THE SICKNESS.

The garden.

Lucille D'avencourt loved little more in her lonely sheltered life than to sit outside in the biting autumn cold and enjoy the sprawling gardens of her mother's house. It was a mystery for all who lived in the house as to why the young mistress loved it so. The older D'avencourt plainly despised it and wouldn't set foot in it. Very little light reached the garden as it was behind the house facing away from the sun. This also meant the already meagre warmth the solstice sun could give barely chipped at the chill of the place. There were no flowers and the only thing that dared grow was the acres of forest whose dry bare trees seemed like hungry spirits from some other dimension. They curled their brittle branches towards the grey skies  as though attempting to escape the clutches of the D'avencourt's desolate grounds. Shadows stretched from each knarling tree and made a flickering maze of the paths that led from the old iron gates where the garden begun to the small overgrown fountain where Lucille spent all her time when she came. It's name was Erēmia,  the desolate place. The girl, Nilou, visibly despised it and subtly expressed resentment for every second she had to spend wandering it's seemingly haunted walkways with her young mistress. Lucille reveled in her discomfort, she allowed it to rest on her skin and tasted it's rancid flavor on her tongue like some godless heathen. She was careful that the girl herself did not notice her strange delight in their exchanges. Even she with her twisted morality understood just how perverse her inclinations were and how they would seem to anyone other than the voices in her head. She couldn't help it anyway and tended to indulge herself.
"While we walk, you must hold my hand and never step out of pace with me. Do you understand?"
The girl took Lucille's slender hand between her own. The girl's hands were course and warm. Much too warm..or perhaps it was  Lucille who's whole body had suddenly gone ice cold .
"If it is what you desire, I will hold your hand."
Her thumb traced over Lucille's knuckles absentmindedly after a while walking. The gentle motion of her fingers was in stark contrast to the disinterested way she observed her young mistress and the trees around them. Each touch sent a cool shiver down Lucille's spine. Terror, sudden and sharp, clutched at her heart with every feathery swipe.
"Don't let go."
 
The girl had been keeping Lucille company for little over a month before she would speak to her in anything other than monosyllables.
"Tell me about yourself and I don't mean the stuff in your purchase documents." Lucille looked right at the girl when she spoke. The girl's eyes weren't just black after all. Here and there they shone with speckles of russet light.
"Why? Who I am outside those papers should be of no interest to you. After all, what use does a venerable daughter of the capitol have for such nonsense?"
Something about the way she dismissed herself, perhaps as a way to put Lucille off snooping really riled her up. She didn't like the self deprecation of the words. Sensing that beneath the seemingly innocent question lay judgement not just of herself but of Lucille as well. Lucille's tone was as icy as any princess of the capitol when she replied. "Perhaps you're right. What really can a slave from the farms have ever done that was worth hearing about." She gave the words time to settle into the space between them on the blanket. A cold northern breeze rustled the branches of the tree overhead and it's dry silver leaves fluttered down in a cascade of light. Some of them settled in the girls hair and stuck. It looked like she was wearing a circlet. She seemed some ancient priestess, untouchable and otherworldly.
The silence crawled beneath Lucille's skin and made her feel an invader in her own flesh.
"