The True Story of Emily Lockwood / g. karim

ii. 𝔾𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕟

--  The problems first began when the dead began rising to haunt this world. That was nearly half a century ago, now, and The Problem had only gotten worse as time went on.

However, it was discovered that the younger generation, whose eyes were more akin to seeing the magic than the adults - who dwelled in a place of gloom - could see these apparitions.

It was not something any child should have to deal with, let alone fight them off instead of getting an education; dying to save others instead of living their lives. But, such was the way of the world now. Children were seen as expendable, to most parents. Rather they were safe than save their children, they believed.

But not all.

No, the family who lived in 35 Portland Row was an exception from this idea. The parents, two smiling, kind souls, loved their children more than anything in the entire world.

Even if it killed them.

"Mum!" One of the children, a girl with dark eyes and a mess of curls upon her head, called out in an outrage "Anthony's cheating!"

"I am not!" The boy, with the same dark eyes and mischievous demeanor retorted quickly.

No, it seemed neither of them were ever cheating, or rude to the other.

"He is! Mum, look at him," The mother stepped away from her piano, to observe her little children. Twins, recently turned six years old this past week. Oh, how time flies.

"Children," the mother cooed "play nicely with your new toys." These toys were a gift from their father. To prepare them for future training, he'd fashioned them each a small wooden sword out in the workshop.

They adored these, dancing around the library together, playing pirates and other made-up games. It was a time of love, in this house. And a time of great grief, would swallow up their love in one swallow, like a great snake.

And a snake, it was.

-- "Emily!" The little boy shouted out "Come back!" His short legs hurried along the carpeted stairs, bringing him into the artifact room. His parents were recently returned from a trip to Indonesia, and had left the twins behind due to the dangers of such an expedition.

Emily Lockwood was always fascinated by what they brought back, because she was - as was called in the psychical community - an empath. One touch of an object and she could feel the emotions, flooding over her young mind like molasses.

Sometimes, it was agony.

The dress of a deceased princess, stowed away in that room, had made her feel such awful panic they'd had to take her to a DEPRAC doctor. They thought she might have gotten ghost locked, if not for Anthony saving her life.

Even after this accident, the young girl found herself unable to resist touching things, trying to get her ability under control. It never worked.

She opened the door cautiously, listening to the quiet sounds of crockery and supper being made downstairs. It creaked ominously, and she grinned with delight.

Up on a pedestal, sat their most recent discovery. A beautiful pot, with gilded gold intricate details. Emily knew, by the shape of the pot, that it was used for ashes of the dead. Gleefully, she skipped across the room to skim her hands over the pot.

She stopped seeing out of her own eyes, and reached out with her ability. She reached out with it to caress a gentle wisp of passing smoke, the color of irises that sometimes grew in the window pots.