with such a quality that all the nuances of combined horror and frustration were quite adequately expressed to anyone within. So good was the scream, in fact, that Nemida quickly followed it up with a second one. After that was done, Nemida felt there was something missing, and just to be certain, cut loose with a third scream.

A dim light was filtering through the single window of the house. The night was effectively over, though the sun had not fully crested the horizon. Nemida came to the sudden decision that some fresh air, and a relief from the rather claustrophobic confines of the house would be most welcome at this point. With that in mind, Nemida strode forth boldly and threw open the door, trying to muster the courage to face the day, though he remained depressingly convinced that it would probably end up being much like the night.

The sun, now mostly free of the horizon and just beginning its long trip across the celestial dome, bathed Nemida in its light. For a moment, Nemida almost forgot about the horrors of the night. His awakening in a confining, nitrous prison. The corn which turned to ash upon his tongue. The unsettling, regal figure that claimed to be his brother. Even the waxen model that wore the features of his father was pushed to the back of his mind by the warming, rejuvenating rays of the day-orb.

The rays were incredibly warming. So warming that some might even claim they were burning. Nemida's contented smile faltered a bit as the welcome warmth of the morning light was rapidly changing into something rather different and not at all welcome. It was at this time he became aware of an omnipresent, growing, hissing noise. No, not completely omnipresent, the hiss, that of something burning away rather rapidly, only came from wherever his body was present. Nemida's placid smile turned into a confused frown as he looked down at his rapidly charring hands. Finally, his mind, initially rendered sluggish by the relaxing warmth of the sun, put together the facts that Nemida's skin was turning black, it felt like something was burning him, and there was a hissing noise, and he realized he was being burned away by the sun.

With a shriek rendered slightly hoarse by the previous bout of screaming, Nemida leapt away from the doorway, directly into the single beam of light shining through the window. Another shriek, this one even less coherent than the last, and Nemida dived clumsily under the table. He closed his eyes, wrapped his smarting arms around his legs, and commenced rocking back and forth, trying as hard as he could to will the strange, alien, unpleasant world that had popped up around him away.

The world didn't seem too eager to go away. In fact, if anything, it was determined to open the door of the house, come inside, giggling happily, and sit down on the floor by Nemida. Nemida tried to ignore the part of the world that sat on the floor by him, giggling. The part of the world that was on the floor continued to giggle, obviously taking great amusement from Nemida. Nemida gave in, he decided he'd have to deal with reality. "What do you want?"

More giggling.

"Who are you?"

More giggling.

"Why are you giggling?"

"Because I'm happy to see you."

"That makes one of us."

"You aren't happy?"

"Do I look happy?"

"You look uncomfortable."

"I am uncomfortable."

"Come on out then."

"I'd rather not."

"Okay then."

There was a shuffling noise. Nemida risked opening his eyes. The sight he saw was not too disagreeable. As the voice implied, it was a decidedly feminine figure. Nemida tried focusing on something other than the alluring curves as she leapt spritely back to her feet. She looked back down at him, noticed him looking at her, and giggled again. Nemida found something else to concentrate on. The eyes. If the body appeared to be bursting with energy (and sensuality, Nemida couldn't help but notice. Each light step seemed calculated to bring as much of the body into contact with something as possible, the air, her clothes, her hand caressing the wall), then the eyes pretty much exploded with it. It was as if all the vibrancy of simply being alive had collected into those twin, violet orbs. The lips, too, were purple…as was the hair. The clothes, what clothes there were, tended to vary from a deep, rough brown, to a glistening emerald green. To tell the truth, she almost looked exactly like a flower. A pale-skinned flower that appeared to be having quite a lot of trouble simply standing still. She bounced happily around the room. Opening cabinets at random, she appeared shocked with pleasant discovery with whatever lay inside. Eventually, she found one with that held the earthen jugs filled with a crude wine.

Squeeking with joy, she took out the jug. It must have been half as tall as she was, yet she pranced joyfully about with it, holding it in one hand. Crouching again by Nemida, she took a swig. Nemida smiled despite himself as a brief grimace crossed her face. "Tasty!" she said, then offered the jug to Nemida.

Nemida hesitantly took the jug. He was certain that, like the corn, the wine would taste remarkably like ash. He knew there was no good reason to take it if all he would be doing is spitting it back out. Nemida looked at the girl. She looked, for all her childlike antics, pretty much the same age as him, if quite a bit shorter. She stared back expectantly, waiting for him to imbibe. Nemida didn't want to repeat what happened last night. He looked at her, saw both the expectancy and the certainty in her eyes. Nemida drank.

The wine tasted horrible, but Nemida was so surprised that he was tasting wine and not ash that he took two swigs. It was only then that he realized it was a rather dry wine and collapsed in a coughing fit as his throat tried desperately to seal itself against further intrusion. Once again, the girl squealed in joy, and yanked Nemida out from under the table. Yes, yanked is the proper word. Despite her diminutive stature, Nemida found himself bodily hauled out from underneath. Nemida tried to catch his breath.

Nemida remembered that he did not need to breath.

The previous taciturnity once again settle upon him.

Nemida felt a hand upon his shoulder. He looked up and once again found the violet eyes staring back at him. For the moment, the girl had stopped skipping about. For the moment, she remained stock still and stared at him. Nemida saw, for just a brief moment, sorrow in those eyes. The hand moved from his shoulder and rested softly on his cheek. It was warm. Nemida placed his hand over it, "Thanks."

"I came for you."

"What?"

"You asked me what I wanted, I came for you."

"Oh, why?"

"We should leave soon, it's not safe here."

"I got that impression."

"You're missing your old thoughts."

"My…oh, my memory. Yes, that has been noticed."

"We should go soon. It's not fun here."

"Where?"

"Laumas will probably want to go with us, he likes you."

"Laumas? Oh, the cat? Is that his name?"

"I'll get your stuff, just keep sitting. Or better yet, lay down, it's more comfortable."

"Okay, I'll…hey, wait!"

The girl stopped, she had been in the act of lightly skipping to the other door, the one that led into the bedroom with the waxen doll of Nemida's father. "Hmm?"

"Er, well first off, you haven't answered a whole lot of my questions," Nemida said, "And secondly, I don't think it's a good idea to leave right now. The sun…does things to me."

The girl giggled again, "Don't worry, sweety, you're no fun all burned up. We'll wait for night, you should be safe," A brief moment of uncertainty crossed her face, unsettling Nemida, "…yeah…should be safe."

Nemida leaned back against the wall. From the other room came the sounds of organized destruction. He heard the sound of the girl's voice raised in a petulant rage, "Where did they put it!"

Some more destruction. A pause. A slightly muffled, joyful squeal. The girl came prancing out of the room, something in her hands, "Your dad's a real stiff," she said matter-of-factly.

Nemida hardly heard, he was staring at what was in her hands. He wondered what the pale thing heading towards it, from the corner of his vision, was. He realized it was his hand. With an effort, he forced his hand to drop. "What…what is it?" He asked.

"It's yours," the girl replied bluntly, pouting slightly because her pun about Nemida's father hadn't gotten noticed.

The thing was decidedly hard to focus on. It wasn't because of any odd shape or something like that, it was in the shape of the average quarterstaff used as both walking-aids and defense by the peasants in the area. It was the fact that there, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be nothing there to focus on. Where it had colour, it was the deep purple of distant nebulae. Where it lacked colour, it was of the deepest ebon, yet it was so much more than that…or less. It went beyond a lack of colour…it was a complete lack of material. It was as if the girl held in her hands a portable, long, thin hole into empty space. Nemida found himself once again reaching out towards it. The girl squeaked in fear and twisted away, drawing the staff out of his grasp.

"What was that for?" asked Nemida, trying to ignore the smooth, pale skin that had been moved within inches of his face by the girl's movement, "I thought you said that was mine."

"It is yours," the girl said. Nemida looked up, her voice had, for once, lost its bouncy, fluttering quality, "It has some of your memories buried within it. You should know that before you take it, because the memories long to be re-united with their owner, and it could be, well, weird and stuff if you weren't expecting them."

Nemida only nodded silently. He decided not to point out that 'weird' had become pretty much the expected norm over the past few hours. The girl handed him the staff. Nemida touched it, taking it in his hands. He was fairly certain he touched it, that's what his eyes told him, at least. He felt no texture, no material, not even a noticeable change in temperature in his hands, though. It was like he had his hands curled around nothing more than air. "What is it?"

"It is the Staff of the Indigo Void," the girl said, "It is yours, and now you should sleep so you'll be all awake and ready to go when the sun sets!"

"What, sleep here? On the floor?"

"Not on the floor, silly, it's all hard and uncomfortable. You'll sleep on my lap."

Nemida opened his mouth and stopped. The 'weird', as the girl had put it, was still continuing in its uninterrupted stream. Dull terror at his entire situation still thrummed through Nemida's body. Uncertainty hovered ominuously, like some black bird of prey hangs precariously in the sky, waiting for a moment of insecurity to strike. But the weirdness being proposed to him now was a weirdness Nemida felt more comfortable dealing with. "Lay down," the girl said softly.

Nemida found himself complying, placing his head carefully on the warm legs of the girl. She placed her hand upon his cheek again. A soft comfort seemed to radiate from her body. Nemida felt himself relaxing despite the situation around him. She really was quite comfortable. Nemida drowsily wondered why, when he was in contact with her, he suddenly felt safe. "Llewellis," the girl said.

"Hmm?" Nemida asked, closing his eyes.

"My name, you asked, it's Llewellis."

"Oh. I…I like that name."

And so Nemida went to sleep.

The comforting look that was previously on Llewellis' face vanished. It was quickly replaced by a musing, yet concerned expression. The one she feared, the one who wanted to take Nemida for himself, hadn't arrived yet, thankfully. But there was something else. Someone had expected Nemida back. Someone else. Someone other than her, or the Lord of Frost. Someone had animated a doll in the form of his father.

"Wish I knew who it was," Llewellis said quietly, and began her day-long vigil, softly stroking the hair of the sleeper on her lap.