Yeah, so I started my project on The Odyssey today, and it's going… okay. Meaning to get started, I created a conversations with the characters from this fanfiction on how awful essay writing is. I would put it in here, but it's a little bit long. It has to do with me being bored and my friends from The Four trying to help me figure out what the hell and analytical essay is. Oh, and I have Billy Bob Bob Billy's One Direction song stuck in my head, but you know, it happens. (Ooooooh Louis needs that boat, he dresses like he owns one 'cuz he's got no other clothes.)
So, this is my creative outlet. This chapter I've been really excited about writing because it's kind of away from all the perils of the gallery and they can kind of let their characters free. So, review please! I've been really happy hearing from you all and when I read a new review I always feel awesome :) Your feedback has been fantabulous! And… why did I just say fantabulous?
So you'll read now, savvy?
Once everyone was in the room, the painting slid shut. They turned around and on the far side of the room was a vase filled with water sitting on a pedestal. There was a door on the other side and the key to it lay on the pedestal, which meant that nothing could get in. There was a chest pushed up against the right wall.
Adrian went over to the chest while Ib retrieved the key and stuck it into the pocket of her skirt. Adrian opened the chest and pulled out some dusty old blankets.
"These looked like they've been here awhile," He coughed as he handed them out. Cassia grabbed one and handed it to Holly and Toby.
They handed them out until everyone had one and after maybe fifteen minutes or so everyone was spread out on the floor, asleep. Well, everyone but Cassia, who stared at the ceiling, unable to rest.
Toby and Holly pushed their blankets together and he was sleeping with his arm around her. For a brother, he was very protective, and Cassia felt good that someone cared about Holly that much. She was a good kid and deserved that much. Cassia got used to being alone at a young age because her parents were always – always – gone. They didn't even know about her art, never saw any of her sketches or paintings, or ever seen her in exhibits. Right then, as she was fighting for her life and trying to save the lives of Garry and Ib, they were on business in Bangladesh… she thinks. It was always so hard to tell because they only called once every month or two. She wished she had someone to depend on.
She sat up and looked around, but no one was awake. Ib slept near Garry, but they gave each other enough space. They referred to each other as siblings, but Cassia knew from what they'd told her that he was just her guardian. He wouldn't be if he hadn't lied about his age, but he was nonetheless, and she acted like he was. Family comes in all forms, Cassia thought as she watched Ib shift in her sleep. She looked like she was deeply concentrating on something. Garry, though, looked peaceful while he slept. Cassia couldn't help but wonder what he could possibly be dreaming about. He had a very active mind and Cassia thought that if she got to know him better she could understand it. Ib seems to have understood it already.
Adrian was tucked into a corner and slept facing the wall. He almost blended into the shadows and the only thing that distinguished him from the dark wall was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Cassia was still confused about him. When she met him at the museum, she didn't have time to get to know him or even find out his name. Heck, he didn't even know her name, yet he was willing to come with Garry and Ib to find her. What was she supposed to think about that? Did he like her? Or was it just coincidence that they were both supposed to be there? His attitude was witty and dark (and even a bit tiresome at times), but something about it intrigued Cassia.
It's going to be hard to sleep tonight… Cassia thought as her vision flickered and she laid back down on the blanket.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The sun was shining outside the window, but the curtains were drawn and only a little bit of light was allowed in to shed bright rays over a canvas, where a man worked quickly with a paintbrush and a palate. The colors were swirled on the face of the palate, some being used, some not. The man had blonde hair that was slightly longer and tied back in a short ponytail. His glasses were thin and wiry, his green eyes tear stained. Cassia realized with a shock this man was Guertena, and the painting he was working on was definitely Glaiciabelle. But something strange was happening, and Guertena didn't appear to be conscious of it. Behind the painting a little girl peeked out, but it was more the form of a girl in shimmery air, her features prominent yet still translucent, like a memory or a vision. She was wearing a blue dress with long sleeves and white piping and had fair blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. She couldn't have been more than eight, and she was wearing a little necklace with a snowflake pendant. Cassia realized that this girl she was seeing was Belle, but Guertena couldn't see her or hear her.
"Daddy," She said as a confused look passed her face. "I'm here, Daddy. Why can't you hear me?"
Guertena continued in his work, not straying for a moment. He didn't acknowledge her, so Belle came around to his chair and looked at what he was painting.
"Is this me?" she asked. "It's very pretty. Why won't you talk to me? Are you busy?"
"He's not busy," A voice came from behind another painting. Belle turned around and went over to the painting.
Cassia would have gasped if she could, because the painting was Charmaria, and standing next to it was Mary herself. Cassia had never seen Mary before, so she was expecting to see someone a little… well, eviler. Someone who looks capable of almost killing two innocent souls with a palette knife, stealing roses for ransom, and devising a plan to kill her own sister. This girl looked sweet and small, with thick golden hair, yellower then Belle's, falling down her shoulders. Her eyes were darker blue, and her dress was green with blue piping.
"Mary!" Belle cried. "You're supposed to be…"
"Dead… Yeah, I should be," Her look was somber. "I didn't know why I wasn't until I saw this painting. Belle, we were meant to stay. We're supposed to stay forever in these paintings. Daddy is making it so that we really can live again."
"Where's Mom?" Belle asked.
Mary looked on the verge of tears. "She couldn't stay. She didn't get a second chance. She went in to the light a long time ago."
"Why did we get a second chance?"
"Because we're kids, silly," Mary smiled. "We were too young to die, so we're allowed to stay."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that, B," Mary said. "I bet the longer we're in the painting, the stronger we'll get when we come out. I bet in maybe a year or so, we could look almost human when we come out again! Maybe we can even be seen by people and talk again! Wouldn't that be great?"
"It seems a bit… unnatural," Belle winced.
"Unnatural?" Mary's expression instantly changed. Her gaze was stormy and very, very angered. Belle seemed to be a little scared by the transition. "Don't you want to live again?"
"Are you feeling okay, Mary?" Belle reached out for her sister, but her sister recoiled, a terrified look on her face.
"Why won't you listen to me?" Mary yelled. "I want to live forever. I want you and I to be together forever! Don't you want that too?"
"Mary, you're not acting like yourself –"
"FOR-EVER, B," Mary spat, enunciating every syllable. "Forever, B. Trust me."
Mary faced her painting and grabbed the edges. She pulled herself up and swung forward, and went through it like she was falling into water. The painting rippled behind her, and soon the only evidence that she was even there was her face in the portrait.
Cassia was shocked when belle turned to face her. She looked her in the eye and said, "Now you see?"
She still couldn't speak, so she just nodded.
"I loved Mary more than anything, but I knew instantly there was something wrong," Belle said. "The moment she became part of the painting she began to go insane. When I became part of that gallery, I never saw her again. She never showed herself to me. I never came out of that painting for fear she would find me."
Cassia mouthed the word 'why'.
"Why did she go insane?" Belle asked, and Cassia nodded. "Because the painting was damaged. She became damaged too, but not on the outside. Only on the inside; mentally. It's also why she's deathly, deathly afraid of fire. More than any painting should be. Oh, and would you like your speech back? That would help a lot."
A light wind blew over Cassia's face, across her lips mostly. She knew she was dreaming, but it still felt real and cold as she drew in a breath and said, "But how are you speaking to me now?"
"I'm a spirit; I'm safe from her in dreams," she said.
"It didn't seem like Mary hated you here," Cassia gestured around her. "Why does she want you in exchange for Garry and Ib's roses? Why does she want to kill you?"
"She's been growing more and more unstable as the years have passed," Belle said. "Do you know how long we have been here?"
"Um…" Cassia said.
"I died in 1895," Belle said. Cassia gaped, awestricken. "I've been here for over 115 years, and I haven't missed living not once in those years. I haven't missed my old sister or my mother or my father who killed himself just two years after he finished painting me. But my sister has also had all that time to unravel, and her vision of the world has been twisted by her own subconscious and by the gallery itself. She thinks that in killing me, she can attain the stability to become alive once again."
"That's not possible," Cassia said.
"It's possible for me, but not for Mary… not truly. You see, this is my rose," She pulled something out of her dress pocket and a jolt went through Cassia's body when she saw that she was indeed holding a rose. It had the most petals on it she'd ever seen on any rose; fifteen of them, she counted, and they all shined like molten silver. "And it is very much alive. Mary's though – Ib and Garry can testify to this – is fake, and she can't be hurt unless her painting is damaged. I could become real at any moment, but I can't, because then Mary can come and kill me."
"You remind me of someone I know," Cassia said.
Belle's look softened. "Yes. I take it you're talking about dear little Holly. Yes, we are similar in intelligence and cunning, and in adolescent charm, but that is why I fear for her."
Cassia's heart skipped a beat. "Why?"
"Cassia, my sister desperately wants to live again. She has proved that she will steal, cheat, lie, threaten, and kill for it," Belle said. "She's convinced that she will be able to solidify her spirit to create a real body like I can, but she can't, and she will figure that out very soon."
"And what will happen when she finds out you can't give her what she needs?"
"She will figure out what she truly needs to live on," Belle said.
"What does she need?"
"The body of a child," Belle said, her face darkening. "Similar in size and stature, and in looks. Age as well. If she can't make a body for herself, she must take over a new one."
Cassia gasped, tears springing into her eyes. "No."
"Yes, Cassia," Belle nodded. "Mary will come for Holly."