[ hiatus ] 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒 ━━ 𝐏. 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑

𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲

༻ ❁ ༺

December 2nd, 2008

21:25 PM

          CHARLOTTE HAD NO memory of falling asleep. No dreams came to her head, and that night, her sleep was peaceful and empty. Through the quiet, the air was interrupted by a slight and faint hum. As the noise grew more constant, her eardrum struck, shocking her and forcing her to sit upright in her bed. Her ears were thumping with blood, and she felt as if she could literally collapse backward and close her eyes. In order to restore any of her senses, she had to press her hands over her ears. The pain was immense.

For a long time, once again, the room was suddenly quiet. The ticking of the clock on her nightstand was the only movement she could hear. Charlotte, lowering her hands from her head, wondered what the noise could have been. Now that the piercing thrum had ceased, she could hear the vague mumblings of speech coming from the floor below.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, after fitting her leg. She could also detect a slight hum, but it appeared to vibrate as though it were just her eardrums. Glancing out the window, the sun had fallen deep under the ocean ; the moon reflected across the black waters. Making her way to her bedroom door, she could hear voices floating down the corridor.

The voice was certainly not that of her mom's, nor was it her dad's. She could have sworn that it was her uncle Obie; she could hear his low and raspy voice, whispering downstairs. What was Obadiah doing here at this time of night? Peaking at the top of the stairs around the glass partition, she remained out of sight. A knot had formed in the pit of her stomach for some reason when a little voice in the back of her mind told her something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

Charlotte poked her head around the corner, peering from the balcony down the stairs and into the living room. The lighting in the room was dim, and there was a cozy feeling arising out of the warm fire burning in the corner. Currently, there were two figures in the living room. The first was her father; he was slumped on the couch, his skin a shockingly sickly colour and his eyes were deep-set and tired. The second was Obadiah, he was standing over her father, his hand rested on the arc reactor.

She watched silently as Obadiah leaned forward, mumbling something to her father. As he took a step back, Charlotte gasped, quickly covering her mouth. Obadiah held her father's arc reactor in his hands. She felt sick to her stomach. How could he do this? He was Uncle Obie, he was their friend.