I can't put my finger on it, but August seems...Different?
His eyes maybe? The way he's been speaking to me? Maybe it's the way he seems less manic, more controlled somehow.
"Sybil." He said, his voice barley overlapping the keys of the piano as he played. He's been playing for hours now, and hasn't so much as looked at me, let alone spoke to me.
"Yes August?..."
"Go. Eat something." He said, curtly, still not looking up from the dingy sheet music that sat before him.
"Alright...What about you? Would you like something?..."
"Tea." He replied.
He's not hungry? I haven't seen him take a single bite today. That's not like him, he usually has such a large appetite.
I shrugged it off, thinking only of my own hunger pained belly, and what I could fill it with.
There wasn't much in the cart Finlay brought to us, just the usual. Eggs, flour, August's jam, some chicken, pork, a little beef, and 1 can of pitted Greek olives.
I didn't feel that I had the energy to cook a large supper, and if August said he wasn't hungry, I didn't want to tempt his temper by ignoring his request for tea, and tea only. We can't exactly afford to waste either.
I grabbed the can of olives from the cupboard, and hull of bread from the bread box, the last of the loaf I'd baked a few days prior.
Behind me, I felt a chill cascade across the nape of my neck.
"Are you alright, Darling?..."
His warm voice washed over me, bringing me instant comfort.
"I am. Now that you're here.." I replied.
"What are you doing down here?"
"I had to come and see that you were well. I couldn't wait for you to come to me, I couldn't stand it."
His hands enveloped my face, lovingly, as he pressed his lips to my forehead.
"I'm alright, my love. I was just about to have some supper."
Thomas looked at the jar of olives and bread in my hands.
"That isn't all that you're having?"
"It's alright. I like olives..."
"Nonsense. You need a real meal."
Suddenly the flames on the stove were ignited, and he grabbed a skillet hanging from the rack.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
He smiled at me, and motioned for me to sit.
"It's been quite a while, but I'm sure I can whip up something palatable." He chuckled, lightly.
The kitchen smelled divine as he worked his magic.
Rosemary, Thyme, and the savory scent of plump chicken moistened with fresh butter filled my senses.
"No one has ever cooked for me before." I said, trying not to salivate.
Thomas smiled as he plated the beautiful piece of meat and sat it in front of me.
"There..." he said
"A few bites of that, and you'll be right as rain."
He seemed so proud of himself, his wide, boyish smile lit up the whole room.
The meat was so tender, so juicy, that I'd forgotten my manners all together and finished my meal in only a few bites.
It was sensational.
I could feel some of my strength returning to me, and the discomfort in my belly fade away.
"You're so good to me, Thomas...Why couldn't we have been together before? Why couldn't I have been born in a time when you were alive?" The thought saddened me. To think that there was a time when we could've went anywhere, done anything, had children. To imagine that there was a time when maybe I could've watched his beautiful black hair turn grey, and the smiles that we might've shared leave beautiful lines upon his aged face.
Things could've been so different for us...
He smiled at me as he took my hand.
"We're together now. And that's all that matters, my love...come."
"Where are we going?" I asked, as he lead me out of my chair and toward the door in the back of the kitchen.
"They're waiting for us." He smiled.
"Who, Darling?"
Suddenly, the door opened slightly, and a small head poked through the crack.
"Mummy! Daddy! Come play with us!"
A small boy, no older than 6 or 7 with Thomas's blue eyes and curly black hair smiled brightly at me as beams of warm sunlight draped itself all round him.
"Yes, yes. We're coming, Henry."
Replied Thomas.
What is this?...
"Come, they've worked so hard on this little surprise." He smiled, kissing my hand as he lead me through the door.
The sun was so bright, I could barley see at first, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw a beautiful field of purple and pink wild flowers, and a blanket.
"Mummy! Mummy!" The little boy cried, gesturing to the blanket.
"Come sit with me, Mummy!"
"I'm coming, Henry Darling!"
I replied, everything felt so right, so normal.
As I sat beside my beautiful boy, I could see a tuft of brown curls emerging from the tall wild flowers.
A baby girl, a toddler, with dark brown curls and my mother's eyes holding a bundle of flowers with the roots still attached.
"Mummy!" She coo'd, with the flowers stretched out in my direction.
"Oh how beautiful, Adelaide, are those for me?" I smiled, taking her onto my lap.
"Happy Mother's Day, my love." sighed Thomas, as he pressed his lips to mine.
The sun was so warm, as it caressed my skin, it feels as if it's been an eternity since I'd felt it.
"Are you happy, darling?" He asked, lovingly running his fingers through my hair.
"So very Happy, Thom-"
I began to feel a familiar nagging in the back of my throat.
I struggled to clear the irritant, and began struggling for breath.
"Sybil? Are you alright?"
I began to cough uncontrollably.
"I'm *cough* alright *cough*"
It must be the pollen from the flowers. It must be.
I couldn't stop, something was coming up, something warm and metallic. I spat it into my hand. Bright red blood.
I couldn't stop, it just kept coming.
The children started screaming as I doubled over on all fours.
"Thomas! Help me!" I choked, unable to stop the steady flow of blood that covered the blanket we sat on.
Thomas began humming an eerily familiar tune.
"Thomas!" I screamed, I was so afraid, why isn't he doing anything!?
Violent coughs turned into violent vomiting.
The tune Thomas was humming became louder and louder, and it was then I noticed, his voice began morphing into the sound of loud banging piano keys.
What?!
The blood kept coming, and before I knew it I was swept away in a river of it.
Help! I'm drowning!
I could see Thomas and the children on the shore, waving at me, and they're...smiling?
I could feel myself being pulled under, I can't stop it! I fought as hard as I could, but I was too weak, too tired. I let it take me. The last thing I heard were the incessant banging of those horrible piano keys.
I shot bolt upright, still coughing, and struggling to catch my breath.
"Sybil will you please stop that awful hacking?!" Said August, in an irritated tone. I looked down where my head laid on the couch, where a pool of fresh blood laid.
I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, staining the lace trim with the crimson substance.
What's happening to me?
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Lace: A Crimson Peak love story (Thomas Sharpe)
Paranormal*COMPLETED* Sybil McMichael was happy to accompany her husband, August, to the place his grandmother, Edith Sharpe, wrote about in her most famous Novel. Once there, she finds that her husbands intentions were fueled by more than mere childhood curi...
