Disclaimer: I own nothing except any OCs or creatures that aren't in the books!
A/N: Sorry about the wait guys! I hope you don't hate me too much for the month I've been gone! Major writers block has been plaguing me and I've been fighting with it for some time, but here it is, I would never abandon you guys! A massive thank you to TheMortition, MarchFrostbite and .18062 for reviewing! It's people like you who keep me going! And as for you, Mortition, because you love San Valentino so much, here, have him! *Throws San Valentino at you* I don't think he'll bite!
The room feels cramped with the two of us in it together, his back to mine as I stare into the room's almost haunting darkness. It envelops every corner, caresses the shelves, the window sills, the walls, the bed, even me. The darkness curls it's black, long, slender fingers around my still dressed figure, covering pretty much all of me. Except my face, most of my hair, and my legs, they're under the covers; safe and protected from its endless reach. Part of me wants to reach out and check if he's still awake, seek some sort of comfort in the ever fading light that creeps through the closed curtains, but I don't want to wake him up. I'm deciding to be less selfish than I could be by waking him up just because I'm having sleeping issues.
I'd wrapped my arms tightly around myself, and can now feel my back pressed against his, only I'm still not too tall next to him. I'm 5'7 in height, but compared to him, I'm an oompa-loompa. And that's saying something entirely new to me. I'm taller than most of my newly acquired friends, minus Grubbs Grady and Loch Gossel, and I tower above Violet, so this new sensation is odd for me. It's probably the close body contact which makes the situation odder though; around Grubbs we never hugged, because we'd only just met, we never even really stood shoulder-to-shoulder next to another, so I never got the full picture of the difference. But now? He just seems so much imposing than before, so much more dangerous. Sure, a guy who used to kill demons for somewhat of a living is never bound to be anything less than, but I've never had him this close to me. Apart from when we were swimming but I don't want to recall that memory thank you very much.
The room isn't too spectacular, but I haven't been able to personalise it yet. The walls are painted a simplistic light blue, with nothing for proper decoration; spare a few shelves and the odd picture of a vase of flowers mounted on the wall. A large wardrobe sits in the corner, and I felt like I was staring at me when I first climbed into bed, and it still is. It makes me feel so uncomfortable.
I rang Violet about five minutes after I got in, and ran her through what had gone on; she was a little shocked at first, but agreed not to inform her family, or the police could get involved. At the moment, the police would just throw everything into complete and utter chaos, turning my world upside down even more than it already had shifted. Lorcan's fire engine red hair burns like flames in the light whenever it casts upon it, his earrings twinkling to match; I don't get how he can sleep so soundly in a strange new time, in a strange new house, while I can't, and I'm supposed to be used to this world. Naturally, at first he was mystified at the concept of sleeping in a bed with clean sheets, but he'd settled down quickly. I guess being resurrected by a Voodoo Priestess is tiring to anyone. The clock flashes 4:29 AM in bright red digital numerical, my matching red phone sitting obediently next to it.
My hand reaches out and gingerly picks it up, snapping it open, and clicking onto my contacts. My contact list is next to nothing-mum, dad, home phone, Grubbs, and Violet are the only numbers I think I'll ever need to call for actual reason. The minute I reach Violet's name, I click on it, and click on the 'write message' button in the right hand corner. I can't text for toffee, so it takes me a good ten minutes to actually compose the message I wish to send to Violet. It's a simple message, giving her a basic update on the recent events this night has brought forth for me. During my original call to her, I could sense the scepticism in her voice, but as the conversation dragged on, I knew she realised I wasn't playing a game. I was serious.
Sighing, I snap my phone shut, and lie flat on my back. My eyes stare up at the ceiling, taking in the bland, uninteresting view.
"Can't sleep?" I jump, screaming a little as I do so and almost fall straight off the bed. Lorcan was staring down at me, propped up on his side, looking at me intently. "Why?"
"Um…" Is my amazing response, but I quickly pull myself together. "I guess it's weird sleeping in a bed with someone of the opposite gender. It's another thing that isn't too normal nowadays. A lots changed in the social aspect of life too…" I trail off, unsure how to explain relationships these days to him. His response is to just shrug and lay flat on his back again, staring up at the ceiling just like I had, his face devoided of all emotion except one. Thoughtfulness. "Sorry…" I mumble, unsure if I've offended him.
"Why do you apologize?" He asks me, "You have done nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned."
"Uh…" Is the brilliant response I can muster as I desperately try and process a question I could ask him. Something that would let me know him a little better; or at least get an even better picture of what his first life had been like. "What was an average day like for you then?" I mentally curse, but it doesn't sound half as awkward to him as it did to me.
"A lot different from yours probably," I hear him laugh almost silently under his breath, "I spent most of my time fighting demons or training how to fight demons with my brother. But I guess I'll tell you about my life before the demons," he turns over so he's leaning on his side again, and smiles at me. "If you wish?"
"Sure…" I shrug, trying my best to pretend to not be dying to know about his life before he died.
"I was one of three children, considered small in our time; I guess I was the second child because my twin brother, Ronan, was older than me buy a couple of minutes. I had a younger brother too, his name was Ere…" Judging by the way he trails off, I know I'm not going to like what he says. "And he died. Demons killed him several months after the amount of attacks increased. My mother was inconsolable; my father just worked and killed demons, until he died too, killed by the same creatures that murdered my innocent brother. That just left me, my mother and Ronan."
"I'm sorry…" Is all I can muster myself to stay as I look up at him, my eyes slightly shiny with tears that I'm desperately trying to force back down. I don't want to cry for him, it feels rude and like I understand what he went through when in reality I have no clue.
"Don't apologize, Esther," he shrugs and rolls back so he's facing the ceiling. "You were not the Formori who took both my father and Ere." Huh…That doesn't make sense. I swore his twin brother fought demons to…
"What about Ronan?" I ask, trying to keep my voice gentle and calm, not patronizing and nosy.
"Demons didn't kill him." The change in Lorcan's tone almost shocks me; it's cold, like ice, and his face has switched from worried and almost tearful to stony and hard. "A coward did…." He swallows, and I now he's forcing back tears from falling. "In our tuath, we had a king, his name was Conn. Conn had one soon, whose name was Connla." The way he says the name of the kings son, I know this is exactly who killed his brother. People often change their tone when talking about someone they hate or who caused them great pain. It always goes a blistering cold, so cold you feel your skin prickle a little. "One day, a strange boy came to our tuath; he could run faster than any human I've ever seen, but he was a simpleton who couldn't even remember his own name. Several members of the tuath, Goll, our former, one-eyed king; Fiachna, our blacksmith; Bec, a young priestess; Orna, a refugee we'd received who was a female warrior; Connla…" The murder of his brother's name comes out in an icy hiss. "My brother and I went."
"Where did you go?" I ask him, trying to get his mind off Connla, whoever he was.
"Nowhere in particular." Lorcan sighs. "Conn sent us to see if we could find other refugees, people to aid our crusade to rid the land of the Formorii. Along the way we met a priest named Drust; a cowardly magician who used his power and cleverness to manipulate us. And we also met a demon…Lord Loss. A powerful demon, non like me nor my brother had ever seen before; he controlled the others of his kind and could speak in our language. It was frightening. We insulted him and he placed a geis, a curse, upon us all. And one by one we began to die. Orna was eaten alive by the reanimated corpses of her children; Fiachna was poisoned by powder Lord Loss provided Connla, and Ronan…" He swallows tightly, scrunching his eyes tight shut. "He was pushed off the Cliffs of Moher…By Connla, who then went on to lie that it was demons. Only to admit it, and mock me whilst he did so…"
"You can stop now." I say quickly, pushing myself upwards with my arms and sitting cross legged on the bed. "I won't force you to carry on…" I gently place my hand on his arm and he looks at me, our eyes meeting all over again and my stomach twists. "I'm sorry about your brothers and father; and I'm sorry about your friends too." I try and keep my tone at a non-patronizing level, and I think I'm succeeding. "The only thing I guess we can say is good is Connla isn't coming back." I smile meekly at him, trying to look as un-mousy and weak willed as possible, hard for an idiot like me.
"But what if someone like your or that Marcella lady bought him back?" Lorcan shoots bolt upright, looking down at me, taller than me. "I mean, if someone can bring me back, someone could always bring him back as well…"
"But who'd want to?" I cut him off before he can continue worrying. "What good would a cowardly, lying bastard do for anyone? Even demons wouldn't want him."
"It was a demon he worked for…" Lorcan sighs. "Lord Loss made a deal with him. He'd promised to help him survive the demon attacks, and Connla would provide him information on our weaknesses. Orna's love for her children, Bec's obvious liking for Fiachna…"
"Your love for Ronan." I mumble and he looks at me dead on.
"Exactly. He knew that losing Ronan would make me agitated and cause me not to think straight, he was correct. I couldn't work the same without my brother. He was the closest thing I had; I was closer to him than I was my own parents. We had a bond only twins can have I suppose. And Connla knew severing that bond would be my biggest flaw." I'm worried he's going to get upset now, so I put my hand back on his shoulder and smile slightly.
"You can go to sleep now; you don't have to tell me anything more; I can tell it's upsetting you." I know how counsellor like I sound, but it's the only thing I can think of doing.
"You really are living up to your name, Miss Esther," he grins and lays back down, chuckling slightly to himself as I turn lobster mottled red and feel my cheeks burst into a hot rash like feeling. I lie back down on the bed myself, and force my eyes shut, curling up in a little ball on my side, letting the world of sleep finally take over…
I've always hated weddings. So I didn't know why my mind had put me in one; and it wasn't any old wedding, it was my wedding. It was so surreal at first I actually though it was reality and that the entire vampoari, Lorcan, necromancy escapade was the dream. White surrounded me like a giant cloud and I knew I was in a church, but not a normal church.
The pews, the alter, the pillars, the walls, the floor, the drapes, the windows were all a swan feather white. Not a single drop of colour. I was probably the most colourful image in the serenely white atmosphere; my pale skin looked practically tanned in the colourless room, and my blonde hair shimmered. It'd been tied up into a fancy, over the top bun, like models in the magazines have; a series of curls woven into a rounded shape on top of my head, several ringlet style entrails hanging around my face. White lace bedecked my arms, leaving the skin showing though due to its see-through nature; a long, white skirt exploded from my waist down in a large 'o' shape, covered my legs. The bodice left most of my chest open, and my breasts were hitched upwards, creating a perfect cleavage. A single, diamond necklace hung around my throat.
I was in a wedding dress. I was getting married. This was my 'big day'. But who exactly was I getting married to? I hated that feeling of unknowing I always was rewarded in my dreams. That dread of understanding I was no longer in control of the situation, that the dream decided what went now. My stomach tightened and my body urges me to turn on my heels and run, but where to? My brain snapped. In the world of dreams, you lose control, the dream shapes itself. I've grown used to that fact of life over the years I've been dreaming.
And there was only one way to gain my answer, that was to walk to the alter. Like in all dreams, there was a source of power, something that shone like a jewel in the night sky; something that caught my eye and stood out. I began walking forwards, the tendrils of my curled hair bouncing with each smooth step I took until I was on the verge of running; but the weight of the dress kept me from being able to run properly, and so I was forced to simply fast walk my way towards the alter, the dress spilt out behind me, trailing on the floor as my pace picked up. I dashed up the white steps with simple 'clip-clop' sounds, and I knew the dream had fashioned me a nice pair of kitten heels, before standing there in a patient waiting motion.
Blood began to drip from the alter, but unlike the swimming dream, it didn't make me shriek in horror. I'd kinda anticipated it this time. At first it just came down in little raindrop patters, gently staining the floor in little splashes of blood, but it began to pick up its pace. The little drops turned into heavier splashes, making a louder patter when they hit the ground. Then great sloshes of blood fell over the side of the alter, snaking its way towards me, sliding up the around and staining the tips of my wedding dress.
Then it just began to pour out in a giant, messy, copper smelling river, full on hitting my dress, reaching up to my knee area as it hit me. Slithering around me it poured down the aisle, staining the white flour a brilliant crimson, but I steadfast. I needed to know if this dream had an actual meaning. Of course, it did.
"Lovely day for it," an unfamiliar voice said. Well, it was partly familiar; the accent made me think of Lorcan, Irish, but it belonged to someone a little older. It was more defined and steady with its tone, and its tone was arrogant. I spun around, my blood soaked dress spinning with me, flecking off little splodges of blood as I span around with such force. "You must be Esther Blake." The person grinned.
He looked only eighteen years old, three years my senior. He was handsome, all angles and sharp features, and tall with a lean build. His hair was long for a male's and carefully braided, like he reinforced the braiding every morning he awoke. A moustache peppered his upper lip, but no beard matched the dark moustache sitting above his pursed lips. His hair was black, pitch black, like the sky at night with a slightly bluish tinge to it. His eyes skimmed me, as if deciding I was worth his time but, surprisingly, he seemed to decide I was. Dressed like a groom; elegant black tux and white shirt, but his shoes were odd. Made of fine, natural leather and braided with horse-hair thongs.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice tight and throaty, unsure whether this person was friend or foe. Or even a human.
"Connla, son of Conn." OH SHIT. My mind chimed to myself and my eyes went wide. My life seemed to have the most perfect of timings; only what? Twenty minutes earlier Lorcan was telling me of this Connla asshole, now here he is, in a church, while I'm in a wedding dress. "And my mistress has informed me that Lorcan has already told you his little hate tale about me."
"You killed his brother…" I gasped, my throat tightening even more so than before. "I think he has the right to hate you for that." My voice tightened and I regained some of my wavering confidence, clenching my fists tightly together and glaring coldly at him, my eyes steely. "Now, if you don't mind, what do you want?"
Connla grinned, his face a mask of smugness and pride. "Nothing at all, Esther. I just wanted to check out who Lorcan's keeper is, so I can remember that pretty face of yours when you die." My stomach tightened and I felt freezing cold, swallowing back my fears as his smile increased. "Interesting, isn't he? Talented at fighting, but totally inapt without his brother. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to destroy himself yet…"
"JUST SHUT UP!" I screamed, storming towards him, my face flushing red with fury. "YOU BETRAYED YOUR SUPPOSED FRIENDS YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO MAKE COMMENTS LIKE THAT!" For a few seconds, Connla's face dropped, his skin paling, looking worried at my sudden outburst of anger. I guessed the time he came from, women usually weren't so vocal about their disliking of people because of sexism and all that shit.
He opened his mouth to probably insult me but I couldn't hear him. Everything began to shake as I felt myself being pulled from the dream. The church began blacking out, like someone was turning the lights on and off, every image in front of me blurring, Connla himself. Then everything descended into darkness…
Yep! Esther's getting married…To Connla. Kidding, kidding, but this dream is hinting at something, wonder if you can guess it! I had this idea when my best friend Izzy was drawing wedding dresses and sending me pictures of them and thought it would be a cool concept to use as a concept! Hope you peeps like it!