My Lord of the Flies PV E. Clark

New Moon.

Blood. It would not fade. Bent over a sink, scrubbing her hands and forearm as hard as she could, almost tearing the skin right off her bones, fighting back the sobs that spiralled from her bowels. It would not fade. No matter what she did, her skin remained tainted with that rosy, fleshy, disgusting colour, the one of sin, the one that had sliced its way through her cells, imprinted on her genes, a sin she would carry to her grave. Head tilting, she made the mistake of meeting her gaze, devious creature staring at her from the other side of the mirror, lips twisting in a distorted smile as antlers splurged from her head, growing up to the ceiling. A muffled scream escaped her and she staggered backward, tripping over herself and falling to the ground. It was wet. Blood, again, pooling around her feet, climbing on her limbs until she choked on it, and when blindly she searched for an anchor, the only thing her hand found was the curved hunting knife.

Waning Crescent.

She had woken up, that night, countless times, a faint voice screaming her lungs out into the void until two delicate hands shook her, and she realized the cracking voice was hers. Assailed by unending nightmares, which quickly weaved themselves into reality in such a way even she could not tell the difference anymore. Her nails had. Her nails had found themselves digging into the flesh of a distorted mannequin of her virtuoso, a pantin taunting and mocking, stag antlers forming a halo around muted blonde curls. It was, it had been a dream, another nightmare, until she had inhaled, and the frozen air of november had struck her down, shaken, hands drenched in the blood of an immobile girl, sacramento eyes staring blankly at her. She had fled. What sinner was deserving of eden?

Third Quarter.

A month. A month she had spiralled into disreason, paranoia ruling each domain of her sickened mind, retreated in her room, under stairs, in cellars. For days she had remained awakened, then succumbing to a death-like slumber, before laying wide awake for another set of days. Each time her eyes closed rotten dreams poisoned her, so frequently she wasn't so certain at times if she were awake or asleep. It did not matter, for at every corner lurked a familiar shadow, hallways deforming and bending, students gaining antlers and blood ticking from sinks, wands turning into knifes and the moon was vanished from the sky.

Waning Gibbous.

Until finally a glimmer of hope had struck down her universe, souls she had thought lost forever remained by her side through and through, and her sickened worries had attenuated over the course of december. Winter, promises of renewal, she had confided the last threads of truth she withheld from the other half of her heart, the maestro stealing her ravaged soul from beneath her ribs and accepting it as a whole, whether the putrefying wounds or the moonlight spilling from surfacing cracks, under the guise the daughter of the moon were to attempt such acceptance, beyond the perfection of eden.

Full Moon.

It took another month, the ice-ridden splendor of decaying january to fully convince the haunted raven to attempt at meliorating her existence, first by dubious means, then finally by a oh-so miracle potion. While it had not ridden her of her insomnia, at the least her nights had become more peaceful, hallucinations retreating to the darkened corner of the mind they had emerged from. Finally the moon-drunk soul could find a simulacre of peace, and though the familiar shape of a stag-like man made occasional appearances, it was as though reuniting with an old acquaintance rather than a pure reign of terror.

Moonless night of february, the honeyed blonde wandered through the desert halls of the castle, imperiously serene. The silence echoing around her was eerie, a pure delight in contrast to the tumult usually inhabiting the corridors. No soul but hers roamed these lands, hand carelessly brushing the frozen stones, a breeze gently playing with the light tissue of her nightgown. Her steps naturally heading in direction of her tower, a sudden vision halted her trail. An eldritch creature, ghost of raven hair and snow white eyes coursed through the grounds, ending its course in the courtyard. Curiosity enraptured her heart and soon her steps followed that of the ethereal being, crashed in dirt and mud, its entire body shivering violently.

A girl, human traits rendered uncanny by her absence of expression, or the milky white of her eyes — sleepwalking, wandering soul left murmuring frantic prayers against the dampened soil, violent hiccups shaking her frail figure as beads of tears pearled from her cheeks. Kneeling in the same dirt, Elena gently cupped her face, thumb wiping the dirt and tear from her cheek. The reaction was immediate, an iron strength wrapping around her, clutching her closer in a desperate embrace, as though she risked to vanish into thin air should she be held any lighter.

The Angel of Midnight // talk with me until it's light.

𝕿he earth was damped from dewdrops, tears, rain — one could not tell. The skies had cracked open and poured their content down the earth, leaving behind nothing but a desolated desert of mud, staining everything it touched. A familiar scent rose from it, that of decaying flowers and the iron stench of blood, leaving a metallic aftertaste on the tongue. There was no air, no breeze, only the heavy weight of the moment imprinted on every passing molecule, every wandering atom.

The creature at her feet was an eldritch one, plucked from a child's nightmare — long, tousled black hair with branches and leaves intertwined, a long gown dirtied by the mud they were burying themselves into, widened eyes, blood-shot, staring fixedly at the void. Crawling on the ground, body contorting itself at odd angles, before falling down once more, unable to move, to dig herself out of the hole she was in, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but survive.

A girl. An exhausted, tearing girl.

Elena felt her heart break in pieces, and to her knees she fell, gently lifting up this odd insect from the ground. Soon their hand circled her waist, face buried into the once pristine ivory satin of her nightgown, violent sob shaking her entire frame. Softly, as delicately as she was able to, the moonchild cupped her chin and tilted it upward, thumb brushing away the mud and dirt accumulated on her tear-stained cheeks. Navy moons locked with endless pools of onyx, and her heart leapt.

Have you ever felt this sensation, this certainty drilled into the deepest part of your skull, the knowledge that you have just found someone you have been looking for your entire life? It is a dizzying sensation, to look into one's eyes and see yourself mirrored back, see the cracks and pieces of your heart finally break and reveal something more raw, more gruesome hidden behind the glass. To know this rotten piece of a soul matches your own, one you will follow through the darkest pits of hell and bleed for until Fate is satiated. You, the garden and the grave — oh my sister, how we fall.

Eyes turning glassy, the exact shade of eggshells, their lips parted, and a deep voice echoed throughout the courtyard. "𝕮ursed revenant. My sister in sin, as the earth is to the moon. Ailed, we are the same. Our meeting was long foretold." As soon as the last syllable was uttered, suddenly their body plummeted, falling straight into her open arms. Dead weight. Breath accelerating, Elena gently laid her on the ground, attempting to obtain the confirmation she was still existing, though faintly. Beautiful. Hair crowning her head like a halo, lashes fluttering, lips slightly parted. A doll, dirtied by life and darker things. Brushing a strand clinging to the pearls of sweat of her forehead, she smiled, a morose expression darkening the tenderness that had seized her, and she took her wand.

"Tergeo." Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. As pure as snow once more, finally the girl she had seen through the creature was revealed to the world, touched by nothing but the creatures of her mind. Another incantation — mobilicorpus — later, she lifted the unknown sinner into her arms, their weight lightened by the spell. Through the halls she carried her, until finally tall wooden doors made her halt. Rows of beds were lining down the wall, and Elena deposed her into the nearest one, as a certain bird had surely done for her exactly a year from now. Leaning forth, she deposed a kiss on their forehead. I have never known sleep like this slumber creeps to me, such that I would not know if you sleep always like this, the flesh calmly going cold.

Sleep, little one. I will fend of the creatures creeping from beneath your bed.