Bare Her Soul (James Patrick March x reader )

Eight

It's morning, you think. No, it's not morning.

The inner side of your eyelids were saturated in red. Wherever the light was coming from, it wasn't natural. Nothing natural is that bright.

"Take that garish lamp off her now."

"She's riding on a wave of China White. Trust me, this is the only wake she'll wake up..."

It's Sally's voice, echoing off the walls inside your head. But you couldn't decipher the words because she was too far away - miles away.

Your eyelids fluttered, it was Sunday, you stood on the altar, with Luke to your left. Your parents in the front row, their proud faces were lit in a prism of light from the stainglass windows. You glanced at the hymn book in your hands, preparing to sing as the chiming of the organ began filling the small church. You were always nervous in this memory, because you were a dancer, not a singer. It was vivid behind your eyes, but not real. Your brow furrowed and you choked on the saliva that had coiled in your throat.

"There." Sally sneered "It'll leave me alone now right?"

The light was removed, leaving you in darkness.

"For the moment. Until the next time I require your assistance. You are dismissed Sally..."

Your eyes opened slowly, the voices - so much closer now - stirring you into consciousness. You couldn't move, because the room was ebbing and swaying like the ocean, and you were adrift.

The first thing you saw was John Lowe. His empty eyes watched you from the armchair across the room. The lamplight merged with the red walls surrounding you, lit him in a nervous orange glow. He sat there, as still as a statue, with a glass of clear liquid suspended low in his hand. There was a shift, movement nearby. You craned your head to it, but the room continued to spin.

Your heart was like the beating wings of a butterfly inside your chest, but you were exquisitely calm. No, you were in ecstacy.

"There she is." a voice purred by your feet "my little seraph, my starlit sonnet."

James took the soft, mid-part of your bare foot in a gentle grasp. That's when you felt your body, for the first time since you'd been roused. You were aware you were laying on your side, on the cool leather of a sofa.  His fingertips trailed up to your ankle, and then further up your calf.

"You're obsessed with the kid" John murmered, in a tone that hinted disapproval, but his eyes were as dead as wood. He stood then, moved towards you in the red lounge, and set the glass he'd been holding down on the floor below your head.

"I merely have an artist's appreciation for miss Y/N. You will learn to discern the best from the rest my dear boy, what is killing if not art?" James' cool touch disappeared from you then  "water darling, drink it."

The room peeled back as his ghoulish face became clear in your vision. You blinked a few times, trying to determine if this was all real.

You felt so warm here, so comfortable, but as soon as you laid eyes on him you wanted to move. Not because his eyes were almost completely black, creased around the edges and brimmed with an ill red, or because of the menacing smile he wore as he loomed down over you. But because you wanted to be closer to him.

"Didn't I tell you she's a marvel John? Didn't I!" he sang, voice rich with bravado.

"James" you managed, in a breathy hum.

He chuckled at this, reached an arm out to swipe the tip of his finger over your open mouth. He stroked along your bottom lip, pulling it down a fraction.