The Hushing [#ONC2022]

Chapter Four (part 2)

At Marion's hesitation, Lady Ingrid picked up a piece of cheese and popped it in her mouth. Which wasn't exactly reassuring. In the throne room, she'd eaten that wraith's soul and licked her fingers clean as if it was a sticky, juicy plum. But it didn't make sense for Lady Ingrid to keep Marion alive after all this time only to poison her. It wasn't dramatic enough and it seemed to be more effort than necessary when she could have put an end to Marion in the woods.

"Not to worry," Lady Ingrid said. "It's safe to eat."

Marion selected a fig, giving the round, soft fruit an experimental squeeze. It felt surprisingly normal. She'd half expected it to be withered and desiccated, or riddled with insects and rot.

First, the candle. Now, the food.

"Where did all this come from?" Marion said.

Lady Ingrid waved her off with impatience. "My personal kitchen. I told you, as long as you remain in Valecroft as my guest, you will be given everything your heart desires. You will want for nothing."

Marion studied the fig. She didn't trust it. But her stomach was so empty that it hurt. And she had no idea how long she would be stuck in The Hushing. If she didn't eat soon, her plans to find the mirror would be null and void when she slowly starved to death.

Tentatively, Marion bit into the fig. Sweet juice surged into her mouth. She startled at the suddenness of it, the tart liquid flooding across her tongue. Lady Ingrid smiled and clasped her hands.

"There. See? You can trust me."

A prickle of wariness crawled up Marion's spine at that. Lady Ingrid moved to the wraith with the long, thin box.

"I brought you a little something for the ball tonight," she said, prying open the lid.

When Marion saw the dress Lady Ingrid pulled from the box, the fig slipped from her fingers, rolling across the floor. The silky fabric was cherry red, gleaming darkly like freshly spilled blood. Climbing up the skirts were vines of black thorns as long and sharp as syringes, and black roses with real, soft petals.

As if the warmth of her living soul wasn't going to make Marion stand out enough, this red dress would have her shining like a beacon amid the gray shades of Valecroft.

Lady Ingrid stowed the dress with a smug smile.

"I knew you'd like it," she said. And before Marion could protest, Lady Ingrid tugged her out of the room and down the stairs into the hallway. "Now, I thought I might give you a tour of where you'll be staying."

Visiting, Marion thought but this time, she didn't run the risk of correcting Lady Ingrid out loud. Instead, she made a mental map of the hallways and corridors and rooms in an attempt to gain her bearings and figure out an escape route.

But there were so many rooms, so many hallways. They started to blend together until Marion's head was spinning.

Then something Lady Ingrid said caught Marion's attention.

"This is the crypt," she said, stopping before a slab of stone that served as a door. Two pillars rose on either side of it, white marble with ridges and indentations running from top to bottom.

Without thinking, Marion reached out and touched the pillars, running her fingers over the cold marble. She traced a rounded dip here, another one there, followed by the soft swell of something and then...it moved.

Marion snatched her hand back when recognition dawned on her. They were dozens of faces, peering out from the marble as if they had been pressed into the pillar from the inside. That's what she had felt – two eye sockets, the bridge of a nose, the twist of a mouth in mid-scream.

Lady Ingrid patted Marion's arm.

"You don't want to go in there, darling," she said. "That's where the fresh souls come up."

Marion turned to Lady Ingrid in horror.

"What?"

"When a human dies, if it's soul is sour, a wraith is born. And when that happens, it emerges into The Hushing through my crypt." Lady Ingrid sighed with a sad shake of her head. "It's just like that wraith you saw yesterday in my throne room. That was a fresh one because he could speak. But it's a nasty business when they're first born. They still cling to the last bits of their humanity and it drives them a little mad. It's not easy waking up to find out that you're cold and dead."

Marion felt weak in the knees. But Lady Ingrid pulled her along, deeper into Valecroft.

"Just stay with me, pet," she said. "Don't go into the crypt and you'll be fine. You have my word."