...hello. Quick thanks to Death's Angel 3000yrs for kind of inspiring the chapter.
I could not remember the last time I slept. During my life, it was rare that I found myself laying in a bed having rested. Normally it was at the organ or piano, passed out from exhaustion and without any restorative properties. Now I wandered the halls of my creation once more, unable to seek even that refuge. I found myself pausing to stare out over the Paris skyline. A lifetime ago, I had intimately known the buildings that perched about the Seine. Their shadows would break up the midnight sky and offer seclusion. Now that familiarity had faded, lost in reconstructions and repurposing. I had several lifetimes to learn about them, but I turned my nose up at the thought. They seemed inadequate. My Paris was buried beneath them, lost to all memory but my own and its splendor shined brighter than the eternal lights that bled over the city.
Lost in musing, I found myself wandering the halls near her room. A distant bell rung out thrice, and with it came a shriek. Had I any flowing blood, it would have frozen in my veins. I could almost hear her vocal chords strain with the pitch of her gut-wrenching scream. Fear filled me as I raced to her door, defeated barely by her father. Christophe nearly tore the door off its hinges. I slipped in behind him to watch as he braced a struggling Aminta-Rose. Her words were incoherent, jumbled in with her sobs and screams. The bed sheets were tangled around her legs, leaving her to thrash about like a fish in a net. She eventually found herself enough to grab onto her father's shirt and press her face into his shoulder.
To his efforts, he seemed calm. I could see the flicker of worry that remained in his eyes, but it was dim. His face was still, like Michelangelo's David. No facet of his expression revealed any weakness. She eventually calmed down, though her hands still shook as she was laid back down. Christophe smoothed her hair, but his eyes were dim as he shuffled out the door. I lingered, watching as she stared up at the ceiling. Tears slid into her hair, a few drops running close to her ear. Her chest shuddered with every other breath that she took.
"Mademoiselle?" I whispered. She lifted her head, the rest of her body laying still as stone. Slowly her head returned to the pillow, allowing her to resume her intense study of the plain white paint that covered her overhead. I crept to the end of her bed. She made no sound as I stepped close enough to hold her hand. My knee touched the ground as I took her hand in mine and rubbed the back with my thumb.
She did not flinch at the contact. It was like a switch had been switched to its off position, turning off the girl. Suddenly, in the quietest voice she had, she began whispering. "She was here. She was here, and I couldn't escape."
"Who was here, Minta?"
"Her. Jess."
The name struck my inmost being. Christophe had mentioned a Jessica. Minta's mother. He had neglected to tell me much about her, only that she had lost custody of her daughter.
"I couldn't breathe. She was holding my head down and I-I-" She began breathing quickly, too quickly for her to retain any oxygen. I placed one hand on the top of her head and stroked her hair while whispering quiet nothings to calm her.
"You're safe, Minta. She's not here."
In a sudden jerk, she was sitting up and clutching the collar of my shirt. Her eyes were feral and bright, reflecting a madness that the witching hour provoked. "Yes she is! She's always here." Fists filled with surprisingly long hair pressed against her temples, like she could squeeze the memory out.
I carefully slid my hands in between hers and her head, forcing her wild bluebell eyes to focus on me. "Minta, are you listening to me?" Her lip quivered, and I took it as a confirmation. "Your mother is not here. I wouldn't allow her here. She'd be hanging by the rafters before she could get near you." The shine of lunacy dulled. Her lips began moving again, murmuring agreements. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against my shoulders. She fitted comfortably in the crook of my neck. Her arms wrapped around me, not strong enough to move me into her embrace.
"It's all my fault." She said, the heat of her breathe brushing my skin. "If I was never born, she wouldn't hate me."
My body seemed to freeze. A breath settled into my non-existent lungs and held them hostage. I pulled her against me with a fierceness that surprised me. It was her turn to have a hitch in breathing. "She doesn't have the right to make you feel that." I seethed through clenched teeth. "You don't need her." The light puffs of her breath down my collar.
Cradling her in my arms lead to the discovery that she had managed to fall back asleep. The peace that covered her previously crazed face led a small smile to grow on my face. She did not wake as I laid her down on her pillows and tucked her blankets snuggly around her.
I should have left right then. My presence was no longer needed. Even so, there I stayed. Watching her as she rolled herself onto her stomach, undoing my work to fully cover her with blankets. How she pressed half of her face into her pillow, and with one swift movement she would suffocate herself once more. Logic told me to adjust her before she asphyxiated and scared herself awake. Temptation swooned at the suggestion and declared it the only viable choice. Self-preservation screamed that I leave. With any luck, she would assume my interference was part of a dream.
The bells tolled five times by the time I left. Down in the basements, there was a canvas that sat unnervingly blank. Her image conjured itself in the form of a light sketch in graphite, sitting out in the garden like I had watched her do so many times over the past months. As I filled in the basic colors of the young lady, I immediately found myself building comparisons to her.
It was like comparing a rose and a rainstorm. She was always so smooth and graceful, demure and quiet. Aminta-Rose was a ball of lightning begging to be unleashed, bringing both chaos and light. Painting her meant giving life to every little hair that sprung from her hair regardless of how she fastened it down. It meant veering away from the extravagant costumes that I was so used to, covering her in loose shirts and trousers. I painted her precious muguets at her feet, shading her with the willow she adored.
The only telling that time had passed was the echo of the first basement door as it was slammed shut. I placed my brushes in a pitcher of water and slipped into the shadows to investigate.
The first cellar was primarily used as a wine storage, and it seemed that someone had taken a few bottles with them. Heading into the foyer revealed the conglomeration of Christophe's guests. I took no note of them, seeing as they were not important to me, and was about to return to my work when a gasp and whispers stole my attention and drove my gaze to the staircase.
Minta.
She was dressed like a woman, robed in black. The dress only stretched over one shoulder, leaving the bodice to stretch across her chest and hold itself in place. White floral patterns caught my eye and lead me constantly to her. Somehow, the untamable hairs were smooth and obedient as they rested in an elegant bun. Silver teardrops clung to a thin chain across her throat. The icy gaze she wore did not stop at me, nor did her face betray her in revealing my location. The smile she bore was painted on cherry red lips.
For the first time, she reminded me of the women I had spent my life around. The haughty heiresses and the proud ballerinas who commanded their spaces. Yet there was something distinctly different about this Minta. Nerves built up inside my mind, like the paranoia of a dummy or a wax figurine. It was like looking on something not quite right.
She was not quite Aminta-Rose.
Okay, so we're seeing some things begin to take place. I honestly need to write out a timeline for my own benefit so that I don't have to constantly reread my story to remember what season we're in or how long she's been in Paris. Anyway, reviews are great, now I'm going to get some sleep because I got finals to stress about and so naturally this is when my brain decides to focus on this.
Your obedient servant,
Eliyah
