A sharp chill ran through me as I stirred beneath the weight that held me down.
As I became more and more aware, I began to wiggle my toes. It felt as if they were rubbing against some sort of fabric. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was laying in my bed, pinned under the thick, heavy blankets that covered it.
How did I get up here?
I raised up onto my elbows, struggling to do as, as my tired body fought against its own weight.
I looked to my right, and noticed an old looking silver tray. Upon it was a still steaming cup of tea, and what seems to be a simple egg sandwich on wheat bread.
August. He must've carried me.
As I began to wake up a little more, I was able to sit up straight.
Why am I so cold? There had to have been at least 3 layers of fabric covering me, and still I felt as if I were standing naked in the snow.
I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, each one feeling as if there were 50lb weights attached to them. Have I really weakened so much in so little time?
My fingers trembled as I reached for the steaming cup. It smelled delicious, and slightly sweet. I took a sip.
Mmm...chamomile, with just a hint of honey.
I turned my attention to the sandwich, the bread was a little hard, but I didn't mind it much.
I took a bite, there was nothing much to it, a fried egg, with a slightly runny middle, cradled between two slices of bread. No condiment, no tomato, not even a hint of salt or pepper. I didn't care. It might as well have been a meaty steak dinner to me. It was heavenly.
I finished the whole thing a lot quicker than I would've liked to, I wish I could've savored it a little.
On the tray, hidden by the saucer, sat a folded piece of paper.
When I opened it to read it, it said:
"stay in bed. I'll attend to you momentarily."
Odd...I didn't recognize the handwriting...August's penmanship has always been very messy, and barely legible. This, however, was written much lighter, neater, more...feminine?
It was then that I'd noticed that I was still in the heavy wool coat from earlier, And that something solid rested upon my breast.
The book!
I quickly pulled it out, and examined it. The first thing I'd noticed was the smell. It was musty, old, and quite moldy. When I opened it, I noticed that many of the pages have been damaged by moisture and time.
I flipped through, not really reading it, but skimming the pages for something that might grasp my attention.
At the very back, among one of the last chapters, something jumped out at me.
"Energy transference."
What's that?...
"Spirits will often latch on to objects. In some cases, however, we have found that many spirits who share a strong connection to a certain living persons, will latch on to them instead.
The victims of such phenomenon become somewhat of an energy source for the spirit, and will become increasingly ill as the specter becomes stronger.
Paranormal activity will increase as the spirit grows more powerful.
If the bond between victim and spirit isn't broken by the time the spirit can manifest physically, the victim will succumb to their illness and inevitably pass away.
Symptoms may include, but are not limited to:
Extreme Fatigue.
Headaches.
Rapid weight loss.
Depression.
Anxiety.
Hypovolemia.
Without reading another word, I flung the book across the room.
There's no way...This can't be...has Thomas been making me sick this entire time? Has he been using me?...No...I can't believe that, I can't accept that...I-
I pressed my hands against my temples as my conflicted thoughts rattled against one another in my mind. Tears flowed heavily down my face as the horrid realization overwhelmed me.
The love of my life has been killing me, all along...
It all began to make sense, I thought back to when I first saw him. How transparent he was. How touches between us were exchanged by through small electrical currents. How he seemed to get stronger with each meeting. Why didn't I see it before!?
My heart was breaking with each memory I visited, each time I remembered how he held me, how he kissed me with such passion and longing. How deviant must someone be to be able to fake these feelings that felt so fucking real!?
"Sybil?..."
His voice...the very sound of it pierced my already broken heart like a flaming dagger.
"Darling?...are you alright?..." he asked, in his gentle tone that once gave me so much comfort.
"Leave!" I hissed, through gritted teeth.
"What?..." he asked, seemingly hurt.
"How dare you!? How could you,
Thomas!?" I cried, standing to meet his gaze.
His confused eyes scanned my face for a hint, a clue as to what he'd done to upset me so.
He outstretched his arms to me and took a step forward.
"Please..." he whispered.
"Tell me what troubles you, let me help you, darling, please."
I walked over to the corner of the room and picked up the book.
He watched as I frantically flipped through the pages, sobbing harder with each turn.
"THIS!" I spat, holding the book up to show him.
"You've been deceiving me all along! Your love for me has been nothing but a cruel ruse, to drain my life from me!"
His eyes grew wide as he reached out and took the book from my hands.
Horror shrouded his face as he read.
"I didn't know..." he mouthed, without making a sound.
"I swear to you, Sybil I didn't know..."
He crumbled to his knees, book still in hand.
He covered his face with his free hand as deep, heartbroken sobs erupted from his chest.
His reaction shook me to my core.
I slowly began to realize, that, maybe I had acted too quickly in anger. I knelt down beside him, ashamed at the way I lashed out at him.
"You really had no idea... did you?..." I asked, softly.
He wrapped his arms around me tightly.
"Sybil I would never ever hurt you!" He cried, as he buried his face in my hair.
"I know...I know, I'm so sorry for how I reacted. I should've had more trust in you than that..."
Suddenly he pulled away from me, and jumped back, as if I'd just burst into flames.
"What?!" I asked, startled.
"We can't be together. We can't see each other anymore!" He gasped.
"Thomas no, please!"
"It's not negotiable, Sybil. I love you with everything I am, but if there's a chance you can be saved from this, I'm going to take it."
"Thomas, don't go!" I begged, wishing a million times that I had never spoke a word about what was found in that book.
"I love you Darling..." he said finally, before walking toward the door.
Something seemed to catch his attention.
"What is this?" He asked, picking up the note sitting on the tray.
"August, I suppose. Telling me to stay in bed." I replied.
He grit his teeth behind his lips as an enraged expression engulfed his face.
"Stay here." He spat, before phasing out of the room.
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...
