The reality slowly simmered in her mind.
Of life, death, and Slurt.
She knew it was not so much what things had become, but rather the how keeping her up at night.
Her eyes flickered to the book of shadowed fairytales, tossed haphazardly on a shelf that stored this of her few belongings. The one where her face lay imprinted on some random page. She wanted to tear out the page, burn it in the fire so that Slurt would not see her shame. However, something kept her from it.
It was a truth that needed to be told, she supposed to herself lifelessly, But not today.
Hearing her own breath as she drank in the quiet stillness of the night. Her mind however, remained alive, paced with the metronomic thrum of the hospital monitor’s incessant chirp still kept her up far beyond the point it had been unplugged. Now they'd plugged into a different moment but it was as effective as mashing two realities together.
One could not have one without the other.
As, they were forever free from that previous world and forced to live in a different sort of normal. Though, each would never escape the memories imprisoning them in their minds. Christine couldn't help but hope that Slurt was still just young enough to erase the depth he'd endured. New memories could be powerful enough to overcome the old... With a little magic. The gentle press of a smile curled the side of her lip as another hopeful thought bloomed.
A diminished chord struck her though, scorching the beauty of the thought with a wave of suffocating pain.
They'd escaped, she told herself, the worst of it.
But then why couldn't she keep her eyes closed? Was she afraid of a different breed of dream?
The kind that haunted them with nightmares that were no longer alive and hidden in the bushes of the night. The kind that sounded like Karl Jak’s voice, telling her who died and never saying a good enough reason that they did. The kind of thoughts that told her she had never escaped and never could. The very thing that tore hope's precious presence away. Fear.
The murderer once considered herself more like Karl. Now… She didn’t have a name for herself beyond the name she wanted. Maman. Except this time she’d accept the mantle with all the implications and strings attached. Maybe even more than the usual mother. She did, after all, still have the shadowy tethers to the dark ether of the void.
A breath flowed out of her nose, one that was forced as she closed her eyes and tried to imagine being in a different room. But the imprinted thought of the layout became her inescapable reality, simmering once again.
She felt cold and alone. Solitude meant responsibility. Sleep meant her protection fell one notch less than usual. A risk Karl Jak would announce with the brevity proudly opposite of gravitas the situation would've called for. For a moment, she felt it. The exact weight of her own disembodied head before her consciousness seeped into the beyond...
Now, a reality narrated a changed story. Their hotel room was far from resembling a home, so much so, they shared a bed. In this hollow, stranger’s room, though it was more comfortable that way as they shared the same trauma too.
Holding it in different ways.
Christine’s eyes peered under the covers as she looked down the bridge of her nose. A crumpled green lump being the little spoon of their cozy mound. Huddled beneath the covers for warmth and the security the cocooning weight of a blanket provided.
A consideration for a hunter’s voice charred her mind. A mother, protecting her cub as she slept.
The woman felt the press of her arm tug above him and her eyes would not pull from the infinitely resounding warmth that just gazing at the slumbering child provided. She whispered a silent promise as her lips met the crown of the goblin’s head, “il n'y aura plus de mort mon enfant.” There will be no more death for you, my child. “I command it.”
The doubt that creased her heart in the slightest shiver, drew her eyes back to the supernatural folklore tome on the wayward furniture’s shelf. “La douleur est inévitable, mais la souffrance... Je souhaite seulement la tenir à l'écart. Un monstre comme moi devrait être capable de faire quelque chose d'aussi simple que ça.” Pain is inevitable, but suffering... I wish only to keep it away. A monster like me should be able to do something so simple as that.
She tossed her head so she didn’t have to keep staring down a book that continued to gaze back at her and assumed a supine position, gazing upwards at the heavens while keeping the nook beneath her shoulder surrounding Slurt in the concave outline of her flesh.
“I'm far from a heroine in a fairy tale, mon prince.” She breathlessly pronounced, looking up as she considered the army of undead that awaited her on a throne supposedly destined for her. The black halo remained above her head, a crown of death she no longer wished to bear.
Free of a curse that should’ve ended in a different sort of death. Her own. She would never be free of the thought that lingered just above the veil of her mind.
It was unfortunate. She had been unable to save her prince.
But, there was one good thing that came of it, he’d made her believe in redemption again.
Of life, death, and Slurt.
She knew it was not so much what things had become, but rather the how keeping her up at night.
Her eyes flickered to the book of shadowed fairytales, tossed haphazardly on a shelf that stored this of her few belongings. The one where her face lay imprinted on some random page. She wanted to tear out the page, burn it in the fire so that Slurt would not see her shame. However, something kept her from it.
It was a truth that needed to be told, she supposed to herself lifelessly, But not today.
Hearing her own breath as she drank in the quiet stillness of the night. Her mind however, remained alive, paced with the metronomic thrum of the hospital monitor’s incessant chirp still kept her up far beyond the point it had been unplugged. Now they'd plugged into a different moment but it was as effective as mashing two realities together.
One could not have one without the other.
As, they were forever free from that previous world and forced to live in a different sort of normal. Though, each would never escape the memories imprisoning them in their minds. Christine couldn't help but hope that Slurt was still just young enough to erase the depth he'd endured. New memories could be powerful enough to overcome the old... With a little magic. The gentle press of a smile curled the side of her lip as another hopeful thought bloomed.
A diminished chord struck her though, scorching the beauty of the thought with a wave of suffocating pain.
They'd escaped, she told herself, the worst of it.
But then why couldn't she keep her eyes closed? Was she afraid of a different breed of dream?
The kind that haunted them with nightmares that were no longer alive and hidden in the bushes of the night. The kind that sounded like Karl Jak’s voice, telling her who died and never saying a good enough reason that they did. The kind of thoughts that told her she had never escaped and never could. The very thing that tore hope's precious presence away. Fear.
The murderer once considered herself more like Karl. Now… She didn’t have a name for herself beyond the name she wanted. Maman. Except this time she’d accept the mantle with all the implications and strings attached. Maybe even more than the usual mother. She did, after all, still have the shadowy tethers to the dark ether of the void.
A breath flowed out of her nose, one that was forced as she closed her eyes and tried to imagine being in a different room. But the imprinted thought of the layout became her inescapable reality, simmering once again.
She felt cold and alone. Solitude meant responsibility. Sleep meant her protection fell one notch less than usual. A risk Karl Jak would announce with the brevity proudly opposite of gravitas the situation would've called for. For a moment, she felt it. The exact weight of her own disembodied head before her consciousness seeped into the beyond...
Now, a reality narrated a changed story. Their hotel room was far from resembling a home, so much so, they shared a bed. In this hollow, stranger’s room, though it was more comfortable that way as they shared the same trauma too.
Holding it in different ways.
Christine’s eyes peered under the covers as she looked down the bridge of her nose. A crumpled green lump being the little spoon of their cozy mound. Huddled beneath the covers for warmth and the security the cocooning weight of a blanket provided.
A consideration for a hunter’s voice charred her mind. A mother, protecting her cub as she slept.
The woman felt the press of her arm tug above him and her eyes would not pull from the infinitely resounding warmth that just gazing at the slumbering child provided. She whispered a silent promise as her lips met the crown of the goblin’s head, “il n'y aura plus de mort mon enfant.” There will be no more death for you, my child. “I command it.”
The doubt that creased her heart in the slightest shiver, drew her eyes back to the supernatural folklore tome on the wayward furniture’s shelf. “La douleur est inévitable, mais la souffrance... Je souhaite seulement la tenir à l'écart. Un monstre comme moi devrait être capable de faire quelque chose d'aussi simple que ça.” Pain is inevitable, but suffering... I wish only to keep it away. A monster like me should be able to do something so simple as that.
She tossed her head so she didn’t have to keep staring down a book that continued to gaze back at her and assumed a supine position, gazing upwards at the heavens while keeping the nook beneath her shoulder surrounding Slurt in the concave outline of her flesh.
“I'm far from a heroine in a fairy tale, mon prince.” She breathlessly pronounced, looking up as she considered the army of undead that awaited her on a throne supposedly destined for her. The black halo remained above her head, a crown of death she no longer wished to bear.
Free of a curse that should’ve ended in a different sort of death. Her own. She would never be free of the thought that lingered just above the veil of her mind.
It was unfortunate. She had been unable to save her prince.
But, there was one good thing that came of it, he’d made her believe in redemption again.