Bury all your secrets in my skin

11. Relapse

There was a pattern of knots in her wooden ceiling that looked like a face. Ava stared up at it in the muted silver moonlight, tracing the distinct shape of the upturned mouth over and over. No matter what she did, Ava couldn't stop replaying every single interaction she'd had with Bea since her return.

What was the wraith? What was Bea? Perhaps it was all fake...

Ava shook her head suddenly, no, it couldn't be fake. She knew Bea loved her, she'd looked into the sister warrior's eyes that very first night and heard the three little words after their second ever kiss, which was quickly followed by third, and a fourth.

But how much of her Bea was left? How much of her Bea had been with her that afternoon... when she'd touched her for the first time?

Ava was torturing herself, driving herself insane, but she couldn't stop. Her mind was loud, she couldn't sleep, and the face above was laughing at her.

"Shut up." She hissed to the ceiling, then groaned, sitting up and burying her face in her hands.

It was clear there would not be any sleep tonight. There was nothing Ava wanted more than to go after Bea, but Mother Superior had ordered them to stand down, and though the Halo bearer argued, she knew the nun was right. They had no leads, no hunches, nothing, no one had any idea where Bea had gone, or if she would ever come back...

No. She refused to think like that. With a huff, Ava rolled off the bed and stood. She needed to do something, anything, to distract herself.

Decided, Ava padded over to the door, pushing it open, and wandered out into the night.

~

She opened her eyes and saw nothing. Her ears heard nothing. Her skin felt nothing. She was trapped in the void and there was nothing but empty darkness all around her.

But the darkness was something. It had a certain look to it. She shut her eyes and opened them again.

Yes! There was a difference there, a subtle shift in color, a swirl of the darkest gray off in the distance, the slightest shade lighter than the rest of the inky blackness surrounding her.

Now the darkness had a feeling to it, a warmth, a heat. And that heat was building and enveloping. It continued to rise to an uncomfortable but strangely familiar level.

And now she could hear it breathing. A slow, deep, raspy breath that was oddly comforting though deep in her heart she knew it shouldn't be.

The gray swirl was growing bigger and brighter, and it was drawing her in. And she came closer it spun faster. And as it spun faster it grew brighter. Soon the gray bled to blue, and the swirl caught itself and formed a perfect bright blue circle.

Beatrice passed through the portal.

She was floating above a land of fire and blood. The fires below her burned hot and the thick black smoke turned red before her eyes.

She heard a deep gravelly voice call out to her, "Come home to us, wraithling."

Then there was another voice, high and wispy, "Come home to us, wraithling."

Then another voice and another. The red smoke circled her and tens, hundreds, thousands of voices called her home.

Below her she saw the people bleed. She heard one scream.

They screamed again.

And again.