Air. The first thing that Constance Langdon came to painfully realize upon waking up was how badly her lungs were yearning for air.
Eyes wide open fixed on the dance of shadows on her bedroom's ceiling, she struggled to draw breath. Her knotty hands flew to her throat only to find two strong hands tightly wrapped around it, hands much younger and stronger than hers. And instantly, she knew who they belonged to. A creature of darkness hiding in the dark. A creature she herself had raised.
Suddenly, Constance removed her hands as if she got burned. She lowered her watery eyes. She saw his shadow bending forward, coming into the dim light of the moon filtering through the window. Soft blond curls framed his handsome face, lit by the crooked beauty of his grin. When their eyes met, she saw the pale blue of his irises turn to a darker shade. She stared at him with green eyes wide with fear, desperately looking for any sign of remorse. She found none.
Pity could be found within the tortured soul of monsters, but Michael Langdon was no monster. He was the devil's son.
My boy. Constance couldn't help but think fondly. My beautiful boy is going to kill me.
Dizziness washing over her, she sluggishly placed her hands on top of his, still gripping her throat. She stroked his smooth skin, feeling the tension in his muscles, feeling the boundless strength that could get her killed right there and then. She caressed it like she was silently caressing the idea of dying in her mind.
"Oh my darling," her voice came back as an echo from the past, "my sweet boy, you don't know your own strength." At first, that's what she always said when he shyly presented one of his gifts to her. The eerie gleaming in his eyes she could never forget.
Now she knew how all the rabbits had felt in his deadly vice-like grip. And the mice. And the cats.
Eventually, her hands stopped brushing against his. She threw her head back into the pillows, her neck stretching underneath his fingertips. She closed her eyes. She bit her bottom lip, sharp teeth drawing blood. Her blood. His blood.
Her nails dug into his flesh.
And with his hiss, the sweetest air invaded her lungs.
Constance gasped over and over again, every cell in her body feasting on the oxygen that was suddenly coming down her throat.
She almost froze when she felt Michael's hands on her waist, but her body was still shaking uncontrollably, just as he was. Remorseful tears fell down his angel cheeks, streaming from eyes in which nothing but innocence seemed to dwell now.
He surely looked contrite, but something about him was terribly off. The way his hands sneaked upon her stomach... almost like they were chasing after her crazy pulse, sensing it beneath her skin, up to the heaving cage of her chest. It made her cringe so bad.
"Grandma?"
Constance's hand flew to her mouth, covering her quivering lips. The other hand came to rest over her heart, helplessly trying to shield something that had already been broken. Shattered. Once again.
There's only so many times a mother's heart can be crushed.
She had failed yet another time. Another young, promising life had been ripped from her arms and now bore the darkness' mark.
"I'm sorry, grandma." Michael managed to say between the sobs. He laid by her side on the bed, trapping her in one of his hugs, all driven by a twisted sense of affection, each and every one of them. He moved her hand away so that he could rest his head over her heart instead.
"Forgive me?" He pleaded naively.
Constance sighed, feeling empty. Numbly, she put her arms around him and kissed the top of his head like she had done a million times before.
She allowed her thoughts to wash over her in waves of pain, the pain of broken promises and hard choices.
He's my grandson. I love him as if he were my own child. And he scares me to death.
Eventually, she fell asleep with her lost boy in her arms and a silent prayer echoing in the back of her mind.
Let the sun never rise. Let its scorching lips never kiss the hundreds of silky blood red petals in the garden under my window.
Riper than ever, every day the rose bushes taunted her with their smell and the memory of what she had buried for him, of what was lying hidden underneath the beauty they displayed. She couldn't stand the stench any longer. The sweetness of decay. Hell's fumes on earth.
For Death is in the scent of roses.
AN: So... the long-awaited moment has finally come. Jessica is back. I think I stopped breathing when I saw her on the screen again. I absolutely loved this episode, and I had to write something on it, of course. I hope some of you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading.