Massacred Flowers

Chapter II - Tea of the Living

Her lips quivered.

Elizabeth's torn lip grabbed the porcelain teacup in vain. She sipped the tea and groaned in distaste. Her foul face contorted, then she swallowed the liquid with a big gulp.

"Is the tea not to your liking?" Ilsa continued to nonchalantly sip hers; never wondering why nor doubting the intentions of the corpse facing opposite her.

"I am dead as a matter of fact." Eliza said blankly. She sighed and crossed her arms, her skin peeling ever so slowly.

Ilsa studied Eliza's wistful face.

She couldn't, for the life of her, believe that re-animating the dead could possibly work. Desdemona proved her wrong; she's always associated her mother among the eccentric sort. She failed to see that Desdemona Sharpe was indeed capable of madness. Ilsa examined the living dead in front of her. Eliza was far from recognizable. Without the visibility of her heart-shaped birthmark on her forehead and the same striking red hair as hers; Ilsa couldn't identify her. Ilsa's curiosity didn't stray away from Eliza's figure. The elements of Eliza's living 'dead' body like that of her thinning hair, grey skin, yellow teeth and peeling flesh made Ilsa gag inwardly.

Eliza embodied a monster. The notion of linking Eliza to an entity of evil brought disbelief, although Eliza didn't deserve the consequences of being alive.

Ilsa noticed Eliza wearing the same pink dress she was buried with. The dress was ripped by the collar- showing more skin with stitches- and the pink faded into a dull blush. Eliza's hair was tapered on the left side of her head. Her right side bare and a huge chunk of new skin tailored with meticulous efficiency. Her hands that used to grace the pianoforte with fancy determination was now skeletal; more bone than skin. Eliza looked more dead than she was when she hanged herself. The aftermath of death did destroy her vitality.

Eliza carried the air of a fallen damsel. A princess who never conquered the battle of fate instead she had become the witch who everybody never understood. A witch anyone would hate, and condemn.

"What do we do with the bodies?" Eliza said as if everything that had happened in the last hour was as normal as it could be.

___________________

They burned the bodies.

The pallid, unresponsive bodies were now charred with the gentle fire. The flames dispersed their ashes and the smoke evaded the moonless night. The lack of light made the obligation to dispose of the bodies became more criminal than ever. Ilsa trembled in trepidation, she didn't know what to do. They've been in seclusion for years and the prospect of going back to the bustle of society made her anxious. Now, that Howard is dead, all the connections her father had established became null.

(Her father did draw those connections quite swiftly, and it was thanks to her grandfather: The Earl) She didn't know how to tell her relatives of the sudden death of the three people she was close with. All the worries of money and family must be set aside. There are far more complex consequences to handle.

Ilsa willed her thougts to bed. She must focus on the present, The smoke still lingered, and her eyes stung watching the flames dance with rapid succession. And sooner as it is expected, the family she had learned to love and hate tremendously became dust and nothing more.

"Ilsa, do you still paint?" Eliza broke their silent camaraderie.

After the inevitable 'tea party', Eliza decided they burn the bodies. 'Evidence: we must eradicate.' she had told Ilsa. Ilsa who didn't talk to her after that.

"I've been included in the heinous act of murder," she scowled, "And all you care for is art?!" Eliza didn't flinch nor responded since.

She still held resentment towards Eliza, primarily because of the death of Elliot. She never felt so distressed; she had lost a husband, and lost a home. They still had a house but suddenly nothing seemed right when the two of them entered after agonizing the burial. Every crevice and cradle of the house always strayed to lots of misery and bitter memories. Ilsa never had a home.