Ensourcell

Chapter 1: A Gift

Some people scream in anger, some people scream in grief, and some people scream just to be heard. Eloise screams because she's terrified. Every hour of sleep she manages to steal is plagued by grotesque nightmares. No regular nightmares, either. Her abilities are pulled from the veil between this world and the next; ergo the otherworldly unimaginable visions she experiences when she closes her eyes. 

Awoken by the assortment of sharp knocks on her door, a sweaty, distraught Eloise shoots up from lying down in a cold bed- thank Hecate for consciousness. Swinging her feet onto the ground, she pulls herself into a standing position and stumbles to grab the icy cold doorknob Without glancing outside, she opens the old rickety door to a rather lanky and tall blonde boy standing and seemingly avoiding the cracks on her porch tiles.

"Arlo." she manages to croak out,  her voice scratchy from the screaming.
Pushing past her and setting a container on her rotting wooden desk, he turns, looking quite frustrated.
"You told me they were getting better." he spat rather bitterly, with a twinge of worry.

"Well, they somewhat are. I certainly didn't tell you they were gone. And how could you hear me anyways?" She tilts her head, awaiting an answer.

"You have thin walls," Arlo muttered. "and the spell I cast doesn't work on me."

"Did you do that on purpose? Rather dodgy, no?" she accused, half joking.

"Oh, 'course not. I'm not that good of a witch." he smiled sheepishly, displaying his nervousness. "Why are you here, Arlo?" Eloise grumbles with a sigh.

"I wanted to make sure you're alright. It can't be healthy to yell your lungs out every night, physically or mentally." he explained.

"What does it matter? They're not going away anytime soon, and I'm going to keep living them." she tried to smile.

"I made you something." He gestures to the tin on the desk. She picks it up, inspecting the heavenly pungent smell that emitted from it. "What is this? It surely smells good..." Eloise mumbles the last bit as her slender fingers work at the tin to open it. Arlo sits on the dusty bricks that line the bottom of the old chimney.

At the first sign of oranges, she almost smiles. "A tincture? What for?"
"For stress; it's supposed to calm you down." He clarifies, patting her shoulder and making his way to the door.

"Thank you, dear." She mutters, waving at him through the crack of the door before he smiles and closes it gently. Eloise sits on her bed, grabbing her lighter from her bedside table and lighting the wood burning stove. She fills the kettle with water, setting it on the stove and dropping the tincture in it.

Sat on her bed as the dawn rays fight to creep in through the boards nailed onto her window, she slightly loses her grip on how she thought she knew Arlo. He's always so shy and friendly. But he seemed disappointed today; disappointed with her. Tightening her grip again, she tells herself that all she needs is a good wack on the head to snap her out of this funk she's lived in for 21 years.

Eloise sits up and grabs a corset from the floor, deciding that one day of dirtiness isn't nearly enough to wash it. Clutching the corset in one hand, she picks up her ripped lace skirt.