Chapter 14 Generational Curses
“Sapphire! Sapphire! Where are you?”
My hands claw at a cluster of roots tangled on the edge of a cliff. The grand mountain winds roar in my ears, whistling through my hair and attempting to pry my sweaty grip from the lifeline of a very old oak tree.
“I’m here!” I scream against the frigid storm of rain that has almost transitioned to snow.
With a sky full of charcoal angry storm clouds, a dancing aurora borealis, and a gentle dusting of cosmic stars—I try to distract myself from my impending death. A plummet down to a rocky terrain. I have to say goodbye! I have to tell my mother I love her!
“Sapphire! I’m coming! Do you hear me? I’m coming for you!”
That voice is so familiar. I’d recognize it anywhere. It’s a warm, comforting blanket at midnight. It’s the words of reason when my temper runs rampant. It’s my brother’s voice.
My twin.
“Krimson!”
“By all means, scream for him louder. They’ll definitely hear us now…”
My eyelids stick as I blink away the reality I was in moments ago.
I heard Krimson…
I heard my brother.
“You are drawing attention to us,” Niklaus says. Bored. Cruel. Pissed. “Like an idiot.”
Up until now, I’d forgotten how much I hate him. How deep that hatred is embedded into my skin and bones and fibers after what he said by the creek. Pushing me to the ground like a coward. And sadly, that’s not even the worst he’s done to hurt me.
“What’re you talking about?”
Footsteps creak above our heads. Muffled voices. A hushed conversation.
“He said he was bringing friends to meet us,” Niklaus says quietly. “I don’t think it’s in our favor.”
I try to stretch out my stiff arms and legs, take deep breaths to ground myself, and shake the sleep out of my head.
The heavy aroma of a leaky drainpipe sticks to the inside of my nose, though it seems the smell has become worse since the last time I was awake—like something curled up in the corner of the room and surrendered to death long ago.
“Get us to travel again,” my insufferable cellmate commands.
The locks clink and shift on the door at the top of the stairs. The muffled voices are silenced at a quick shhh.
“Now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to summon those strange feelings I get right before that cosmic ecosystem swallows me up. The disruption of my equilibrium. The stardust and pure, endless shadow of nightfall.
“Spitfire, this is one thing you can do to start repenting and not be entirely useless. Get us out of here!” Niklaus growls under his breath.
The urge to put any more effort into trying to leave this place is as good as dead, even though I don’t want to find out what our captor has planned.
“You sure you want to talk to me like that? Considering I could just leave without you,” I reply, trying to stay calm and focused.
Niklaus goes quiet.
“Don’t be rude to our guests. They came a long way to meet the two of you,” Niles announces from the top of the stairs. He whispers to someone behind him. “I told you they were at each other’s throats. Thank goodness I found them when I did.”
Three figures walk down the stairs carefully, holding golden globes that illuminate the room with flickering firelight. Antique lanterns to reveal Niklaus and I restrained and unclothed.
Behind Niles, there’s a woman taking shape.
Short, half his size, poor posture with a hunched back, and a low bun on the back of her head.
Her black mourning dress has drooping sleeves, a corseted throat, and a solemn old-world elegance.
The cinched waist and rough sash remind me of the pictures of the lady-doll regimen in our history books.
She’s an old woman judging by her shaky descent down the steps, and the deep-set wrinkles on her face, coming to life as she gets closer.
The spindly man trailing behind her is two inches shorter than Niles with long, thin arms and legs.
As the light ignites the room, his gaunt features are made vivid.
Spidery shadows casting across his long nose and pointy chin.
The prominent freckles splattered across his face. The carrot-red hair slicked back…
What the fuck is that?
In the low, glimmering light, the bones of his face jut out—and his forehead screams at us, pleading for our sole focus to fall on the writing. The pink scars. The name.
Dessin.
My father’s name is carved into his flesh.
We learned about this growing up… About the grandmother and her son who helped run the experimentations on my father.
How they tortured him to split new alters to protect himself.
How they abducted my mother and tried to run similar tormenting tests on her.
“This the girl?” the old woman asks, voice hard and callous yet raspy with age.
She takes rigid steps up to my mattress and metal bedframe, examining my body with a judgmental, scorning glare. The corners of her mouth pulled downward with a sneer of disapproval and disgust.
“Does she think she’s above the law? Not keeping up with the Lady-Doll Regimen?” The old crone jabs at my ribs. “She’s fat.”
Fat?!
First of all, my breasts are above average in size.
My thighs are slightly thicker, and I have a little bit of squish on my lower belly…
but I’m tall, lean, and my body is far from fat.
Does this old bitch want me to look like her?
Knobby shoulders, bladed collarbones, and a stomach so starved you can practically see the outline of her vital organs?
I hiss as she jabs me again.
“Now, now, isn’t that regimen an outdated concept? This young lady is a true vision of beauty! Would you look at those different colored eyes?” Niles chimes, presenting me like a show pony up for sale.
The quick swing of her arm cracks like a whip. Those old, gnarled, arthritic knuckles backhand Niles’s cheekbone, making him gasp and cower in shame.
“Bite your tongue, boy! That regimen is the law. Think of where this city would be without it. We’d live in squalor with anarchistic lands and fat, ugly women.” She chuffs, glaring back down at me. “They’d look like this ungodly cow.”
At that last bit, I choke out a laugh.
An ungodly cow.
Cow.
I really oughta write these down. My vault of insults for Mabel Rose will be elite and top tier when we return home.
The brittle impact of her bony fist shatters my laugh mid-breath, leaving the bitter taste of copper on my tongue. My jaw ricochets with pain, and I groan and squeeze my eyes shut.
Through the ringing in my ears, I swear I hear Niklaus yell something.
“Disrespect!” The old woman’s arthritic fingers snatch my chin in an iron grip. “You dare mock me, girl? Is something funny? Have I told a joke?”
A small fire ignites in my belly.
Oh, my quick wit is going to get me killed.
“Ungodly cow,” I respond through clenched teeth as she pinches my chin tighter.
“Was that not meant to be a joke?”
A small shock buzzes behind her milky-sheened eyes.
“If not, I have a joke that might rectify that… You’re looking a little plump and chunky around the hips yourself. If you want some advice to lose twenty pounds of ugly weight, this one will work wonders for you… Cut. Off. Your. Fucking Head. You disease ridden swine!”
My words hang in the air like a sword over my head. I smile politely as she seems to be frozen, staring at me with an unreadable expression pinching her craggy face.
“Grandmother…” the man with my father’s name on his forehead finally speaks up in warning.
The old woman passes her gas lamp to Niles.
The silence grows heavy. Her fists curl so hard I can see the blue veins protruding on the backs of her hands.
Her attack happens all at once. A blur of the black material from her dress, weathered pale skin, and spittle from the corners of her mouth as she shrieks, wet and throaty.
Those knuckles looked so brittle, but I yelp as they pummel my cheeks.
A white light explodes behind my eyes. Again and again, she beats on my face, my jaw, the soft spots under my eyes.
And with her second wind, she takes to my gut like a rabid banshee, hurling her frail body at me, summoning all her energy into battle.
Her fists strike my stomach, sharp and deep, as if she’s trying to reach behind my ribs.
The air whooshes from my lungs in a strangled gasp.
Niklaus says furious words behind the commotion. But I can’t make out what they are.
The insurmountable pain blooms around the bone structure of my face, within my spleen, kidneys, and stomach. My vision is consumed by black and scarlet red, blurring from involuntary tears. My groans come out choppy and hoarse, grunting against each guttural impact.
I continue waiting for her to grow tired. To exhaust herself to the point of fainting. But I’m stunned by her stamina. Her blatant ability to power through her arms which must be on fire with soreness. The cold sweat dripping down her temples and neck.
My ears ring like church bells, chiming in with her continuous wails of ferocity.
Christ! When does it end?!
“Krimson…” I sputter blood as consciousness pulls me in and out of this basement.
Each strike is a message. Correctional punishment. The bite of my nails into the mattress slowly releases as I fade into the agony swallowing me whole.
Krimson, where are you?
A raging fire eats at my pulsing eyes and cheeks. Is my nose broken? I can’t breathe through it. I open my mouth to gasp. My attacker busts my lip.
Krimson. Help me.
My eyes roll back into my head.
Krimson.