Chapter I: The Girl Who Dreams.
10•
"We slip beneath the pillow's spell
And drift from heaven and into hell
To lose control of conscious mind
The secrets of our soul to find." ~ Dreams. (Jane A Beresford.)
In Aurielle, the shadows had minds of their own.
It was for this reason, perhaps, that the city was named The Hell-City - it also might have been for reasons way more sinister, and darker than shadows with an uncanny awareness.
But that, however, was the least of Elma's worries as she stalked across the black and white checkered tiles of The Library, boots deathly silent against the ground, her face set in a permanent scowl.
In one hand was a small white chest, and in the other a golden stick, which she held with the ease of someone who was used to using it. She didn't pay them two thoughts. She was used to these things.
Stopping at the centre of the hall, she turned about in place, her cold, pure gold eyes roving over the view around her.
Endless bookshelves of varying shapes and sizes lined in a careful order by the stone-walls of the library. Upon them were stacked a countless number of books - Some so old, they seemed to hum with the knowledge and knowings of ages long since turned to dust.
Oak long tables ran across the length of the room, their dull brown surfaces reflecting muted versions of the glowing fire.
The fire.
Across the opposite end of the room was a fireplace set
11•
into a black stone-wall.
It was elegantly carved after the maw of a Lion, midway through a roar . . . it's fangs, gleaming.
It had been sculpted from the same black, obsidian stone that made up that entire part of the wall.
She inhaled sharply - Or might have if she had any control over her actions.
The stone - the stone seemed to pulse . . . almost like a living thing.
Magical, perhaps.
Magical like the fire currently burning within it.
There was not a trace of any wood, or even burnt ashes within the fireplace.
Yet, fire burned within it.
A reddish dark flame that twisted and writhed like a dragon's tongue suspended in air.
Fire so hot, it dispersed the freezing chill of winter the moment it set in.
Hellfire.
The immortal fire was extremely rare, and twice as pricey.
So pricey, Elma could barely resist the urge to whistle when she considered it's price in gold. And again, whoever owned it might have paid a price costlier than any gold.
Whoever that was.
Elma could recall only two things: Her name, and that she was here to hunt something . . . A demon - She was here to hunt a demon and somehow the thought did not rattle or frighten her.
She didn't understand how she knew about the hell-fire. It was just . . . There.
Craning her neck back, she scanned the top of the library, barely having to squint against the light let in through the windows before her eyes adjusted to the bright light.
12•
The Library's roof had been gilded, but a couple of windows had been arranged across it in an unnatural pattern. Arranged in the pattern of an elongated star.
Even from this distance, she could see that they'd been sealed air-tight with impenetrable diamond-glass which caused the light passing through to manifest in rather brilliant spectrums.
Obviously, they'd been made to let in just light. Definitely not demons. Which meant they'd been letting in the wrong things.
She tapped her left foot against the tile, twirling the stick between her index finger and thumb. It's feather light presence was a welcome, reassuring one.
Perhaps, the wrong things had found a way to let themselves in.
Which - for some reason she couldn't quite understand - was why she was here.
Elma snapped her focus back to the situation on the ground. She had work to do. She had to fulfil her promise to her. A promise she couldn't remember making . . .
Who was she?
Elmander Froast - who wasn't entirely Elmander Froast - Schooled her features into a pleasant one and smiled sweetly. Demons loved mind games. Oh, they did. They'd bargain and scheme, and plot! But she had been trained for this, she knew just what to do.
This was the only way she would succeed in drawing out the one currently hiding within these very walls. Somehow, she just knew this information without knowing where it came from or how she knew it. It bothered her distanly. Everything seemed to come from a distance here.
13•
A little piece of a bigger puzzle tossed to her.
What was all of this? How did she know these things? Who was she?
Her smile was positively charming as she cooed in a cold high voice that she wouldn't have imagined she possessed, "Hello demon."
A pause. Then-
As if in answer, an unearthly cackle echoed across the hall, ending as swiftly as it started.
"Hello, Angel-spawn." An almost lovely voice drawled right back.
Elma could have sworn it sounded almost bored.
Play time, then.
It wasn't until the immortal Hell-fire burned dangerously low and suddenly winked out that she started screaming.
Or maybe it was the demon screaming? She couldn't quite tell one voice from the other.
They were one and the same.
It was the third time in a row she'd had this nightmare.
