Hallowed Light

Chapter 2

The day had been dreary from the start. Gray clouds overcast the sky, although that was normal for this part of the country. Being so close to the mountains meant the weather was usually melancholy. Though there was no rain to dampen the day, there was always despair around the corner.

Living with Galamous was never wonderful, nor was the man ever a parental figure in her life. Most days, if he was not studying or having a fit of anger when an experiment failed, he was out on business trips that would last anywhere from just a few hours to a couple of days. During this time, Ophelia could breathe, and she took advantage of her minimal freedoms.

As a woman, Galamous had deemed it highly inappropriate to read. While he was away she would pick the lock to the library with just a small, jank piece of metal she found while cleaning. On days where the man was gone for the night, she would stay up until dawn with a book in her face.

It wasn't the clouds that made the day dreary, and it wasn't the threat of rain. Around the early afternoon, Galamous had been working in one of the rooms in the cellar that he had proposed for alchemy. Ophelia wasn't allowed in that room except for the occasions where Galamous needed her for one of his experiments. Most of the potions he had her try had done nothing. There would be no reaction except an upset stomach or a light buzzing in her head.

On rare instances where his creations did work, Ophelia would feel warm; she would become drunk.One time when she had drank his potion, her fingertips tingled and her veins had begun to glow softly, though it was only truly visible with no other light. Though he had many failures, Galamous continued to try crafting whatever it was he was so set on completing. Today, he would need something more from her.

"Blood?" She asked with a queasy tone.

"Precisely," Galamous said as he adjusted the round glasses on his face. "Go take a seat. It won't take long." He was sitting at a wooden desk with bottles of variously colored liquids and specimens all scattered about in a disorganized way.

Ophelia reluctantly sat down on the rusting chair. It was pushed up in a corner where hardly any light came through. She nervously played with her sleeves while she waited for him to finish with whatever it was he was doing.

When he was finished, Galamous opened a drawer and pulled out a leather bag. He stood and made his way to Ophelia who grew more anxious by the second. Galamous set the bag on the table that stood beside the chair. Emptying proved even more terrifying for the young woman. Large needles and endless tubes were spread before her, as were many glass jars and their cork lids.

"Why can't you use your own?" Ophelia asked, her eyes were bulging as she stared at the equipment.

There was a satisfied grin on Galamous's face. "It has to be yours. You're special, remember?"

"I remember," she whispered quietly. Truthfully, she had no idea what it was about her that made her so special. As far as she was aware, she was completely normal. Sure, Galamous had claimed that she was a descendant of some kind, but she showed no signs of any magical power.

Ophelia did have dreams, generally nightmares of people and places she had never seen. Galamous had called them visions, but they seemed like nightmares to her. She definitely wouldn't consider them visions since she could hardly remember but a few details of her night terrors.

There was a tight pinch on Ophelia's left arm, causing her to close her eyes as tight as she could and gasp from the pain. A few more seconds passed before the needle that Galamous had poked into her arm was pulled out. He didn't bother with covering her wound right away. It wasn't until he had secured the blood sample and had it packed away in a warm place that he had handed her a rag. "Hold that on there until it stops." Ophelia's face had become pale from the sight of blood, but she did as she was told and covered the fresh wound with the rag.