Scales [ON HOLD]

Chapter Nine: Lydia

   "This is Octavia." Vinariah called out to anyone who was listening. She herself went and sat in a chair facing two people playing a game of chess. By the looks of it, the person on the left had no idea what he was doing. Taking a few glances around the room, I noticed that it was pretty bare. The room only had a couple of chairs, two windows, an old looking chandelier and a large table in the centre. I stepped forward onto the black linoleum floor, expecting people to finally notice me, but no-one did.

   An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Why was nobody talking? Oh wait, they all probably know about Bacon. After a minute of awkwardness, a head popped out from behind a chair, it was a girl. She was picking the petals of a bright white rose. The petals surrounded the chair, which was strangely positioned to face the corner of the room. She slowly stood up, playing with the veil hanging off her black doll dress, and began to walk over. Her shiny black hair was, despite the fact that it was propped up into two long ponytails, reaching down to her hips. In the ponytails, there was a crown of black roses- most of the petals were missing. 

   "Hello Octavia." She whispered and smiled, then curtsied, like they did in the olden days. Each one of her words seemed chopped up and rehearsed. I smiled and curtsied back. When she said my name, it sounded sweet, relatively like a child was speaking.

   "My name is Lydia." Her voice raised to a sound just above a whisper. She waited, and turned away from me. Her body seemed very limp in the way she was moving, almost like a puppet or a doll. If she was a doll, then it would explain the way she looked. Her thick black mascara, bushy eyebrows, dark purple eye shadow, short black gloves and Gothic black boots all pointed towards that fact. She picked up one of the long purple ribbons hanging off her black frilly dress and twizzled it between her fingers. 

   "I like flowers. Do you?" She slowly twisted her head to face me, her big, round, purple eyes boring into mine. Even though she was talking to me, it felt as though she was not paying attention, like she was daydreaming.

   "Th-they are quite nice...?" I answered feeling slightly anxious because this small creepy girl, even though she was about my age. She honestly looked like something out of a horror movie. The way she was dressed to the way she spoke, her height didn't help me either. She was probably about 5ft 4. Lydia looked off into the distance and lifted up her arms.

   "They aren't only nice," Her voice sounded dazed, almost tired. She began to ballroom dance, eyes shut and arms open."But beautiful. They symbolise life and death. They are born into the world, using all of their energy to survive, only to be trampled upon by others." She ended her dancing by spinning towards her imaginary partner. In an instant, she stopped with her right arm stretched away from herself. She formed a fist and pretended to stab herself, and stumbled backwards, nearly stepping onto a chess board. She backed up against a wall and slowly slid down, her hands gripping onto the imaginary knife. She kept on going until she was flat on the floor.

    "They are eaten, disgraced, humiliated... and yet they do not care." She was laying down motionlessly in a beam of sunlight passing through an old window. "They allow themselves to be used. Their only friends are bees. They help the flowers to grow, to live, to survive. Flowers and Bees are used and imitated. Decorations, gifts, drinks, food. They both provide all. Where do you think we would be without them?" She awaited my answer.

   I hesitated. What was I meant to say?

   "Destroyed, wasted, lost, or even better," She glanced up at me, eyes widening. Lydia tilted her head to one side and her mouth formed into a crooked smile. "Dead."

   I was frozen. I didn't even know this girl. Who was she? More to the point, what was she? A psycho? That seemed like a perfectly logical answer. I steadied myself and tried to avoid eye contact. What did she mean, 'even better'? Since when was death better? All of these thoughts processed in my mind.

   Lydia rose up from the floor, head cocked, looking at me. I gazed at the rose in her hand - which only had a couple of petals left- as she lifted it up to her headband and placed it in between two dead roses.

   "Do you not think so to, Octavia?" This time, when she said my name I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. An icy chill ran up my spine and down my arms, combating the heat propelling off my hands. There was something very wrong with this girl, she sounded insane, and someone needed to save me from her.