Hello.
I'm sorry that it took me so long to upload this chapter. I've been very distracted with college.
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Enjoy, everyone.
I'll see you down below.
When I woke the next morning, I was still shaking. The sweat did not bother me anymore. It had not since I was twelve. This shaking, however, was new and troubling. Pain formed above my left eye, and I pressed my palm against it to force the vein back into my head. Was I sick?
No. Just cold.
"I promise! Please just let me back in!"
Another tendril of shivers racked my body, like a leaf in the autumn wind. I felt destined to fall off the tree. But that had become a normal feeling at 7 in the morning.
I fought ever instinct my body had as I sat up. My muscles constricted violently, trying to bind me back to the mattress and into the comforting folds of slumber. I have no responsibilities this morning. There's no reason for me to be awake right now. Infallible logic. I crashed back against the pillows that Dad had provided for me. I rolled onto my stomach and slid my hands under the pillow, wanting to use the coolness to help calm my nerves. Something greeted my touch, causing me to catch my breath.
There was a crinkling unlike any paper I had felt before snatched in my fingers as I clutched the thick paper. It was not very thick, like leather. It was like slightly heavier cardstock, with an almost velvety sensation to it.
The object was paper-like, but not a kind of paper I recognized. It was a faded yellow color, with sharp crimson ink staining the middle third. The other thirds were sealed with wax on the back side. The ink was hard to read at first, because the cursive was so scrawled and flawless that it looked like a font on a computer.
Mademoiselle Aminta-Rose DuBois
It was the same handwriting as the night before. No deviation from the style, which was impossible for human hands. Yet the way the letters flowed seemed impossible for computers to comprehend. Was Dad to blame for this? Could he have managed this somehow? I had never known him to be an apt calligrapher. I broke the seal impulsively, but my fingers couldn't unfold the letter. My eyes drank in the wax-formed skull, now resting in two perfect halves along the crease line. Dad hated skulls outside of the Halloween season, and August was a good few months off.
Should I even open it? I asked, hands trembling as I rubbed the corners with my fingertips. Strength left my arms, and my hands flopped down onto the bed. Finally finding the courage, I flipped open the creases.
I appreciate your willingness to assist in the care of this home. There are simple rules that you must follow, and we will live in harmony.
You are welcome to walk about, but be cautious when entering the basements. The third basement is off limits, and you will be informed if the second or first are as well.
I do not allow strangers into this home without prior consent. You will inform me of any individuals that are to come. Your father has already informed me of the presence of a tutor, and the maid is known to me.
Should there be a problem of any sort, you will not call in someone from the outside. Merely leave a list of the errors and they will be righted.
I will not tolerate meaningless music to drift through this hallowed place where glory once sung. Be very cautious of what you listen to aloud.
The history of this house is of no importance to you. However, if you find yourself in earnest for answers, I will provide them. Write them down, and I will respond.
If you fail to adhere to the rules of this home, you will not be welcomed here.
I sincerely apologize for the tardiness of your room. I was unaware of the purpose that your father had in refitting the room, and I halted his progress quite often. Now understanding the need, the room's completion will speed forward. You may expect to be in a new room by the beginning of next week.
Your obedient servant.
Questions? I had not had many until this moment. Why is the history of the house unimportant? What purpose does the third basement have? When this…individual says 'meaningless music,' what do they mean?
I jumped out of the bed and swung the door wide open. "Very funny!" My voice echoed through the hall, but the lack of boyish laughter rose the hairs on the back of my neck. I dressed quickly, throwing on mismatching socks, holey jeans, and a random t-shirt before marching down the halls in search of the prankster that I knew as my father.
Bathroom? No.
Library? No.
Study? No.
Second bathroom? No.
I stumbled into the kitchen with narrow eyes and knitted eyebrows. "Dad, this isn't funny anymore!" I declared.
That's when something on the counter caught my eye. It was a little piece of notebook paper, with jagged edges showing a rough tear out.
Minta,
I won't be home until Monday, but I promise time will fly. We'll be together in no time!
XX, no kisses,
Dad
Yesterday's date was written into the upper corner of the paper, which had me curious yet again. The writing was neat and legible, like Dad's had finally become, but it did not show any signs of similarity between the note written before.
I rubbed the corner of Dad's message. The one I know is Dad's. What is going on?
"Oh."
An aged voice surprised me. I turned to the doorway to see a woman. Her face was smooth, defying her ancient green eyes and grey hair. She wore a modest black dress that seemed to point out the broom in her hand quite pointedly. She began muttering in French, only to stop when she realized as she studied my face.
"You are the master's daughter." There was no room for disagreement in her words. She already knew who I was. Her voice crinkled in a way that I had expected her to when Dad first said we were going to have a maid. A thick accent leveled each word with grace and poise, like a beautiful dagger. She did not look like the pile of skin and bones I had originally envisioned, but at least she sounded it. "Aminta, isn't it?"
I straightened my back and nodded, scanning over her with an eye for concern. "Most people call me Minta."
The corners of her lips drew into a smile, though it felt more like a sneer to me. "Then I shall take great pleasure in being one of the few to call you Aminta. My name is Elliana Giry, but I would prefer Madame Giry."
Elliana.
Madelaine and Elliana were unafraid. That Hell they braved swallowed them whole.
The words came out before I had time to think and stop them. "Did you know someone named Madelaine, Madame?"
Her eyes widening was quite an answer. Shock, followed by pain and anger swept through those summer orbs. They flickered to the right before stabilizing themselves back on me. "I do not. Would you enlighten me?"
Liar. Tell me everything you know.
"It's nothing. Just something I heard."
She kept those eyes on me, but moved past me and began sweeping the corner furthest from the door. "Don't concern yourself with rumors. They inevitably do more harm than good."
"I'll keep that in mind, Madame. Have a good day." I quickly fled the kitchen, notes in hand, and returned to the foremost part of the house. The entrance hall.
Elliana. If you are alive, where is Madelaine?
Hinges squealed, wood groaned, and I was once again surprised by the sudden sounds. The door, the one adjacent to the entrance, now stood ajar. I took faltering steps to the doorway and peaked inside. Darkness met my eyes, barring the light shining from behind me. I moved just a bit more in.
That was my first mistake.
I was thrown forward by the door as it slammed shut. Its crack echoed throughout the room I had stumbled into.
No problem. I thought, reaching into the pockets of my jeans. I'll just grab my phone and-
Where's my phone?
I ran my hands over myself multiple times, trying to feel for that plastic safety blanket that I carried with me. But no matter where I checked, I could not find it. Desperation settled in my stomach as I felt around on the floor.
Several repetitions of "no" fell from my mouth as I pushed and pulled at the door that had sealed itself off from the rest of the house. "Come on!" I screamed, slamming the wood with my palms.
No problem. I thought, taking deep breaths. My hands reached into the pockets of my jeans. I'll just grab my phone and-
Where's my phone?
I ran my hands over myself multiple times, trying to feel for that plastic safety blanket that I carried with me. But no matter where I checked, I could not find it. Desperation settled in my stomach as I felt around on the floor.
Have you ever experienced pure darkness? In this place, light did not shine from any place. Not even the cracks in the door. The only way for me to know where the location of the doorknob was when I accidently drove my side into it. Shadows swarmed me, and it felt like there was nothing. Not even a floor, though I could feel it through my socks.
The blur of a shadow on the door alerted me to the existence of light. I turned to face the very soft light of a candle. It looked as though it hovered in the air, but the shadows it cast showed a structure that was as high as my chest.
Nothing was in my way, I could have easily gone right up to the light, but I did not. I kept away from it, choosing instead to press myself against the wood with more determination to know only one area of this darkness. What if the candle were to out and leave me stranded in this place?
"Madame! Madame, please help me!" I yelled, pounding on the door more.
"She will not come."
Welcome to the end of the chapter.
So, what do you think of the ending here? Let me know in the comments.
A few people remarked about how the last chapter had a Wuthering Heights feel, and I regret saying that I have not enjoyed this particular Bronte novel. I am not one to condon spoilers, but if anyone would like to tell me in what exact regard the chapter felt like this story, I would enjoy it immensely.
EDIT (11/7/2016) Child of Music and Dreams filled me in on the WH thing, so it's clear now.
I look forward to seeing you all again in the next chapter. I just hope the wait isn't as long with the next one.
Forever yours
