Cirque des Anges
Flight
Whispering fingers of cold stung Isabella’s cheeks and the backs of her hands as she hugged a tattered jacket around her thin shoulders. A lust for blood gnawed at her stomach from days of starving herself. With eyes sunken into her skull, and lips as blue as sapphire, Isabella gazed listlessly at the dirty floor, eyes stuck in a lifeless stare down with death. Already cold skin grew colder, heart rate slowed, and her pulse almost seemed suspended in time. She wrapped pallid arms around her torso, shivered. Naked branches knocked on the canvas roof of the tent; rain seemed to leak in through unseen rips and tears in the fabric.
There was no fire tonight, no warming flame to rekindle the warmth within. In fact, Isabella was alone; Mercy, Criss, and Charlotte had left Isabella to her murmurings and hungry stares. Peris had left days ago and hadn’t returned.
You’re stronger than this, Raven.
“No…I can’t be,” she whispered, words choking between dry and cracked lips.
Can you feel the thud of blood, rushing below your fingertips; an endless supply of life?
“I’m not worthy. I wish I was dead.”
Oh, but, Raven…here you’re free. Free from time, from disease, from war
“Free…but alone,” she hissed. Her breath fogged, angry tears pricked her eyes. “I’m going mad; I’m talking to myself,” she murmured.
You’re talking to me. Listen to me. Follow me.
“Can’t,” she stuttered, spidery fingers flying to her matted hair, pulling at the roots. She screamed, howled into the night. Breaking down into tears she stood on shaky feet, threatening to collapse and send her falling to her knees. Stunted breathing formed wisps of white in the black, curling up like greedy fingers until they thinned and were gone. Isabella watched them go and tears quivered on the ends of gorgeously fragile eyelashes.
One fell, carved a path of blue ice down her perfectly stone white cheek. Another followed but forged a different path, one that followed her nose and dripped on thin cotton of her jacket. A third fell, followed the path of the first. Soon, there were too many tears to count; and her cheeks hurt from the screams and the tears. No longer could she tell if she was crying; too many tears to distinguish the end of one from the beginning of another. Throat raw from screaming and eyes tight from crying, Isabella pushed through the thick darkness. Shoving boxed, chairs, small garments out of her way until she stumbled through the tent flap, emerging into air colder than ice and thinner than paper.
Ragged breathing in and out, trying to quiet the screaming in her head.
Raven, honey, listen to me. What are you doing? You’re chasing dreams, now….What you wish for doesn’t exist. You are a monster now, nothing more. Live with your nature. Does the wolf resent itself? Does the eagle question what his talons are for?
“Shut up.” Another scream, hands clamped over her overly sensitive ears. Lips curled back over pearly whites, eyes shut tight. Coming out as one long, beautifully pained howl, Isabella screamed, “I’m done.”
Footsteps. Several at a time, they were quieter than a human could hear but just loud enough for a vampire’s ears. Isabella stood, rooted on the spot. Grey eyes were open wide, bloodshot and glazed.
“Raven!” Mercy said, but Isabella barely heard it. Another chorus of “Ravens!” came her way, and soon several sets of hands on her clothes grabbed her. Through her jacket they gripped her arms with worried hands. The smallest pair tugged on her jeans, reached for her cold, almost dead, hands. A stronger pair, Mercy’s held her in a vice-like hold, and yet another held her around her waist.
Adrenaline pounded in her ears, almost rushed over the voice in her head. With strength even a vampire doesn’t have, she shook her body and clothes free from those hands and started running. Anger and rage at a world so cruel lent strength to her feet as she pounded down the alley, hurtling boxes and trashcans stacked five high like they were nothing.
The faster she ran, the quieter the voices became, until even the one in her head was silenced. Every step took a toll on her blood-deprived body, but each step carried her farther away from the past and closer to what she wanted. Wind played with her hair, whipped it around her neck and face in a flurry of dark brown. Puddles lifted below her feet, sending cascades of water up in flames around her. She dodged cars and people until there was nothing left to give.
She stopped in an alley devoid of people and pests. Hands found her throat as her lungs gasped for oxygen. The gnawing in her stomach was made worse by the flight, and soon it was so unbearable Isabella was forced to keep moving. While Isabella was pacing in circles, a tall, lean figure sauntered down the alley in her direction. Her grey eyes flashed, suddenly her mind was clear enough to focus on the man. Her stomach all but roared and she grinned.
There was nothing humane about her as she descended upon her victim and locked him in her death grip. Her mouth against his neck, she savored the moment; the feeling of satisfying the built up hunger of almost a week. Every pore, every cell in her body ached for the sweet caress of blood; every vein almost run dry. Isabella breathed in and sank her teeth into the pallid flesh of the man, locked her mouth on the fountain of crimson gushing from the severed artery. Flowing down her throat, the blood instantly found the route to her limps, lungs, heart as she sucked.
Beneath her fingers she felt the pulse dim to a throb, and through the flow of blood linking the prey and predator, she felt his heart draining. Never before had the fount seemed so complete. God, if only heaven was like this. She waited for the heart to shudder to a stop and the pulse to quickly follow. Her grasp grew limp and the figure fell prostrate on the ground at her feet.
Before the body hit the ground she was off running again.
It was no longer a run, fueled by blood she was flying.
There was no fire tonight, no warming flame to rekindle the warmth within. In fact, Isabella was alone; Mercy, Criss, and Charlotte had left Isabella to her murmurings and hungry stares. Peris had left days ago and hadn’t returned.
You’re stronger than this, Raven.
“No…I can’t be,” she whispered, words choking between dry and cracked lips.
Can you feel the thud of blood, rushing below your fingertips; an endless supply of life?
“I’m not worthy. I wish I was dead.”
Oh, but, Raven…here you’re free. Free from time, from disease, from war
“Free…but alone,” she hissed. Her breath fogged, angry tears pricked her eyes. “I’m going mad; I’m talking to myself,” she murmured.
You’re talking to me. Listen to me. Follow me.
“Can’t,” she stuttered, spidery fingers flying to her matted hair, pulling at the roots. She screamed, howled into the night. Breaking down into tears she stood on shaky feet, threatening to collapse and send her falling to her knees. Stunted breathing formed wisps of white in the black, curling up like greedy fingers until they thinned and were gone. Isabella watched them go and tears quivered on the ends of gorgeously fragile eyelashes.
One fell, carved a path of blue ice down her perfectly stone white cheek. Another followed but forged a different path, one that followed her nose and dripped on thin cotton of her jacket. A third fell, followed the path of the first. Soon, there were too many tears to count; and her cheeks hurt from the screams and the tears. No longer could she tell if she was crying; too many tears to distinguish the end of one from the beginning of another. Throat raw from screaming and eyes tight from crying, Isabella pushed through the thick darkness. Shoving boxed, chairs, small garments out of her way until she stumbled through the tent flap, emerging into air colder than ice and thinner than paper.
Ragged breathing in and out, trying to quiet the screaming in her head.
Raven, honey, listen to me. What are you doing? You’re chasing dreams, now….What you wish for doesn’t exist. You are a monster now, nothing more. Live with your nature. Does the wolf resent itself? Does the eagle question what his talons are for?
“Shut up.” Another scream, hands clamped over her overly sensitive ears. Lips curled back over pearly whites, eyes shut tight. Coming out as one long, beautifully pained howl, Isabella screamed, “I’m done.”
Footsteps. Several at a time, they were quieter than a human could hear but just loud enough for a vampire’s ears. Isabella stood, rooted on the spot. Grey eyes were open wide, bloodshot and glazed.
“Raven!” Mercy said, but Isabella barely heard it. Another chorus of “Ravens!” came her way, and soon several sets of hands on her clothes grabbed her. Through her jacket they gripped her arms with worried hands. The smallest pair tugged on her jeans, reached for her cold, almost dead, hands. A stronger pair, Mercy’s held her in a vice-like hold, and yet another held her around her waist.
Adrenaline pounded in her ears, almost rushed over the voice in her head. With strength even a vampire doesn’t have, she shook her body and clothes free from those hands and started running. Anger and rage at a world so cruel lent strength to her feet as she pounded down the alley, hurtling boxes and trashcans stacked five high like they were nothing.
The faster she ran, the quieter the voices became, until even the one in her head was silenced. Every step took a toll on her blood-deprived body, but each step carried her farther away from the past and closer to what she wanted. Wind played with her hair, whipped it around her neck and face in a flurry of dark brown. Puddles lifted below her feet, sending cascades of water up in flames around her. She dodged cars and people until there was nothing left to give.
She stopped in an alley devoid of people and pests. Hands found her throat as her lungs gasped for oxygen. The gnawing in her stomach was made worse by the flight, and soon it was so unbearable Isabella was forced to keep moving. While Isabella was pacing in circles, a tall, lean figure sauntered down the alley in her direction. Her grey eyes flashed, suddenly her mind was clear enough to focus on the man. Her stomach all but roared and she grinned.
There was nothing humane about her as she descended upon her victim and locked him in her death grip. Her mouth against his neck, she savored the moment; the feeling of satisfying the built up hunger of almost a week. Every pore, every cell in her body ached for the sweet caress of blood; every vein almost run dry. Isabella breathed in and sank her teeth into the pallid flesh of the man, locked her mouth on the fountain of crimson gushing from the severed artery. Flowing down her throat, the blood instantly found the route to her limps, lungs, heart as she sucked.
Beneath her fingers she felt the pulse dim to a throb, and through the flow of blood linking the prey and predator, she felt his heart draining. Never before had the fount seemed so complete. God, if only heaven was like this. She waited for the heart to shudder to a stop and the pulse to quickly follow. Her grasp grew limp and the figure fell prostrate on the ground at her feet.
Before the body hit the ground she was off running again.
It was no longer a run, fueled by blood she was flying.