[ She laughs at his pleading. Voices of the perpetrators start echoing through the halls again and she looks past him, her gaze distant. ]
I can move on, but I'll never really forget you know? This world of mirrors just brings out the sweet taste of anger, always at the tip of my tongue.
[ The flower starts walking past him arms spread wide as the voices replay that fateful night. ]
M-MONTS?! Y-You're still alive? What the FUCK you're supposed to beβ...!!
[ The sound of a gunshot. Then the echo of someone being hit with a blunt weapon. Screams of terror next. She chuckles as if the memory tickles her fancy. In a way it does. She remembers it all and it just brings up one small regret. ]
I really wish I just killed them all back then. I still think about it you know? How lightly I would snap their necks, how gently I would break their fingers, how much would they bleed? It didn't hurt when I broke my neck, but looking at them writhe in pain, I could almost start to get the idea.
So you see Father, I am one whole being. This is what I am. Oh, I can be calm I can be sweet, but tempt me with violence and I'll bring it forth tenfold. The Fortune Teller wasn't lying you know.
[ Excess, imbalance, a tendency to extremes. ]
These mirrors are quite a bother, aren't they? You're fortunate that you are not the one to stir my ire.
... Oh, but dear Father Abel... I don't see your reflection anymore.
his jaw tightens, further. the worry is coiled tightly now; his fingers twitch at his sides before he forces himself to try and relax. (...in the end, she's been hiding something like this all along.) in the face of this rather unpleasant situation, there's no room for a misstep. not when he doesn't know how in the world to draw her back from where she's gone.
whether she's lost herself to what's written all over her skin, or what's written all over her skin has swallowed her up like a little bug - it doesn't matter. ]
...
[ he isn't averting his gaze, pays no attention to the mirrors as the voices - and cries, and screams, and disturbingly vivid sounds - die down in the background. his eyes follow her and her movements; he is patiently waiting. he means her no harm - and she is trapped in this mess too, isn't she? as long as they're together, then... something has got to give. a way will open up, or they'll be forced to make one. won't they.
[ She takes a look behind her, the red in her eyes glittering under the dim lights. ]
Did I tell you back there? I don't like liars and people who don't give me straightforward answers.
[ Damn. ]
I didn't kill anyone in the end. I'm a failure through and through. Oh, but I'm sure there will be a next time! I'll have good reason to break others, I'll find someone or something that will bleed for me.
[ Her figure sighs dreamily and spins around to face the priest. ]
What will this place show me about you? You don't give me answers, you're more than willing to tell me lies if it'll protect my pretty little soul.
[ That's the other thing about this form; it is much crueler, much more willing to cut to the heart of the matter much like South Sister overall. ]
I've bled in front of you and you have the gall to try and hide from me? What a cruel man of faith without faith you are.
[ ...is it a mercy? knowing she hadn't taken any lives that horrible night. does she remember it all like a bad dream? Abel lifts his fingers to his face to gently pull the old lenses away, pinching at the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a physical ache. Monts, is...
...
her words aren't half as cutting as the fact he doesn't believe the woman he knows would ever be capable of saying them. whether its the influence of this thing, or something feeding on dark, buried parts of her nature - it doesn't matter. Abel lets it slide like water off a duck's back, and his composure is much steadier as he replaces the old-fashioned frames.
--but the soft sound of chime-like bells, the clink of jewelry, quiet sway of fabric behind him steals it in short order. the rapid recoiling of muscles, stiffening of his shoulders is already threatening to undo his good work. though he is clearly working to avoid looking at or acknowledging what is slowly approaching the glass from the reflection of the mirror, the blood is draining from his face regardless.
the redhaired woman in sari - with a very familiar rosary, though unweathered by the passage of centuries - presses her henna-painted hand to the glass. though the priest doesn't look at her, her face expresses nothing but fondness, and her golden eyes carry all the warmth in the world in them. ]
Will you not look at me, Abel? Come now, tell me you're not still a child after all this time.
[ he lowers his head, and his hand has clenched so tightly at his side it seems the bones will break. ]
We need to go, Miss Monts.
[ ...his voice is strained, and though it still holds that gentle edge, it is far more commanding in tone. if she's in there -- if she can hear him, if this 'Monts' deigns to listen... they need to escape.
he will not humor ghosts. he will see her again, when he's earned it. ]
[ Now what do we have here? The chiming sound catches her interest, the priest slowly, but surely losing his composure intrigues her; there is no way she can ignore this. Monts glides up to the woman in the mirror, so grand in her appearance but serene in her beauty, whose eyes look at Abel with warmth only a beloved could receive.]
... We will go.
[ She moves back to Abel, close enough so her dark-tinged fingers gently brush against his cheek (there is an unsettling vibration from the mark as it swirls around her body continuously). ]
But she will follow. She's always been following you, hasn't she?
[ Her voice is disconcertingly gentle as if the new understanding has on some level reached that part of her that he's more familiar with. ]
What follows her I wonder...?
[ Her hand moves down to brush against his clenched fist. ]
C'mon.
[ and just for that second she almost sounds normal. ]
[ ...somehow, that newly found patient gentility is far more unsettling and painful than the delirium this woman has exuded since the mark consumed her skin.
he finds his head lifting, just enough that he might glance into her face as her fingers brush oh so gently against his cheek - wary, but... tentative and uncertain. is she...? the sound of her voice this way - almost right, almost Monts again - has a different sort of pang tugging through his chest.
...please let her come back from this.
his hand is slowly unclenching where her hand descends to graze over his knuckles, instead. even if heβs doing his absolute best to keep his attention focused on βMontsββ new face, the pulse of red eyes only serves to remind him there is no time to lose his head in the very same ghosts he had tried to coax her to ignore. he has to get her to snap out of this, somehow. he has to escape.
...a stiff, but grudgingly acquiescent nod of his head. blue eyes are far older as they fix on her in stubborn refusal to see anything else.
[ Abelβs silence most likely says much more than his endless inane banter, at a time like this. the seemingly unending array of obfuscating stupidity has ceased; the taps have turned off and heβs run dry of the usual energy for those games, now. his face is set in grim, increasingly strained resolution as he heads the only direction there is to go. they... need to get out of here.
the voice - patient, but filled with a sort of quiet disappointment, lilts from the mirror. the soft chime of the bells as she tilts her head, patient eyes filled with a serious but no less warm plea implore at their receding figures. ]
It isnβt too late, Abel. You arenβt too far gone. All it will take is for you to make the decision to come with me, and we will make right whatβs been done.
[ he isnβt sure what is more frustrating - the βmonsterβ at his side with her equally soft, barbed candy words or the devastating yearning and regret stirred up by the ghostβs voice behind him.
...he should have listened.
he should have went with her. but he didnβt then, and he canβt now. the darkened corridor may lead to another sort of nightmare, or freedom. he isnβt sure which. he doesnβt care, either - just... get him out of here.
[ In this form all of Monts' usual traits have amplified several times over; the playful sadism, the teasing, and sharp insight into other people's hearts (or at least her own limited perception). But it's as she said; it wasn't Abel who forced her change. The world of mirrors had thrust her back into those ugly memories that were the catalyst for the emergence. So in a way, she finds herself at a loss; who does she project her anger onto, what can be broken in this world?
As the woman in the reflection speaks she glances back at her and then at Abel again. Beneath her skin, her mark hums, and the scattered particles swim across her disconcertingly. ]
... Father, what kind of hold does she have on you?
[ She stops walking and moves closer to Abel hand reaching up to hover over his cheek, but not quite touching him. ]
What kind of pain are you feeling? If it's in here... [ With her other hand, she moves it to her chest, where her heart is. ]
... Then that I understand. It's the only kind I'm familiar with, the kind that drives me forward whether I slumber or drift as I am now.
[ he finds his footsteps coming to a stiff halt when she crosses his path, that marked hand hovering close to his face, yet... just short of truly reaching him.
...he is trapped between a rock and a hard place. faced with Monts in this condition, unsure what precisely her succumbing to this state is doing to her -- and the soft voice he had been dying to hear for eight hundred long years at his back.
but the mocking, gleeful and whimsical delight seems to have evaporated from 'Monts' and her expression. he wishes he saw something familiar in her eyes, but the crimson hue staring back at him only serves to remind him how alien (ha) this face seems, even moreso than the flickering, shifting pattern like a living tattoo moving over her skin. ]
...We need to go.
[ he lifts his hand, seizing her wrist. his grip is not unkind, but his patience is fraying. ]
For your sake as much as mine. This... is dangerous for both of us.
[ because that little girl in her sundress had managed to effect the world on the other side of the glass.
and while Lilith's gentle hand against the reflective surface poses no threat to them, he can assure Monts - there are other ghosts that would not be so kind, and he is not eager to find out what should happen if they're given some mockery of life in this place. ]
[ There's little resistance from her end as he takes her wrist. She smiles at him and there is a trace of warmth that could be garnered from it. ]
If only you were this honest to me normally.
[ She moves her hand so that her fingers can tug at his as they keep walking farther up. There's yet to be an end to the house of mirrors and she hums some unknowable melody under her breath before speaking up again. ]
Please don't keep hiding from me. Oh, I sympathize, but if only I knew what to pity you for. What will the reflections be next? What provocations will the mirrors attempt? Can you sense it Father Abel? Isn't it trying to dig at you too?
[ he can hear Lilith's voice fading as they leave her reflection behind. there is one last soft, almost sad plea he understands without being able to make out the words; though it's selfish... and cruel, he cannot stop himself from stealing one last glimpse beyond his shoulder -- into her face to drink in one last glimpse at the warmth of her eyes.
...for a moment, he'd swear it was real. just like she'd seen him then, surely she was seeing him now.
the tangle of Monts' fingers at his breaks the spell. an exhale; a concentrated effort to regain lost footing - and he's reluctantly turning to leave the Dark Saint behind him once more. and while the woman by his side is not the one he entered this place with, and even if her questions elicit little more than a grimace from him - he is remaining close to her side in protective silence.
the mirrors up ahead dance with Monts' lithe figure alone, throwing the ever-shifting patterns licking on her skin in sharp relief in this lighting. and for a few long, heavy moments - there is nothing. nothing but Monts' unsettling reflection greets them. there is no sound aside from the softness of their breathing, their quiet steps against the flooring underfoot. ]
...Do you see the way ahead?
[ the disorienting array of mirrors makes the path ahead near indiscernible, and they're arranged in a narrow, winding path rather than a wide open space. one must fumble their way forward...
[ It's not an affirmative noise she makes in response, it's more neutral really as she gazes at her reflections. ]
The path has been entangled and so must we. Like string, we'll be twisted and frayed, tied into knots, stretched until we snap.
[ She's settling into her current state; this may not be a good thing. How had she been able to revert back then? It was a different set of circumstances and it took a witch and a golem to shake down the creature. But this was different, she's achieved a dissonant serenity after her mind was mangled by the voices and reflections from the mirrors. Monts has blended in with the town's horrors and mind games in a sense.
Slowly turning her head in a snakelike motion she looks up at Abel. ]
Will we press on? Stretch ourselves to the brink and break? Ah, how much further could I go? Would you like to find out?
[ Abel is absolutely conscious of the ticking of the clock; he doesn't know the danger posed by whatever she's going through, but the bias of his life experience whispers it is nothing good. the sooner they reach the end of this place, the sooner he can hope that being free of the mirrors might bring back the girl with deep green eyes he's desperately missing, now.
...he keeps his hand on hers, and begins to push ahead at a cautious pace. the unnerving nature of her demeanor is doing very little to ease the pit of knot-like apprehension churning a hole in his stomach; this is, perhaps, the very last place he wants to be right now. were he alone, it would not be quite as worrisome - but the terrible fear at having an audience to the shitshow... and one he cares about, one in duress, one he doesn't want to see hurting any more than she already has... makes this particularly unfortunate. ]
I don't know if you can hear me, [ he is murmuring, eyes strained ahead of him for any sign of motion among the mirrors as they keep trekking ahead, ] but I haven't given up on you. Whatever you need to do-- whatever you can do, Miss Monts, I'm still waiting for you.
[ ...there is a sound from up ahead-- and then behind, slowly creeping into stereo. the flicker, crackle of flames, distant at first but intensifying. is it just an illusion of heat in the air, or is it truly palpable? a trick of the mind in response to the too-real imagery?
his footsteps begin to quicken, tugging her gently to keep pace. he gropes out with his hand ahead of him, his lack of a reflection making it especially difficult to find the way ahead without colliding with any of the mirrors. ]
[ They'll have to use her reflection as a point of reference if they're ever going to get out. Monts lets herself be pulled along as she glances back and forth at the changing scenery around them. ]
Ah. How warm.
[ Ever since she's transformed she oscillates between a disturbingly gentle being to a darkly candid creature. ]
Father, you say you'll wait for me, but I'm always here. I can't ever truly leave. I make do with what I have, you see? Oh, but don't trouble yourself right now. We're lost, we're entangled...
[ Her fingers intertwine with his even more and she holds up his hand clasped in hers. ]
And the best is yet to come, is it not? Your heart on display for both of us to see, tangible anguish that we must digest together.
[ Abel is tempted to try and quiet her somehow; her unfaltering commentary - disturbing as it is - only coils the tension that much tighter in his insides. there's no response at all to his pleas... are they falling on deaf ears? as she is right now, can Monts even hear him?
his footsteps stall as the flicker of distant flames burning bright, white hot and all-consuming, wafts in on a breeze neither of them can feel. a city is burning. the ruins surround them - decimated buildings, scattered debris that had once constituted a heavily populated street; the splatter of blood painting the littering of corpses, of scarred earth where explosions, heavy artillery had blown entire swaths of pavement and greenery upended creates a less than pleasant picture. what must've been a bustling marketplace was nothing more than an echo of a battle that was slowly burning itself out. whatever had happened here, the fight had ended some time ago.
a voice - eerily familiar, because it is the very same as the priest's who's hand Monts is holding - comes in from their right. for a moment, it might seem like it was Abel making his approach as the man steps from where his person had been obscured by smoke - but the hair isn't quite right, blonde instead of silver. the white of his uniform is stained and soiled by blood and ash, but he is wholly uninjured and in quite good spirits as he calls out, ]
Hey, Abel, what have you got there? Did you find a survivor...? Are they from the--
[ --his doppelganger doesn't manage to finish his sentence before Abel's fist has slammed side-long into the mirror with enough force to shatter it, sending ripples and splintering cracks along those alongside it from the reverberation.
if grief had chased him from the last room, it seems a primal rage laid in wait here. ]
Edited (plEASE STOP don't perceive my edits i cannot stop typoing ....) 2021-04-24 22:38 (UTC)
[ She knows she's just a spectator, but oh, the sights and sounds are delicious. Reflections of death and a scarred earth. Her skin stirs enticed by the view of destruction even if it is just an illusion come to life for however brief or long the town wishes to torment its victim. Speaking of...
Her head tilts at an unnatural angle as the cheerful voice catches both their attention. ]
... Well now.
[ Her glittering red and black eyes look back and forth between what appears to be his reflection and the one holding her hand. The differences are there though, she'd be completely delirious if she wasn't even able to pick up on the blonde from the silver and bloodstained dirt clothes versus the priestly clothing Abel adorns.
It's Abel's anger that makes her spine tingle with a type of excitement the monster can't help but drink in for her own satisfaction. She's seeing something truer and more, dare she say it, honest. He breaks the mirror, fueled by a deep and boiling rage and her eyes widen a smidge as the blonde doppelganger's cracks and is destroyed. Oh, what a wonderful town they're in!
(Somewhere within her own heart there's an ache, human sympathy, a minute need to reach out and ask if he's well, to soothe and comfort, but that part can barely be summoned, not as she is right now.)
She sighs, dreamily even as the glass scatters at their feet. ]
Provocations it is... So many ghosts and just the two of us.
...terran? From the Capitol? They must be getting desperate if they arenβt even coming back to bury the dead.
[ the blonde haired man has appeared to their left, replacing his shattered image on the right. Abelβs jaw grits with an audible creak of bones - or is that the strain of his grip where his hand is all but crushing hers, forgotten where sheβs deigned to keep hold of him? ]
You must be tired. [ Abelβs doubleβs familiar blue eyes are kind, and cheerful - but unnatural and unnerving in much the same way this creature that holds sway over the body she possesses surely is. he is approaching the two of them with slow and leisurely footsteps, and thereβs the muffled sound of a womanβs distress from beyond the mirrorβs reach; weak and pitiful cries of pain from a wounded and dying human left to expire in the ruins of their city.
Abelβs releasing Montsβ hand, if only to shatter the mirrors on the left side as well; he has no regard for the little glass pieces sticking stubbornly to the outside of his palm. the voice is his own, the face is his face, but he cannot stand it. ]
...If you arenβt going to help me find the way out of here, then please be quiet.
[ his patience is dissolving. the usual warmth and gentility is replaced by a firmness and sense of urgency; thereβs no more time for this. not for him - and not for her. there are some ghosts that are painful, some that inspire nothing but regrets, or sorrow, or yearning. this one... just brings madness, and she is quite mad enough for the both of them. he can ill afford to lose his tenuous grasp, for better or for worse.
[ She looks down at her hand that he's holding so tightly that she can feel it being crushed before he releases her to destroy the mirror where the blonde man resides. The voices around them ring in her ears as she passively watches as the priest releases his fury onto the mirrors.
When he asks her, no tells her with no uncertainty and with no warmth left, to be quiet, she stares at him silently without emotion. The monster decides to walk past him clasping her hands behind her back. She blends in too well with the battle-torn surroundings with only some petulance in her body language to contrast it. ]
Be quiet, be silent, no words from my lips, nothing at all. No screams, no cries, no sobs, nothing at all. I see I see.
[ She mutters to herself paying no heed to the carnage around her. A monster lost, a monster unwanted because she was not understood. But Abel is right, they need to get out, and then she can be dealt with accordingly. ]
The chase goes on then. What happens if one of us is caught? [ She says that more to herself than to him, now lost to her own reverie. ]
[ he can apologize to the woman who's sunken below this creature's consciousness later when he sees her again - because he will see her again.
for now, he moves behind her, keeping his eyes on this monster instead of the carnage that had been wrought by others a long, long time past. the woman's faint, plaintive cries haven't stopped, even as the mirrors on either side of them remain shattered.
as Monts turns the next corner up ahead, a soft and lilting whisper - like a caress, one she can almost feel directly below her left earlobe - comes from the ruination of the burning landscape. ]
What have we here...?
[ --there is a brilliant flash of deep crimson, a violent pulse from the Spear of Longinus half-formed in the blonde-haired man's hand as he thrusts the weapon horizontally outward. it is impossibly fast -- and immeasurably strong, enough force to level the remaining debris of a building in the illusionary city behind her, a collision that causes renewed chaos and collapse from the dilapidated remains of what had once been a cozy restaurant. choking dust, a new plume of smoke rise up in its wake. the glass of the mirror the blast had come from had summarily shattered with its release.
and, consequently, the pulse has severed Monts' head cleanly from her body at the neck, energy singing and cauterizing the wound instantly.
...can she hear the frantic, unhinged scream of her name? ]
Reaction time, first off, is rather delayed. Why would she have to react if any wound would seal up almost immediately? But the monster does not account for a clean-cut and thus she takes the attack like a sitting duck. Some of her warm blood escapes and lands on the surface of some mirrors and on the floor before it's cauterized (she can senses that too, what an odd ticklish sensation).
Her head makes contact with the floor and rolls sideways with blood trickling from her mouth and dark eyes wide with shock. The beheaded body staggers and then collapses to its knees before falling forward.
The dark matter in her body slows its movement to almost a near halt, but it continues to shimmer from the light cast by the fires and natural light of the building they're trapped in.
Silence. She's quiet at last.
(Oh, this is different, this is worth understanding, this body so weak, so easy to cut, to break, but maybe, just maybe... There's a voice, a scream, he's screaming her name.
[ would she feel it, his knees hitting the ground beside her? is she cognizant of anything at all in this state? Abel has numbly descended next to her headless body, staring at the macabre sight with no small measure of sick and incredulous horror.
...he is on auto-pilot, functioning on some kind of mechanical instinct; he reaches out to gently rest his hands at her arm, her shoulder, tentatively. as if to test - to see if she is solid and real, as if seeking proof this is truly happening. (it's more than a little ironic. this, too, seems like a memory - but there is no cold, hard surface to reassure him this is an illusion.)
she's still warm.
...he cannot hear anything for the ringing in his ears. she's... dead? ]
[ Her brain is still active, her eyes wide open, her heartbeat has slowed down, but it's faintly there. Despite the physical disconnect, she registers the hand on her shoulder, and even from far away, she can sense the disbelief at her fate.
One of her index fingers twitches but just slightly. ]
I got myself hurt again.
[ A distant memory resurfaces of a grandfather hugging a small girl to comfort her when she cut herself even if she couldn't even cry about it. He had told her that pain was something to tell others so they knew they needed to help you. There were people like him, like her grandmother who would cry for her even if she couldn't feel a thing. ]
I don't want to make him cry.
[ A whole hand twitches, fingers flexing, but then it ceases. The dark particles around her body have slowed down significantly too; like a machine experiencing a new error it has yet to learn how to correct. ]
[ ...he is resting his hands a little more firmly against her, as if imploring her gently to rouse herself from the state she's in. (shock; denial.) Abel is cautiously beginning to turn her over, before lifting her body up into his arms to cradle her delicately, as if he were afraid she was made of glass - might break further than she's already been broken, if he's too careless. ]
Monts...?
[ this, too, is an illusion. surely. she cannot be hurt, right? she can't... die. she had survived that terrible fall, hadn't she? she-- any second now, she'll be fine. absolutely fine.
...this illusion will be shattered. she'll come around the corner, put a hand on his shoulder; even the monster's lilting voice would be a welcome alternative to this. the jarring absence of anything above the neck where he looks down where her face should be--
[ Error, error, error... Maybe, just MAYBE though... ]
If I don't, he'll cry. I'll be hurting him.
[ Not even the monster wanted to hurt him this way. She may have toyed with the idea of tearing him up, teasing the anger out of him so that she would have something that would make her feel alive and see what type of pain he could display, and be more truthful... But he's only shown her his heart and that she could sympathize with, that was the thing that softened her. ]
I have to get up.
[ The eyes from her head swivel around and then glance back and forth. This was going to be a slow process, but there's no doubt about it. She's awake, she CAN put the pieces back together. It's only two parts so it shouldn't be...
One arm from the headless torso shifts slightly trying to lift itself up. One by one, fingers curl into a fist trying to point to her head. ]
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no subject
[ She laughs at his pleading. Voices of the perpetrators start echoing through the halls again and she looks past him, her gaze distant. ]
I can move on, but I'll never really forget you know? This world of mirrors just brings out the sweet taste of anger, always at the tip of my tongue.
[ The flower starts walking past him arms spread wide as the voices replay that fateful night. ]
M-MONTS?! Y-You're still alive? What the FUCK you're supposed to beβ...!!
[ The sound of a gunshot. Then the echo of someone being hit with a blunt weapon. Screams of terror next. She chuckles as if the memory tickles her fancy. In a way it does. She remembers it all and it just brings up one small regret. ]
I really wish I just killed them all back then. I still think about it you know? How lightly I would snap their necks, how gently I would break their fingers, how much would they bleed? It didn't hurt when I broke my neck, but looking at them writhe in pain, I could almost start to get the idea.
So you see Father, I am one whole being. This is what I am. Oh, I can be calm I can be sweet, but tempt me with violence and I'll bring it forth tenfold. The Fortune Teller wasn't lying you know.
[ Excess, imbalance, a tendency to extremes. ]
These mirrors are quite a bother, aren't they? You're fortunate that you are not the one to stir my ire.
... Oh, but dear Father Abel... I don't see your reflection anymore.
no subject
his jaw tightens, further. the worry is coiled tightly now; his fingers twitch at his sides before he forces himself to try and relax. (...in the end, she's been hiding something like this all along.) in the face of this rather unpleasant situation, there's no room for a misstep. not when he doesn't know how in the world to draw her back from where she's gone.
whether she's lost herself to what's written all over her skin, or what's written all over her skin has swallowed her up like a little bug - it doesn't matter. ]
...
[ he isn't averting his gaze, pays no attention to the mirrors as the voices - and cries, and screams, and disturbingly vivid sounds - die down in the background. his eyes follow her and her movements; he is patiently waiting. he means her no harm - and she is trapped in this mess too, isn't she? as long as they're together, then... something has got to give. a way will open up, or they'll be forced to make one. won't they.
...he thinks he'd prefer the clowns, now. ]
no subject
Did I tell you back there? I don't like liars and people who don't give me straightforward answers.
[ Damn. ]
I didn't kill anyone in the end. I'm a failure through and through. Oh, but I'm sure there will be a next time! I'll have good reason to break others, I'll find someone or something that will bleed for me.
[ Her figure sighs dreamily and spins around to face the priest. ]
What will this place show me about you? You don't give me answers, you're more than willing to tell me lies if it'll protect my pretty little soul.
[ That's the other thing about this form; it is much crueler, much more willing to cut to the heart of the matter much like South Sister overall. ]
I've bled in front of you and you have the gall to try and hide from me? What a cruel man of faith without faith you are.
no subject
...
her words aren't half as cutting as the fact he doesn't believe the woman he knows would ever be capable of saying them. whether its the influence of this thing, or something feeding on dark, buried parts of her nature - it doesn't matter. Abel lets it slide like water off a duck's back, and his composure is much steadier as he replaces the old-fashioned frames.
--but the soft sound of chime-like bells, the clink of jewelry, quiet sway of fabric behind him steals it in short order. the rapid recoiling of muscles, stiffening of his shoulders is already threatening to undo his good work. though he is clearly working to avoid looking at or acknowledging what is slowly approaching the glass from the reflection of the mirror, the blood is draining from his face regardless.
the redhaired woman in sari - with a very familiar rosary, though unweathered by the passage of centuries - presses her henna-painted hand to the glass. though the priest doesn't look at her, her face expresses nothing but fondness, and her golden eyes carry all the warmth in the world in them. ]
Will you not look at me, Abel? Come now, tell me you're not still a child after all this time.
[ he lowers his head, and his hand has clenched so tightly at his side it seems the bones will break. ]
We need to go, Miss Monts.
[ ...his voice is strained, and though it still holds that gentle edge, it is far more commanding in tone. if she's in there -- if she can hear him, if this 'Monts' deigns to listen... they need to escape.
he will not humor ghosts. he will see her again, when he's earned it. ]
no subject
... We will go.
[ She moves back to Abel, close enough so her dark-tinged fingers gently brush against his cheek (there is an unsettling vibration from the mark as it swirls around her body continuously). ]
But she will follow. She's always been following you, hasn't she?
[ Her voice is disconcertingly gentle as if the new understanding has on some level reached that part of her that he's more familiar with. ]
What follows her I wonder...?
[ Her hand moves down to brush against his clenched fist. ]
C'mon.
[ and just for that second she almost sounds normal. ]
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he finds his head lifting, just enough that he might glance into her face as her fingers brush oh so gently against his cheek - wary, but... tentative and uncertain. is she...? the sound of her voice this way - almost right, almost Monts again - has a different sort of pang tugging through his chest.
...please let her come back from this.
his hand is slowly unclenching where her hand descends to graze over his knuckles, instead. even if heβs doing his absolute best to keep his attention focused on βMontsββ new face, the pulse of red eyes only serves to remind him there is no time to lose his head in the very same ghosts he had tried to coax her to ignore. he has to get her to snap out of this, somehow. he has to escape.
...a stiff, but grudgingly acquiescent nod of his head. blue eyes are far older as they fix on her in stubborn refusal to see anything else.
letβs go. ]
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[ The monster gives off a low chuckle as she studies his face. She'll start to walk forward, but it appears she'll be the talkative one. ]
You're not afraid of me, are you? If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you'd sputter and cower away like you'd want others to believe.
[ Looking at the mirrors around them, you'd think she was just talking to herself since Abel's reflection still has yet to appear again. ]
But I don't totally believe the parts you allow yourself to show. Oh, hide all you want, your layers are made to be peeled away.
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the voice - patient, but filled with a sort of quiet disappointment, lilts from the mirror. the soft chime of the bells as she tilts her head, patient eyes filled with a serious but no less warm plea implore at their receding figures. ]
It isnβt too late, Abel. You arenβt too far gone. All it will take is for you to make the decision to come with me, and we will make right whatβs been done.
[ he isnβt sure what is more frustrating - the βmonsterβ at his side with her equally soft, barbed candy words or the devastating yearning and regret stirred up by the ghostβs voice behind him.
...he should have listened.
he should have went with her. but he didnβt then, and he canβt now. the darkened corridor may lead to another sort of nightmare, or freedom. he isnβt sure which. he doesnβt care, either - just... get him out of here.
...please. ]
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As the woman in the reflection speaks she glances back at her and then at Abel again. Beneath her skin, her mark hums, and the scattered particles swim across her disconcertingly. ]
... Father, what kind of hold does she have on you?
[ She stops walking and moves closer to Abel hand reaching up to hover over his cheek, but not quite touching him. ]
What kind of pain are you feeling? If it's in here... [ With her other hand, she moves it to her chest, where her heart is. ]
... Then that I understand. It's the only kind I'm familiar with, the kind that drives me forward whether I slumber or drift as I am now.
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...he is trapped between a rock and a hard place. faced with Monts in this condition, unsure what precisely her succumbing to this state is doing to her -- and the soft voice he had been dying to hear for eight hundred long years at his back.
but the mocking, gleeful and whimsical delight seems to have evaporated from 'Monts' and her expression. he wishes he saw something familiar in her eyes, but the crimson hue staring back at him only serves to remind him how alien (ha) this face seems, even moreso than the flickering, shifting pattern like a living tattoo moving over her skin. ]
...We need to go.
[ he lifts his hand, seizing her wrist. his grip is not unkind, but his patience is fraying. ]
For your sake as much as mine. This... is dangerous for both of us.
[ because that little girl in her sundress had managed to effect the world on the other side of the glass.
and while Lilith's gentle hand against the reflective surface poses no threat to them, he can assure Monts - there are other ghosts that would not be so kind, and he is not eager to find out what should happen if they're given some mockery of life in this place. ]
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If only you were this honest to me normally.
[ She moves her hand so that her fingers can tug at his as they keep walking farther up. There's yet to be an end to the house of mirrors and she hums some unknowable melody under her breath before speaking up again. ]
Please don't keep hiding from me. Oh, I sympathize, but if only I knew what to pity you for. What will the reflections be next? What provocations will the mirrors attempt? Can you sense it Father Abel? Isn't it trying to dig at you too?
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...for a moment, he'd swear it was real. just like she'd seen him then, surely she was seeing him now.
the tangle of Monts' fingers at his breaks the spell. an exhale; a concentrated effort to regain lost footing - and he's reluctantly turning to leave the Dark Saint behind him once more. and while the woman by his side is not the one he entered this place with, and even if her questions elicit little more than a grimace from him - he is remaining close to her side in protective silence.
the mirrors up ahead dance with Monts' lithe figure alone, throwing the ever-shifting patterns licking on her skin in sharp relief in this lighting. and for a few long, heavy moments - there is nothing. nothing but Monts' unsettling reflection greets them. there is no sound aside from the softness of their breathing, their quiet steps against the flooring underfoot. ]
...Do you see the way ahead?
[ the disorienting array of mirrors makes the path ahead near indiscernible, and they're arranged in a narrow, winding path rather than a wide open space. one must fumble their way forward...
...it's a maze. ]
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[ It's not an affirmative noise she makes in response, it's more neutral really as she gazes at her reflections. ]
The path has been entangled and so must we. Like string, we'll be twisted and frayed, tied into knots, stretched until we snap.
[ She's settling into her current state; this may not be a good thing. How had she been able to revert back then? It was a different set of circumstances and it took a witch and a golem to shake down the creature. But this was different, she's achieved a dissonant serenity after her mind was mangled by the voices and reflections from the mirrors. Monts has blended in with the town's horrors and mind games in a sense.
Slowly turning her head in a snakelike motion she looks up at Abel. ]
Will we press on? Stretch ourselves to the brink and break? Ah, how much further could I go? Would you like to find out?
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...he keeps his hand on hers, and begins to push ahead at a cautious pace. the unnerving nature of her demeanor is doing very little to ease the pit of knot-like apprehension churning a hole in his stomach; this is, perhaps, the very last place he wants to be right now. were he alone, it would not be quite as worrisome - but the terrible fear at having an audience to the shitshow... and one he cares about, one in duress, one he doesn't want to see hurting any more than she already has... makes this particularly unfortunate. ]
I don't know if you can hear me, [ he is murmuring, eyes strained ahead of him for any sign of motion among the mirrors as they keep trekking ahead, ] but I haven't given up on you. Whatever you need to do-- whatever you can do, Miss Monts, I'm still waiting for you.
[ ...there is a sound from up ahead-- and then behind, slowly creeping into stereo. the flicker, crackle of flames, distant at first but intensifying. is it just an illusion of heat in the air, or is it truly palpable? a trick of the mind in response to the too-real imagery?
his footsteps begin to quicken, tugging her gently to keep pace. he gropes out with his hand ahead of him, his lack of a reflection making it especially difficult to find the way ahead without colliding with any of the mirrors. ]
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Ah. How warm.
[ Ever since she's transformed she oscillates between a disturbingly gentle being to a darkly candid creature. ]
Father, you say you'll wait for me, but I'm always here. I can't ever truly leave. I make do with what I have, you see? Oh, but don't trouble yourself right now. We're lost, we're entangled...
[ Her fingers intertwine with his even more and she holds up his hand clasped in hers. ]
And the best is yet to come, is it not? Your heart on display for both of us to see, tangible anguish that we must digest together.
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his footsteps stall as the flicker of distant flames burning bright, white hot and all-consuming, wafts in on a breeze neither of them can feel. a city is burning. the ruins surround them - decimated buildings, scattered debris that had once constituted a heavily populated street; the splatter of blood painting the littering of corpses, of scarred earth where explosions, heavy artillery had blown entire swaths of pavement and greenery upended creates a less than pleasant picture. what must've been a bustling marketplace was nothing more than an echo of a battle that was slowly burning itself out. whatever had happened here, the fight had ended some time ago.
a voice - eerily familiar, because it is the very same as the priest's who's hand Monts is holding - comes in from their right. for a moment, it might seem like it was Abel making his approach as the man steps from where his person had been obscured by smoke - but the hair isn't quite right, blonde instead of silver. the white of his uniform is stained and soiled by blood and ash, but he is wholly uninjured and in quite good spirits as he calls out, ]
Hey, Abel, what have you got there? Did you find a survivor...? Are they from the--
[ --his doppelganger doesn't manage to finish his sentence before Abel's fist has slammed side-long into the mirror with enough force to shatter it, sending ripples and splintering cracks along those alongside it from the reverberation.
if grief had chased him from the last room, it seems a primal rage laid in wait here. ]
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Her head tilts at an unnatural angle as the cheerful voice catches both their attention. ]
... Well now.
[ Her glittering red and black eyes look back and forth between what appears to be his reflection and the one holding her hand. The differences are there though, she'd be completely delirious if she wasn't even able to pick up on the blonde from the silver and bloodstained dirt clothes versus the priestly clothing Abel adorns.
It's Abel's anger that makes her spine tingle with a type of excitement the monster can't help but drink in for her own satisfaction. She's seeing something truer and more, dare she say it, honest. He breaks the mirror, fueled by a deep and boiling rage and her eyes widen a smidge as the blonde doppelganger's cracks and is destroyed. Oh, what a wonderful town they're in!
(Somewhere within her own heart there's an ache, human sympathy, a minute need to reach out and ask if he's well, to soothe and comfort, but that part can barely be summoned, not as she is right now.)
She sighs, dreamily even as the glass scatters at their feet. ]
Provocations it is... So many ghosts and just the two of us.
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[ the blonde haired man has appeared to their left, replacing his shattered image on the right. Abelβs jaw grits with an audible creak of bones - or is that the strain of his grip where his hand is all but crushing hers, forgotten where sheβs deigned to keep hold of him? ]
You must be tired. [ Abelβs doubleβs familiar blue eyes are kind, and cheerful - but unnatural and unnerving in much the same way this creature that holds sway over the body she possesses surely is. he is approaching the two of them with slow and leisurely footsteps, and thereβs the muffled sound of a womanβs distress from beyond the mirrorβs reach; weak and pitiful cries of pain from a wounded and dying human left to expire in the ruins of their city.
Abelβs releasing Montsβ hand, if only to shatter the mirrors on the left side as well; he has no regard for the little glass pieces sticking stubbornly to the outside of his palm. the voice is his own, the face is his face, but he cannot stand it. ]
...If you arenβt going to help me find the way out of here, then please be quiet.
[ his patience is dissolving. the usual warmth and gentility is replaced by a firmness and sense of urgency; thereβs no more time for this. not for him - and not for her. there are some ghosts that are painful, some that inspire nothing but regrets, or sorrow, or yearning. this one... just brings madness, and she is quite mad enough for the both of them. he can ill afford to lose his tenuous grasp, for better or for worse.
find the way forward, or find silence. ]
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When he asks her, no tells her with no uncertainty and with no warmth left, to be quiet, she stares at him silently without emotion. The monster decides to walk past him clasping her hands behind her back. She blends in too well with the battle-torn surroundings with only some petulance in her body language to contrast it. ]
Be quiet, be silent, no words from my lips, nothing at all. No screams, no cries, no sobs, nothing at all. I see I see.
[ She mutters to herself paying no heed to the carnage around her. A monster lost, a monster unwanted because she was not understood. But Abel is right, they need to get out, and then she can be dealt with accordingly. ]
The chase goes on then. What happens if one of us is caught? [ She says that more to herself than to him, now lost to her own reverie. ]
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for now, he moves behind her, keeping his eyes on this monster instead of the carnage that had been wrought by others a long, long time past. the woman's faint, plaintive cries haven't stopped, even as the mirrors on either side of them remain shattered.
as Monts turns the next corner up ahead, a soft and lilting whisper - like a caress, one she can almost feel directly below her left earlobe - comes from the ruination of the burning landscape. ]
What have we here...?
[ --there is a brilliant flash of deep crimson, a violent pulse from the Spear of Longinus half-formed in the blonde-haired man's hand as he thrusts the weapon horizontally outward. it is impossibly fast -- and immeasurably strong, enough force to level the remaining debris of a building in the illusionary city behind her, a collision that causes renewed chaos and collapse from the dilapidated remains of what had once been a cozy restaurant. choking dust, a new plume of smoke rise up in its wake. the glass of the mirror the blast had come from had summarily shattered with its release.
and, consequently, the pulse has severed Monts' head cleanly from her body at the neck, energy singing and cauterizing the wound instantly.
...can she hear the frantic, unhinged scream of her name? ]
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Reaction time, first off, is rather delayed. Why would she have to react if any wound would seal up almost immediately? But the monster does not account for a clean-cut and thus she takes the attack like a sitting duck. Some of her warm blood escapes and lands on the surface of some mirrors and on the floor before it's cauterized (she can senses that too, what an odd ticklish sensation).
Her head makes contact with the floor and rolls sideways with blood trickling from her mouth and dark eyes wide with shock. The beheaded body staggers and then collapses to its knees before falling forward.
The dark matter in her body slows its movement to almost a near halt, but it continues to shimmer from the light cast by the fires and natural light of the building they're trapped in.
Silence. She's quiet at last.
(Oh, this is different, this is worth understanding, this body so weak, so easy to cut, to break, but maybe, just maybe... There's a voice, a scream, he's screaming her name.
SHE'S STILL AWAKE.) ]
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...he is on auto-pilot, functioning on some kind of mechanical instinct; he reaches out to gently rest his hands at her arm, her shoulder, tentatively. as if to test - to see if she is solid and real, as if seeking proof this is truly happening. (it's more than a little ironic. this, too, seems like a memory - but there is no cold, hard surface to reassure him this is an illusion.)
she's still warm.
...he cannot hear anything for the ringing in his ears. she's... dead? ]
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[ Her brain is still active, her eyes wide open, her heartbeat has slowed down, but it's faintly there. Despite the physical disconnect, she registers the hand on her shoulder, and even from far away, she can sense the disbelief at her fate.
One of her index fingers twitches but just slightly. ]
I got myself hurt again.
[ A distant memory resurfaces of a grandfather hugging a small girl to comfort her when she cut herself even if she couldn't even cry about it. He had told her that pain was something to tell others so they knew they needed to help you. There were people like him, like her grandmother who would cry for her even if she couldn't feel a thing. ]
I don't want to make him cry.
[ A whole hand twitches, fingers flexing, but then it ceases. The dark particles around her body have slowed down significantly too; like a machine experiencing a new error it has yet to learn how to correct. ]
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Monts...?
[ this, too, is an illusion. surely. she cannot be hurt, right? she can't... die. she had survived that terrible fall, hadn't she? she-- any second now, she'll be fine. absolutely fine.
...this illusion will be shattered. she'll come around the corner, put a hand on his shoulder; even the monster's lilting voice would be a welcome alternative to this. the jarring absence of anything above the neck where he looks down where her face should be--
any second now. ...yes, any second now. ]
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[ Error, error, error... Maybe, just MAYBE though... ]
If I don't, he'll cry. I'll be hurting him.
[ Not even the monster wanted to hurt him this way. She may have toyed with the idea of tearing him up, teasing the anger out of him so that she would have something that would make her feel alive and see what type of pain he could display, and be more truthful... But he's only shown her his heart and that she could sympathize with, that was the thing that softened her. ]
I have to get up.
[ The eyes from her head swivel around and then glance back and forth. This was going to be a slow process, but there's no doubt about it. She's awake, she CAN put the pieces back together. It's only two parts so it shouldn't be...
One arm from the headless torso shifts slightly trying to lift itself up. One by one, fingers curl into a fist trying to point to her head. ]
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