Brenna

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And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!

- Edgar Allen Poe
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"Brenna." Voices emanate through the blackness which envelops me. The smell of drifting embers mixed with images of red pools of sanguine horror, the invisible touch of chalky earth and the damp sensation of peat and moss of a wet, dreary cemetery aura devolve into nothing but the the acute, rancid smell of formaldehyde and the twisting of sharp, agonizing pain, like lightning in my bones. I'm breaking. Everything I can feel, all I can sense carries with it the air of death. I see black feathers. I hear inhuman screams. A vision of ravens flashes before my eyes. Onyx talons, the knelling of bells from hell, some fiery wickedness reminds me of the inevitable. I'm dying. I don't want to go. I'm not ready yet. 

"Brenna!" Crying rings out, then I see a bright, amber sunbeam, brilliant, luminous, calling me home, to be with my loved, lost family. Heaven's light shines. I want to go, but I can't. I can't go with them. I'm still here, I'm...

"BRENNA." A voice, one both coaxing and yelling, like the December frost and the July sun all enveloped in a lavender scented spring rain brings me back to the present, grounding me once more. "Brenna, love, please wake up. You're having a nightmare."

My eyes snap open. I'm looking into the lightly freckled face of my husband, and...my servant...of sorts. It's been three years since my deal with him, and constantly, he seems to forget the terrible circumstances under which we were forced together, bonded for eternity by something written in the stars. Whether to call it a prophetic miracle or an ill omen I'm not sure of anymore.

"Felix". I whisper. My voice is raspy. Slowly, the panic creeps back in. I remember everything. I couldn't breathe before. I don't want to be sick again. No, please, please! Not again. I don't want to die like this. "Felix, I don't feel well."

He smiles. Dark, enchanting, unearthly beautiful violet eyes seem to glint. Purple irises curl at the edges. He pulls a small pair of rounded, wire rimmed glasses from his black coat pocket and places them on the bridge of his nose. They give him a scholarly look and seem to balance on their own. "Everything is going to be okay." He pets my hair, stroking my head from its crown down to my collarbone. He leans down, and I smell flowers. Kissing me once before backing away, he rises and glances over his shoulders. I'm still afraid. "You're thirsty. You perspired quite a lot last night. I can tell you had the dream about the hospital again, the one in London."

I fight back tears, but I want Felix to know I'm not weak, that to my core, my very soul, I am strong. "Where else?" I huff. "It's always that one. You...we..." I can't say it. 

He can. "We were married there." 

This makes me laugh a bit, and I relax, if only slightly. The exact nature of our situation is far less romantic than Felix likes to pretend. He's only acting this way to satisfy my wish, my end of the deal. At least, that's what I always thought. All this time, I've been so sure, but lately, he's appeared sincere, true, genuine, like he's not lying, not being what he is. I can't be too hopeful, though. Even so, continually, he surprises me. I sit up and grin, finding relative happiness in his affections. "Get me some water."

"As you wish, my darling."

"Stop." I roll my eyes. "I hate it when you go that far."

"I'm serious, Brenna." Felix smiles once more as he pours water mixed with lemons, oranges and strawberries into a faded teal glass. He paces over and hands it to me. I gulp it down. "You are my wife. I hardly think such pleasantries are inappropriate."

"I don't care." I inhale. The fresh air in my lungs feels cool and invigorating. Exhaling, I glower up at him. "You're also my servant. I own you for now."  

Felix smiles bigger this time, ignoring my statement entirely. "You were fighting that urge hard, to tell me how famished you were." He leans in and pulls a strawberry from the cup and starts to trace it against my lips. I know what he's doing. I narrow my eyes. Felix reaches his hand under my nightgown and touches my inner thigh. I smack him away. "Stop it. I don't want to like you as much as I do." It comes as a whisper. It's true. He doesn't really love me. I have to remind myself of that. I have to, or I'll lose the small bit of sanity I have. "Don't touch me. Please, just stop." 

He doesn't. He continues to reach his hand higher, and it happens all over again. I flood with emotions, the same as always, and give in, but not before one last protest. I try to use the same approach I once did, where I attest that humans are naturally unfit suitors. 

"F- Felix!" I almost lose my voice. It quivers, embarrassingly betraying my weaknesses. "I'm not in a proper state to do this. I'm not clean. I'm all sweaty and I haven't brushed my-"

He stops my mouth with his. Then he pulls back. "Respectfully, Brenna." He almost purrs. How can anyone resist this? "Be quiet. You know that trick won't work. You're alive. With every breath, with every heartbeat, you only prove to be more desirable. Trust me, you smell mouthwatering."

I expect a comment like this. Truly I do, and it continues, on and on until the end. I'm reminded every day of how I'm only lucky for a short time. Whenever Felix does this sort of thing, I swear I wish I still had a priest that trusted me. Maybe, somehow, with the right help, I could break this spell, but I know it's a useless wish. I did this. I gave in. I know where my family is and I know where I'll be going when I finally let go of my already small, cursed life. We will never ever see each other again.

I guess I should tell you the whole story, how this all happened to me. I'll start with the sickness, the one that carried me to the edge and back, how I saw the gates of heaven open for me, then close forever. It begins as tale of pain, un-anestithised surgeries, the misery of pestilence, of new poverty, forgotten dreams, and unstoppable plague. Then, I'll tell you of how I met Felix Wolfe, a demon, and how I was never able to recover from that encounter. 

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