Cirque des Anges
Cue Music
Plaguing her mind like fleas to a light, memories rushed at Isabella like a river. She closed her eyes and let the flow of moments long lost wash over her, reveling in the pure simplicity of childhood with parents and pets and school and teachers who you hated. She let the odd moments flash across her vision; her life displayed on the cinema screen of her mind. Sitting on the wooden bench in that circle of light yellowed from wear, Isabella dreamed of hugs and kisses and everything else mortal.
Rain came again, harder this time, and Isabella thought of cups of hot chocolate wither her mother in the middle of the night when thunder and lightning seemed the worst things in the world. And then the next day it would be bright and sunny, and dew would cover everything. There might even be a rainbow stretched like a ribbon across the expanse of untouched blue. Mother would pick her up and swing her around, laughing and giggling like they always did. The smile might even reach her eyes, unlike recently when all around her eyes were wrinkles and the stern line of her thin lips never softened. And then father would come home, throw his briefcase inside, and gather little Isabella up in arms. The three would go inside and have desert first, dinner later. They might play board games in the living room with the fire in the fireplace or watch a movie with the lights turned down. Then Isabella might fall asleep on her mother’s lap and Mother would carry her upstairs, tuck her in under her covers, and kiss her forehead.
And if only things stayed that way, Isabella thought violently to herself, jerking herself back from dreamland and into the dreary, cold reality where nightmares often lived outside your door and death itself constantly rang the bell.
Raven, my dearest, memories, though such lovely things to watch as they fly past, slide through our fingers. They are not solid; merely ghosts of what has passed and will never come again. Here and now is the present, and, darling, you must get used to it; the future is a long way off. For you, child, forever is the limit.
Isabella’s ghostly fingers pressed against her temples, rubbing away the ache of lost times, a lost life. God, how long will this last? She cried out in desperation.
Forever…
*
I gathered the folds of my cloak in my hands and held it up out of the reach of the puddles. My boots fell silently on the gray pavements, but still an echo reached the farthest ends of the alley and back. I skirted trash littering the ground and made my way around knocked over trashcans and empty bottles. At the mercy of the steel buildings, the moon bobbed in and out of view. The tail of a tough street cat slipping around a corner made me smirk; made the ends of my beautifully cruel mouth pull up in a twisted sneer. A ruddy hue pounded beneath the surface of my skin, warmed the cells in my blood and I imagine I appeared almost human, then.
I held my breath, one more dirty grey stoop till I arrived at the one I wanted. The sign above the door hung from a single screw in the red brick and read in bold letters Manhattan Orphanage. I lifted a foot to place it on the first step leading up to the red, chipped door, but thought better of it and retracted my foot. I followed the building line around a corner and passed by many a window before I found one open. I glanced at the moon and lifted myself through the window with the aid of a few broken boxes and debris.
Inside was almost filthier than outside, and much, much, darker. The only light was a single bulb flickering in the middle of the dingy room, casting rapid flashed of stale light on the ruined walls. Yes, this was the room I wanted. Underneath a solitary blanket, and shivering from the winter cold, a child of twelve coughed weakly. His eyes flickered to meet mine, but he didn’t have the strength to hold his gaze for long before another fit of coughs shook his thin frame. Blood appeared in a thin line leaking from his mouth down a fine crease in his skin and dripped down onto the sheet already splattered with various bodily fluids. The child tensed up and shivered, teeth hitting each other as he suppressed more coughs.
I crossed the room, almost tripping on an upturned tray of molded food, and sat on the edge of his gurney. The metal frame bowed under my weight, however light I was, and I leaned over the boy. One eye opened to peer back up at me, green in color. Another rush of crimson red. It was time; if not now, the child should die, possible within the hour.
Reached beneath the covers for his hand; it was cold to the touch, though nothing compared to mine. I raised a finger and quickly drew it across his upturned wrist The boy watched and waited, too weak to defy me and too strong to cry out in pain. I lifted his arm to my mouth and locked on the wound, river of red. When all but the last drop had been drained away, I dropped his arm to the matted blanket and drew my nail across my own wrist.
I reached for his head. Skin pale, eyes closed, hair pressed down and thick with filth, floating away like a fallen angel. I pressed the cut to his mouth before it had the opportune change to heal and whispered ceaselessly to him. After almost a second too long, his mouth found the fountain of life and he sucked back all that I had taken from him. His body went rigid beneath the sorry excuse for covers and he convulsed, eyes flying to the back of his head. I gathered him and the blankets in my arms and tore through the orphanage to kick down the front door and run from the blaring of the alarm system and the angry screams of the master of the House.
I flew down the alley, cradled his head against my chest, felt rain cleanse the two of us as we fled mortality to fall into a realm I knew too well. Mortal desires leaking into an immortal heart, how long can this go on?
---
[A/N: If you haven’t figured it out yet, the second half is from Peris’ POV]
Rain came again, harder this time, and Isabella thought of cups of hot chocolate wither her mother in the middle of the night when thunder and lightning seemed the worst things in the world. And then the next day it would be bright and sunny, and dew would cover everything. There might even be a rainbow stretched like a ribbon across the expanse of untouched blue. Mother would pick her up and swing her around, laughing and giggling like they always did. The smile might even reach her eyes, unlike recently when all around her eyes were wrinkles and the stern line of her thin lips never softened. And then father would come home, throw his briefcase inside, and gather little Isabella up in arms. The three would go inside and have desert first, dinner later. They might play board games in the living room with the fire in the fireplace or watch a movie with the lights turned down. Then Isabella might fall asleep on her mother’s lap and Mother would carry her upstairs, tuck her in under her covers, and kiss her forehead.
And if only things stayed that way, Isabella thought violently to herself, jerking herself back from dreamland and into the dreary, cold reality where nightmares often lived outside your door and death itself constantly rang the bell.
Raven, my dearest, memories, though such lovely things to watch as they fly past, slide through our fingers. They are not solid; merely ghosts of what has passed and will never come again. Here and now is the present, and, darling, you must get used to it; the future is a long way off. For you, child, forever is the limit.
Isabella’s ghostly fingers pressed against her temples, rubbing away the ache of lost times, a lost life. God, how long will this last? She cried out in desperation.
Forever…
*
I gathered the folds of my cloak in my hands and held it up out of the reach of the puddles. My boots fell silently on the gray pavements, but still an echo reached the farthest ends of the alley and back. I skirted trash littering the ground and made my way around knocked over trashcans and empty bottles. At the mercy of the steel buildings, the moon bobbed in and out of view. The tail of a tough street cat slipping around a corner made me smirk; made the ends of my beautifully cruel mouth pull up in a twisted sneer. A ruddy hue pounded beneath the surface of my skin, warmed the cells in my blood and I imagine I appeared almost human, then.
I held my breath, one more dirty grey stoop till I arrived at the one I wanted. The sign above the door hung from a single screw in the red brick and read in bold letters Manhattan Orphanage. I lifted a foot to place it on the first step leading up to the red, chipped door, but thought better of it and retracted my foot. I followed the building line around a corner and passed by many a window before I found one open. I glanced at the moon and lifted myself through the window with the aid of a few broken boxes and debris.
Inside was almost filthier than outside, and much, much, darker. The only light was a single bulb flickering in the middle of the dingy room, casting rapid flashed of stale light on the ruined walls. Yes, this was the room I wanted. Underneath a solitary blanket, and shivering from the winter cold, a child of twelve coughed weakly. His eyes flickered to meet mine, but he didn’t have the strength to hold his gaze for long before another fit of coughs shook his thin frame. Blood appeared in a thin line leaking from his mouth down a fine crease in his skin and dripped down onto the sheet already splattered with various bodily fluids. The child tensed up and shivered, teeth hitting each other as he suppressed more coughs.
I crossed the room, almost tripping on an upturned tray of molded food, and sat on the edge of his gurney. The metal frame bowed under my weight, however light I was, and I leaned over the boy. One eye opened to peer back up at me, green in color. Another rush of crimson red. It was time; if not now, the child should die, possible within the hour.
Reached beneath the covers for his hand; it was cold to the touch, though nothing compared to mine. I raised a finger and quickly drew it across his upturned wrist The boy watched and waited, too weak to defy me and too strong to cry out in pain. I lifted his arm to my mouth and locked on the wound, river of red. When all but the last drop had been drained away, I dropped his arm to the matted blanket and drew my nail across my own wrist.
I reached for his head. Skin pale, eyes closed, hair pressed down and thick with filth, floating away like a fallen angel. I pressed the cut to his mouth before it had the opportune change to heal and whispered ceaselessly to him. After almost a second too long, his mouth found the fountain of life and he sucked back all that I had taken from him. His body went rigid beneath the sorry excuse for covers and he convulsed, eyes flying to the back of his head. I gathered him and the blankets in my arms and tore through the orphanage to kick down the front door and run from the blaring of the alarm system and the angry screams of the master of the House.
I flew down the alley, cradled his head against my chest, felt rain cleanse the two of us as we fled mortality to fall into a realm I knew too well. Mortal desires leaking into an immortal heart, how long can this go on?
---
[A/N: If you haven’t figured it out yet, the second half is from Peris’ POV]