Cordelia's palm leant heavily against the door. Her thumb gently swept over the wood as she waited. An uneasy stillness permeated the hallway as she folded her legs beneath her, settling patiently in the dusk. Her lips pursed in mellow reflection as she rested her body on the door frame. Its vivid edges towered endlessly above her; their silhouettes increasingly threatening as the light evaded the night-time.
"Every hour of fear I spend," whispered a bristly, quiet voice through the door, "my body tries to cry." Her fragility quivered in the melody.
"Misty, please let me in," Cordelia uttered. She was no longer sure how she intended this to sound. The melody tumbled further through the wooden panels, pleading to her in sensitivity. Yet the door remained shut.
From the other side of the monstrous obstacle, the heartbreaking words continued to dance, steadily and without consciousness. The wood caught and supported Misty's head, itself hidden partially behind her intricate curls. Faint lines of frustration decorated her forehead. Her earnest eyes resigned themselves to fixation upon the blank, white walls containing her. Redundancy. It held her where she'd fallen.
Her ears twitched at the occasional purrs of Cordelia's voice from the corridor. But they barely reached her. Memories sparsely interrupted her thoughts as she wove through the chain of lyrics sewn together in her mind. To be so external was a familiar experience. It was constant.
Regret plagued her thoughts. Since her imprisonment in the insufferable crypt and Madison's infuriating indifference to her ordeal, the memories of her life before the execution had obscured themselves behind every passage in her mind. She would hasten to divert each excruciating thought that confronted her, only to cower habitually at the appearance of another. Occasionally they would emerge as lucid dreams to disturb her subconscious. Their reality was fervently undeniable, and relentlessly unbearable.
"Misty, please," said Cordelia, her voice pattering through the wooden boundary. The solemnity of her words bored through Misty's own convoluted mutterings. The intrinsic beauty of the poetry she'd been singing remained, yet the cohesion in the lyrics had gone. There were so many pollutants bombarding her, both internally and from the oppressive environment ensnaring her.
"I can't."
The words broke from her throat.
She slumped in exhaustion onto the floor, clutching at fabric and flesh, failing to find relevance in their distinction. Sobs sent tremors through her limbs. She embraced them.
With time seeming irrelevant and irretrievable, Cordelia grappled for connection with Misty. As the delicious lyrics faded into elated patterns of breathing from within the bedroom, she seemed to wilt in communion with her inconsolable friend. Each attempt to speak with her merely echoed aimlessly within the corridor. Her hand barely broke contact with the door, momentarily in indecision over whether or not to exercise her power of telekinesis. She reminded herself that Misty needed to trust her, and would do so in her own time. She hoped.
"Rough night, Delia?" smirked Madison, gliding along the corridor. Dawn rested on her shoulders.
Cordelia jolted awake. Sleep clogged her initial thoughts as her hands fumbled over the wooden floor panels. They were coarse beneath her fingers. The uneven recollections of the night she'd spent curled in this alcove beside Misty's room filtered into her mind. She formulated no reply to Madison as she listened to her footsteps digress. Pressing her ear against the door, she listened avidly for movement from within.
"Misty, are you awake?" she asked, anticipating a warm response from the typically enthusiastic swamp witch.
No, was the inaudible reply.
Cordelia considered her next action. Adjusting the position of her ear on the wall, a sudden idea propelled her to stand up. The remnants of sleep dripped from her as she rose resolutely and paced away from the door. She had sensed the impression of Misty's breath in the atmosphere.
She returned briskly several minutes later, finding that she was now rather adept at navigating through the Academy's deluge of passageways. The pockets of her cardigan draped slightly with the weight of a new acquisition. Reaching out her arms, she hunted for the alcove in which she'd spent the night, her hands finding the familiar space as she knelt into it. She searched inside her pockets and withdrew a small handful of sundry leaves. Folding her fingers carefully around them, she breathed over their fragile bodies. They tingled vividly at the sensation of her voice.
She trailed her finger down the wall and located the gap beneath the door, a determination etched into the lines of her face. She tilted her palm and released the leaves onto the floor, ushering them under the gap, resigning to wait patiently for their receipt.
Misty's head was furious and cloaked in sleep. The fury did not belong to her, yet it clung to her soul and cursed it. It was relentless except in daytime, when the light prevented it from invading too far. Today was different. The fury fell upon her, lay beside her, and writhed continuously around her. She slept to evade it but it lurked in her dreams too.
As the fury settled around her, so did the daylight. She stirred, noticing the presence of new souls beside her, which spoke softly as if to summon her attention. Her eyes slowly opened, revealing the serpentine knot of arms with which she guarded her face. She unfurled them and rubbed her eyes. The heaviness still concentrated itself within her, but a relief pervaded the room as her eyes fell upon the menagerie of leaves convened on the floor. An innocent hum emitted from them; a choir of bay, basil and honeysuckle leaves. Their orchestral voices absorbed her and sketched faint happiness onto her face. She shuffled onto her knees and scooped them up; their purity illuminating in her eyes.
"Oh," she gasped, cradling the leaves. Their aura enthralled her.
The tips of her fingers flitted as she glanced quickly at the handle on the door. The language of the leaves had persuaded her out of silence.
The door cracked open.
Cordelia toppled abruptly at the sudden movement and collapsed forward, her arms exploring the vacant space desperately.
"Misty? Are you ok?" she urged, pulling herself to her feet and stepping around the door. There was a fresh vivacity loitering within the dense walls.
"There's so much magic in 'em!" Misty exclaimed, beaming at the leaves she held. Her eyes flew to Cordelia as she staggered into the room, Misty's arms rushing to hold her once she deposited the pulsating foliage on the ground. "Come look," she continued, hauling Cordelia towards her as she nudged the door closed.
She gathered up the leaves and seated herself opposite the headmistress, analysing the ineffable qualities of the small aspects of flora.
"You brought 'em to me, Cordelia. Thank you," she said. The familiar tenderness and warmth in her voice suggested a revival of her person. Its sound was enchanting.
"I was worried about you," replied Cordelia. "I am worried about you." She stretched out her arm until she discovered Misty's knee, resting it lightly there in reassurance.
"I know. I could hear you out in the hall. I'm sorry I didn't let you in – I couldn't. The noise was too loud."
Misty felt Cordelia's hand squeeze her knee calmly. An insurgence of energy fizzled through her at the comfort she felt from their contact. Her eyebrows peaked in affirmation at Cordelia's gestures; observing her headmistress' controlled and fluid movements with superficial optimism.
"You can trust me, Misty," she said, a simplicity suspended in her voice. "I want to know what's troubling you, and I will listen when you're ready to tell me."
With a hesitant nudge of her shoulder and a swift glance at the foliage in her hands, Misty pondered the honesty of Cordelia's statement. There was a transparency in the nature of the refined headmistress that Misty yearned to rely on; the bustling array of leaves hastening to agree with her. A further encouraging touch on her knee felt elemental.
"The memories aren't always there," Misty began, motioning loosely with her hands as she attempted to settle her thoughts. "Sometimes, when the air is loudest, this awful fire sits in my chest and stops me breathin'." She trailed off.
Her chest pulsated as she choked back words that had wrestled like fury within her. Clasping her hands over the leaves, she drew inspiration from the animated shards of basil and their relentless powers over evil.
She was ready.