Emille

Chapter 12

Emille had never been a courageous person. She'd never connected with the heroes in her adventure books, had never understood their need to be dashing and brave. But she'd never understood the damsel in distress either. The damsel in distress was unique, integral to the story. She was charming or beautiful beyond imagination. She was helpless, but not by choice. For Emille to be a damsel in distress, she'd have to be present in her own story.

Now, she was finally presented with her choice. She was experiencing an adventure novel, and she had to choose between helplessness and bravery. But was there a third choice? Was there room in fantasy for those who were neither brave nor extraordinary? What would one call a damsel in distress who didn't want to be rescued?

When Emille's fear faded, the calmness set in. She realized she wasn't afraid of death. What she was doing now, it wasn't living, not really. She went to class, turned in her assignments, watched movies with Isa, and waited to graduate. But what did she do for fun? She didn't have a favorite food, a favorite movie or book, any friends outside of her roommate. She kept going because... what else was there to do?

Until she found the journal. She'd made choices when she'd found the journal. And for a while, she'd felt clearer. Like she was starting to hear the musings of the world. For the first time in her life, she was starting to inch towards being the knight in shining armor. A person who gave a damn.

And then she found out that the journal chose her. That she was fated to find the journal and become an apprentice. So none of it had been her choice anyways. And her fate had taken her here, to this park bench, immobilized and covered in rotting flesh. Waiting for death or serious injury. And once again, she slipped back into the gray area between hero and damsel in distress. Once again, she was a passenger.

So she waited. Waited as the minutes ticked by and nothing happened. The moon floated in and out of view as dark clouds floated by. A shooting star streaked across the sky. Something fluttered erratically through the trees. A bat, perhaps? The air thickened around her as the minutes ticked by, condensing on her forehead. She longed to wipe away the trail of sweat making its way across her forehead.

Damn, Florida's damp. So damp. Emille thought she'd have grown used to it by now. But tonight was particularly muggy. It hadn't started off quite so suffocating, had it? Emille's lungs began to strain against the water in the air. Yes, this was an unusual amount of humidity, even for the armpit of the United States.

Victor's voice cut through the stillness of the night. "It's close," he whispered. Tension and apprehension laced his words.

What's close? Emille strained to remember the names of the creatures Peter had hoped to lure. Kimmy? Kippy? Vulden? She couldn't remember. She heard crunching leaves beside her, and closed her eyes. She didn't want to see them.

Cold, slender fingers pressed against her neck. Emille opened her eyes. Peter's dark eyes stared back at her. Victor was perched on his shoulder, tail swishing with impatience. Peter's touch was gentle, methodical. He pulled out a bowl full of a mysterious liquid and placed it on Emille's chest. Emille noticed the deliberate slowness of his movements. He was making sure she knew what was going on. How considerate of him.

Peter closed his eyes, three fingers still pressed to Emille's neck. Emille felt her heart begin to slow. She couldn't panic even if she'd wanted to. The air grew thicker still, and Peter began murmuring to himself. No, not murmuring. Singing. A low, lilting song. Barely a whisper. Emille's heart slowed further, and her blinks grew further and further apart. She felt cold, distant.

Peter vanished from view, and Emille was on her own again. It was getting difficult to breathe. It felt like her lungs were filled with water and moss. She wheezed slowly, her chest barely rising. The smell of mold and moss filled her nose. There was another scent, too. Something sickly sweet. Like a fragrant flower left to wilt in the sun.