Molly - Part 5

Chapter 30

The bird sung thrice then wandered away. The wind pouring against the castle walls. She listened. So violent. Why did the world hate them so?

Charla took the sheets and draped them over her. Closing her eyes, fingers running through her hair.

As was often the case, the servant came to her, in her waking thoughts. Mura and her autumn-eyes. She wanted to hold her, to be held. To know that this world wasn't a cold and dead place.

She walked the halls after but she was not comforted. So quiet, so alone. Each step running through the place. She traced her fingers on the wall as she did as a child but even this was a fast-fading pleasure. All of it diseased without Her.

***

Marcus held the machine pistol up and shot down the street, raising the glowing light-cross he had kept with him ever since the bombs fell. Shooting into the dark. Light flashing off the metal slabs.

He stopped, took another step forward. Shot again. All of it in a rhythm. Holy communion with the turning of the world.

He shifted right, shot twice. Peered down an alleyway but no sinners there. His clothes were too heavy; they covered every part of him save for the eyes. The holy cross on his chest, the stitches his own, outlined in black.

She is dead.

"No."

He turned, shot. Cursed sharply.

She died on a stake. Not befitting the son. Where do they go, those false prophets?

Violet dust burst out of his gun; he coughed and slapped the side of it. Coughed again.

The lord does not like it when his chosen rebel. He does not like it at all.

Now he was coughing so much he began tasting blood. He folded into himself, bending as he only barely managed to save himself from hitting metal.

"Begone, foul demon."

Demon!

Laughter, from the pipes below.

Such horrible vistas he could only barely comprehend. Planes of existence stretching for miles; a million lives plucked. He fell down then began ripping off his clothes, gasping for air as he pulled the mask off.

***

She awoke. She did not know what these visions were telling her. She could only just barely understand them, could not name the tools or people she saw.

The fire that burned was clear enough. Warnings. Messages she might decipher in the dead of night.

She fled her nightmares. Walking through the castle. She could hear the nothing. The quiet fluttering of an age slowly winding down.

There was only one hope. For her, for any of them.

She was out in the yard, trimming. The castle grounds--while emptied--still required care. Most of the servants had already been sent to the frontlines.

Charla approached carefully. Not wanting to sully it. The birds chirping, the wind pushing along the various plants they'd stolen from other lands. Curved leaves, beautiful roses. Violets pouring in and out.

One last snip, then Mura turned to her.

Charla could not help herself. She was on an elevated plane. She could do anything she wanted.

"Good morning, my lady."

Mura dropped the basket of flowers as Charla lunged at her, her appetite making her shake as she took the hands and felt them, moved across, kissing her, not really thinking about anything but the forward motion.