Clothed in our grief

Chapter Forty Two

  It's been a week since Damian said he's gone abroad to study further. He's called you maybe three or four times since. One of the times you had everyone from the Academy with you, all talking to Damian on skype at once. Olive and Pom and Maps were the most excited to know what Damian was studying about, again, always changing the subject. One time you even heard somebody in the distance in another room next to whatever room Damian was in. Saying something about something called a titan? Maybe it's about a book, or a show. Maybe it's a classmate being overly excited about something. You don't know, you dind't ask. But the only reason why it brings thought to your mind, is the annoyed look that crossed Damian's face as the voice came into the video. He even had to get up and leave the skype call.

You haven't spoken to Jaime about the chip, but you;ve been having issues with the settings on changing the tone and frequencies in the voices from the recording you have of Robin speaking to you. You put it in, and managed to find the file. It was half corrupted, some water damage actually got into the mechanism of your phone and distorted lots of your files.

Leaving some of your pictures looking awfully creepy, duly noted.

You also haven't seen Cissie around school, and Demetria hasn't shown up for fencing practise along those lines either. Exactly a week, and you spoke to the coach about it too. He said Demetria came forth saying she needed personal time away, taking homework with her so she could go home for a while. Apparently something happened in her family a couple years back that was recently brought up, the coach didn't have much to say about it. Seeing as he spoke like he was bribed not to say anything, by his wandering eyes as if making sure nobody saw him watching him speak about it. You're quick on details of all kinds, he seemed paranoid just being approached by you.

For the past week you've been going to the Gotham Center Public Library, the bookstore doesn't own everything. But it's not exactly like the public library has ancient books about the dark arts. And what you have found is more traditional studies based on the Christian Religion, of which you're already well aware of.

Your dad had a lot of stories, as memorable again. Had a lot to say about lots of things, things you thought him just being cynical about faith being. You never knew you'd think back on it and wonder if the things he said were true. He didn't exactly describe angels as the bright and powdery cloud babies most people see them as. You shake your head at the thought, refusing to believe that ghosts even exist.

What you've found, making you shake your head yet again, on the language called Enochian. It all comes from religion related text. Sifting through the bible once or twice just to make sure you didn't miss anything, turns out you could have figured out more on the internet by googling it rather than taking a peek at the words of the lord. Odd, because again, this all makes you think about the stories your father would tell you when you were little.

Language of the Angels, the first language, Celestial Speech, or the Holy language. It's referred to several different things throughout myth and lore. It's not just language either, apparently it's also a type of magic. Which, makes your head spin. But with the weird things that have been going on around the house lately? It's hard to keep telling yourself that even ghosts don't exist. Most of it, no doubt, is out of spite for your father.

The weird things happening around the house are actually beginning to become frightening.

Shadows behind the window curtains. You got pretty freaked out by this, seeing the shadow of a little girl but looking down at the ground to see no feet? Yeah, call that nightmare fuel. Especially when you went over to pull the curtain, the moment you pulled back the curtain to reveal nothing was there? A crow came plummeting into the window, leaving the clear glass window with a red streak of blood and a crack in it. You cleaned the window, and picked up the bird in a garbage bag and buried it somewhere under the large oak tree in the front lawn. It would have made the trashcan stink, and probably would have attracted feral animals. It still pained you a little bit, but the shock of it all is what frightened you. It was calm, for a split second. Opening that blue window curtain and expecting the body of some little girl to be there. But instead, a crow decided to dive bomb into the window. The crack in the glass is still there, and you had to tell your stepdad that some kids were just throwing rocks. Compulsive lying has also become a habit of yours that you don't know how to control. You don't even think about it, it's as though half the time somebody else is speaking for you.