Chronicles of Mystery

Izumi

The whole evening went on like this, with this strangely sympathetic family in its too lively honesty, while comments, shouts and arguments were constantly exchanged within this tumultuous household. There was a powerful sense of intimacy that ran through the guests as they accessed this private world, usually hidden from view and generously unfolding before them.

When it started to get late Alistair made the decision to go home. He and Maude were reduced to carrying Lucy, who had succumbed to sleep. They left the house to return to their home, lost in the middle of the miserable meanders of London where the poor came to pile up

He climbed the winding stairs that led to their floor, the young girl in his arms, to lay her in bed, trying not to wake her. When she was snuggled up in her sheets, buried under the blanket, Alistair couldn't prevent a shiver from going through his body when he saw that tiny white face lost in that bed, that porcelain doll's face, so delicate, so fragile, that face so pale it seemed dead. Such a young child she was, after all, such a young child. She could have done something other than lock herself in such a hole with someone like him. And yet, she had welcomed him, she had never asked him questions and above all she had given him a new objective, a new existence. In that regard, she looked a lot like the one who haunted his memories. Both, when he had been at his lowest, had been of the greatest help to him. But now, wasn't he condemning her? Wasn't he dragging her into a dangerous existence from which she would never emerge unscathed? She didn't deserve this, she didn't deserve to end up like everyone else before her. She was not to end up like all those girls, her body motionless, now a broken doll, her face white as snow and amorphous, her eyes closed, destiny shattered, a comet crushed on the ground, another corpse along the way. Her long brown hair which would make like a waterfall, clashing on the white background of the shroud, on the whiteness of her skin and on the blood which would flow again. Not another one, not Lucy.

A new dream. Lucy had the impression of floating in the void, in an infinite space, the limits of which it was impossible to distinguish. Her body was lost in the middle of nowhere, without her being able to make the slightest move. She could look at herself, drifting through the air, her eyes half-open and her dress fluttering around her.

She suddenly opened her eyes. She didn't know why, but she had been terrified by this dream. She was panting and sweating. She was very hot but, at the same time, cold sweats ran down her back. She put her hand on her chest. Her heart was beating wildly. She felt like it was going to explode any moment or rip out of her chest. She was shaking. Her hands were tightened on her mattress.

She suddenly looked around her. She was no longer in her room, but in a strange bed that looked like the one from her last dream, the memory of which had not, this time, been completely erased. But this time the room she woke up in was slightly different. It was much smaller and entirely occupied by two mattresses. Hers and... Beside her, she saw another form lying under the blanket.

She cringed but immediately hit the wall of the room and hit it hard. The sleeping person stirred and then sat up.

It was a little girl, younger than her, who must have been about ten years old. She had chubby cheeks and cherry red lips. Her eyes were narrowed and she looked like the girl from her previous dream. But it wasn't the same person. She had smooth black hair, like a night stream that descended a little below her shoulders. Her eyes were dark as a well.

She still seemed half asleep, drowsy, she nodded and yawned, opening her mouth very wide. She let out a small moan, regretting that she had been roused from her sleep.

She turned her head towards Lucy and smiled.

 "Ah! You're awake !"

 "... Asami ?"