Stormberry

(Chapter 02) The Last Inheritance

sinistrous — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 18:52:01 GMT

"That's freakin' ridiculous!" Giselle replied rather indignantly trying to mask the sudden tinge of fear that gripped her and like a sudden breaking dam, everything came rushing back in a flash. The accident! No way could she have survived that. She could distinctly remember her headlong collision with the vehicle and the sickening crunch of her bones breaking as it made contact with the metal. Her bruised skin and stained outfit said as much. Unwillingly, Giselle started to believe the man's words.

"Please, you must let me explain." The man urged.

She sighed inwardly. Might as well. What do I have to lose anyway?

"Fine," she folded her arms across her chest. "Fire away."

"I'm a friend of your father's," he started, "actually, I was sent here to find you according to his orders."

"My father?" It took her somewhat by surpise. She can't remember the last time she had spoken to him. Five months, no, maybe it was six months ago. "What does he have to do with all of this? And how am I supposed to know I can even trust you?"

"Look, I know you have a lot of questions on your mind," he was peering around as if he was expecting something or someone to jump out of nowhere. "But we do not have much time. We should get out of here." He then looked at Giselle straight in the eye, "You have to know that I only have your best interest at heart."

Giselle stared back at him, gauging his sincerity. It was strange, this sense of familiarity she had for him was getting stronger. Her mind was telling her to put her faith in him even if his motives remained unclear but she had always considered herself to be a poor judge of character. The thoughts warred inside her head until finally, she came up with a decision.

"Okay. Let's hypothetically say I believe you. Try anything funny and I'd gladly demonstrate my kung fu skills to you." She said in a bluff. Truth was — she wasn't much of an athlete. At all. "Alright, so what do we do next?"

"Northfield Park."

"Home?" She wasn't sure she wanted to return. "Can't I just phone him or something?"

He shook his head, "his request specifically mentioned your personal presence. We better get moving." Again, that importunity. What was the hurry? Giselle sneaked a glance at her watch. The clock had just struck ten o'clock in the morning and it seemed that so much had happened already. If they managed to make it the eleven bus trip, they could arrive at Northfield Park around two in the afternoon.

"Just let me get a change of clothes first." Giselle said, gesturing to her outfit. They had walked from the alleyway towards the street corner and to her astonishment, they were right across her dormitory. That was convenient, she thought and when they reached her doorstep she said, "you know, you have not told me your name."

"Trace. Trace O'Reilly." Trace said with a slight tip of his head. "I'll be waiting here outside."

~x~

Giselle snuck back to her room acting like some errant, misbehaving school girl all the while feeling ridiculous for doing. It's like she's about to commit the crime of the century. Giselle peeked at her roommate and found that she's still asleep making Giselle resist the urge to poke her just to check if she's still breathing. She quickly changed out of her soiled clothes and dressed into dark denim jeans, a pink blouse, and white sneakers. She tied her hair in a tight ponytail and then started tossing stuff into her backpack — her cellphone, wallet (containing her credit card, ID, some cash and loose change, and various ticket stubs and receipts she had somehow forgotten to throw out), MP3 player, foldable umbrella, lip gloss, hair brush, a tissue pack, breathe mints, and various other knickknacks that the author shall not anymore list here. She was not sure what time she would return so she decided to write a short message on a Post-It note and stick it at the door, somewhere her roommate would not miss.

Finally, when thought she had at least some semblance of preparedness, she went downstairs and out to find Trace waiting like he had said he would. Trace. It was an unusual name, she mused. But then again, it might not even be his real name.Although he did not show it, Lord Damien Cunningcroft was in a quandry. In Raztek, the land was born and raised and the same land which he now governs as the High Steward, twins were considered as harbingers of ill-fortune. By law, all twins born were to be executed within forty-eight hours after their birth. Twins were such rarities, though, and never in his life would he imagine that his own wife would give birth to them.

And with her death, she paid for them at a steep, heavy price.

But before she died, she made him promise using the Spider's Oath. Like the strong, silky threads spun in a web, it cannot and will never be broken under any circumstance. And the blackened scar resembling a web at the palm of his hand was the proof. It was a cruel thing for her to do, really, and he hated her for it.

He swore, under the cost of his own life and his reputation, that he would protect those children from the certain death that awaits them.

Lord Damien looked around those who were gathered in the room. Three people bear witness and he must find a way to silence them. The mid-wife along with her assisstant were quivering in the corner but a pouch of sterling silver coins would be enough to keep the quiet until he could find a way to permanently deal with them.

His problem was Lucien.

~x~

Giselle woke up with a start. She had not realized she had fallen asleep and to her embarrassment, a slight drool had formed at the edge of her mouth. If Trace had noticed, he gave no indication but instead stared ahead without an expression in his smooth face. More than anything, it disturbed Giselle. The short worried look was the only time so far that he had shown anything. She wondered what had happened to this man to have warranted such lack of emotions.

"We're here." Trace said, as the bus pulled into a squeaky halt.

Giselle nodded in mute acquiesce and suddenly felt her emotions well up inside her threatening to overwhelm her. She could not explain it but she and her father used to be very close until they had a fall out almost seven months ago which caused Giselle to leave home and enter a run-in-the-mill college that was some miles away. The details of the falling out was hazy to her, as with some parts of her life, but she remembered it had something to do with their once longtime housekeeper, Martha.

She remembered Martha. Martha was a plump woman with a pleasant face, good countenance, and an unfortunate predilection to gossip. As far as her memory served her, Martha had always been around. Giselle considered her as a mother figure of sorts having grown up without one. Though as a mother figure, she was quite strange in many ways. For example, Giselle grew up on stories of epic battles between demons and angels instead of the common fairy tale fare that other children were fond of. This was something her father did not particularly approve. Martha would also take her out in a garden and show her uncommon plants with properties that were not used medicinally or in cooking. Magikcraft. It was the term her housekeeper had used and it was spoken in a hushed tone only once, never to be repeated.

Here we stand in ravishing rain
Joy is like pain
It feels like a miracle
You can't turn back, you're in chains
Never again
Return from a cynical world

Then seven months ago, Martha left unexpectedly but not before engaging into a shouting match with her father. Martha was among the few people able to put her father, who happened to be a very sucessful businessman and was used into getting his own way, back in his place. From their argument, Giselle heard some words that made no sense to her. Twins. A spider's promise. Rebellion. Murder And then her name was thrown in along with another person's. She could not recall who this other person was no matter how hard she tried.

Giselle wanted Martha back and begged her father. He was adamant with his decision though and it was by her determination to find Martha that she left her sheltered living and fend off for herself in the outside world.

She now looked at the gates of Northfield Park and realized it looked so oppresive. She briefly wondered whether the guard stationed would recognize her but it was to Trace that he nodded to. This is getting to be a bad idea, she inwardly thought. Her stomach grumbled. It was nearing three in the afternoon and the only meal she had, besides her breakfast, was a packet of saltine crackers which she had brought along from her backpack. Trace doesn't seem to show any signs of hunger or the tiredness she felt after a long journey.

~x~

The rosy-faced maid who greeted them at the front door scrambled to her master to announce that the young mistress has returned. Giselle led Trace to the living room where guests are usually received and they both sat at the opposite ends of the upholstered sofa. She felt like stranger in her own house.

"Sir von Rothschild requests both of your presence at the parlor." Said Gerard, the butler, who came to meet them. It sounded so formal.

"Thanks, Gerard." Giselle smiled but was met with a cool gaze in return.

guess they all took my leaving badly, she quietly sighed as Gerard lead them towards heavy oak doors behind which the parlor was located. She paused before entering, trying to gather some semblance of strength before facing her father.

"Ah. Mr. O'Reilly, excellent job as usual," her father said by way of greeting.

Trace bowed and then left Giselle alone with her father.

"I am glad you are well." Monsieur Lucien von Rothschild said without emotion and turned away from Giselle so that he was facing the towering French windows that provided a view to the garden outside.

Giselle often wondered how this man could have been her father. Physically, they have almost nothing in common. She has a dark coppery shade of red hair that cascades down up to her chest and warm tawny eyes that sometimes seem to have a preternatural incandescence when she was experiencing strong emotions. In opposite, her father's eyes are deep blue and it always reminded Giselle of a stormy sea. His ash blond hair is combed neatly and the tailored white suit and blood red tie he wore are all impeccably done.

This all left her to presume that she takes after her mother. But where was she? When she had first asked about it, her father told her that she had moved on to the afterlife a few months after Giselle had been born. She had looked all around the house but she had found not even one single image of her and even asking about her from the household staff only provided blank stares and even more questions.

"Yeah. Right. Here I am. What do you want?"

"Sit down, Giselle. I will not tolerate any insolence in this house." Her father said, his voice with an edge to it. He meant serious business.

Giselle opened her mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it; instead, she followed his order and waited.

There was a pregnant pause before her father spoke again.

"It is time for you to know the truth."

"Truth?" She repeated. "What truth?"

"The truth regarding your birth and why your life is in danger at this very moment." He finally turned towards Giselle's direction but he still did not look at her. Giselle's heart started to pick up its beating in some sort of twisted apprehension. Instead, he reached down to one of the drawers from his ornate and elegant antique partners desk that was carved out of mahogany and retrieved a plain wooden box. The container revealed a black orb lined in shimmering silvery satin cloth; it was the size of a tennis ball.

"This was given to me for safekeeping eighteen years ago and it is time for me to return it to the original owner." He said as he pushed the box to Giselle's direction.

Giselle stared blankly at the orb; she was not exactly sure she was supposed to say or do.

"Take it," he gently urged. It was a contrast to his cold demeanor a couple of minutes ago. "It belongs to you."

She picked it up after a slight hesitation. It was heavy for its size and warm around the palm of her right hand and the instant she took hold of it, the orb began to pulsate with a weak white light. Giselle almost dropped the thing in surprise but something appeared to be calling her in and she clung to it; her eyes transfixed in an almost hypnotic stare.

And that was when everything really began.

~x~

♰. Word Count: 2,342 | Novel Index

(Chapter 01) The Unhappy Deathday

sinistrous — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 04:29:31 GMT

Giselle was born on the first day of April and she hated that. As far as she was concerned, April first usually signified the worst day of the year and therefore, the worst days of her life. At the age of five, a snotted-face boy decided to throw her a live lizard as an April Fools prank. She started disliking those critters ever since. The day she turned twelve, she came down with severe rashes. It turned out she was allergic to the prawn tempura she had for dinner the previous evening and she ended up with a swelled face for days. Perhaps the most unfortunate (and possibly a life changing event) that happened on her birthday was six years after the tempura incident.

On this particular April first -- her eighteenth one, in fact -- things started normally enough for Giselle. She woke up at seven in the morning to the incessant beep of her digital alarm clock. Glancing over to her right, she looked on to the other bed in the room where her companion was still sleeping soundly buried under a pink frilly blanket and a pile of stuffed toys. She got up stretching for a little bit and went on to have a long, relaxing bath.

Giselle was glad that today was a Sunday. It meant that there were not many fellow students milling around the dormitory she was currently housed in. Most of her dorm mates often return to their homes over the weekends and those who have favored to stay usually slept in until the latter part of the day. Briefly, she wondered whether she was the only early riser in the dorm.

After she had bathed and dressed in a light yellow floral printed dress, she headed on outside. It had became some sort of ritual for her to have her breakfast at the old coffee shop located about five blocks between her dorm and the college campus. The dormitory provides breakfast and dinner at a given schedule and only from Mondays to Fridays and though the place also has amenities for students who wish to prepare their own meals -- she was not much of a cook to begin with. In fact, she has yet to succeed in boiling or frying an egg.

The air was warm and humid as she walked towards her destination and by the time she arrived, she had broken into a sweat and was quite hungry. The cafe door gave a little chime as she opened it and to her surpise, her usual seat by the far end of the dining area was already occupied by the only other customer inside who stared at her as soon as she entered. Feeling a bit put off, she chose to seat four tables away from the man -- the farthest she could get away in the tiny cafe.

Upon seeing Giselle, the barrista named Kyle smiled in immediate recognition and set about with completing her order. She did not need to tell him what it was. Two slices of bacon, extra crispy, along with scrambled eggs and three pieces of toast with orange marmalade was just the way she liked it. As for her drink, she usually goes for a strong brew of coffee in the morning and then if she would particularly be buried in college work in the afternoon, she would order a tall glass of iced cappucino.

Around fifteen minutes later, her food arrived and she quickly dug in, savoring the rich aroma. She would have continued eating if not for the strange prickling sensation she felt at the back of neck. It was as if someone was watching her every move. Furtively, Giselle turned around to look at her immediate surrounding. She noticed that the man has left. Weird. It felt as if he had vanished in mid-air. Kyle was behind the counter; busy with wiping the just washed porcelain coffee mugs. Besides, she had known Kyle for a couple of years already and was not the type to spy on anyone. He was a good guy.

She quickly finished her meal; her appetite being somewhat diminished and then paid Kyle while telling him to keep the change. Somehow, her intuition was telling her to get out of the place fast. Not only had the strange prickling sensation grew stronger but there was also the feeling of a shadow trying to envelop her.

Once she stepped outside, the hot and humid air instantly clung to her. She gasped and breathed heavily trying to make her lungs squeeze in as much air as possible. In her mind's eye, she could see a swirling dark cloud closing in on her which made it hard for her to see and to breathe. She tried calling out for help but her voice made no sound.

I must. . . get back to the dorm, she thought desperately as she struggled to make herself move towards the right direction. Her body was starting to feel leaden like there was an iron ball tied to a chain around her leg. Giselle was two blocks away from her destination when her body simply ceased all motion. She froze right in the middle of the street and in shock, she failed to notice the car speeding towards her. There was no escape.

Of course, things like this always happen on my birthday, was her final thoughts and she imagined she heard the sharp screech of the car's tires as it skidded to a halt and saw a black figure grabbing her

~x~

I'll be there by your side
Share your fears in the silent redemption
Touch my lips, hold me tight
Live in vanity for a while

She could hear a voice. It was a soft and sweet sound that brought an aura of calm around her and eased her weary body from pain. The song was something she remembered from her childhood. Her nanny used to sing it to her whenever she woke up from particularly bad dreams but this voice was nothing like her nanny's. The voice reminded her of a lazy summer days, of lush green forests, of rolling hills and fields. It reminded her of everything pure and beautiful. Like the voice of an angel.

Gradually, the voice faded into nothingness and was replaced by a deep, gruff sound along with an odd ringing in her ears. The voice turned into syllables and syllables into words.

"Oh, god. Wake up! You gotta wake up." The voice was masculine and rather frantic. Slowly, she came into consciousness and that was when she felt the pain. Every bone in her body seemed to had been crushed and she was lying on the hard cemented ground.

"Wha--?" She groaned. Giselle opened her eyes and the world appeared in blurred shapes and outlines. She immediately closed them again.

"Here. Drink this," her rescuer continued and a hot, bitter liquid was pushed down her throat making her sputter. If someone would be poisoning her right now, well, she supposed that the person would not waste time rescuing her. It did not make any sense but then so had everything that had happened so far. Her brain was a muddled mess and she could hardly think straight at the moment.

The drink, it turned out, was a medicine designed to work as a painkiller with an instantaneous effect. Though there was still some lingering pain, it was all reduced to a dull ache which Giselle could barely feel.

Her vision was clearer when she reopened her eyes and enabled her to see the person who rescued her for the first time. He was a tall, lean young man who appeared a few years older than Giselle. His uneven shoulder-length raven hair was tied in a ponytail with a few strands rustling gently with the slight wind. He wore a charcoal black turtleneck cardigan along with dark gray slacks and knee-length leather coat. And the most distinguishing feature he has was his sharp cool grey eyes which made Giselle shudder involuntarilty. For one short moment, she thought those eyes looked worried but before she could discern what that meant it was replaced by an expression of steely indifference. For some strange reason, something about him seemed very familiar which she found baffling.

"Can you walk?" He asked as he stood up and that was when she noticed the slight accented tone of his voice. Presumably British, she surmised. He now sounded calmer compared to minutes ago.

"I-- I think so," Giselle replied half-expecting him to help her up but instead he merely stood there clearly waiting for her to stand up on her own.

Well, that was rude! She silently huffed as she tried to get up. After all that had happened-- actually, I am not exactly sure what had occured. My mind's still in a blur. Though based on my torn and stained dress and these bruises on my arms, it might have been an accident.

"Thanks for the help." Out loud, she said brushing off the thin layer of dust that had gathered on her clothes. "I better get going."

They were standing in the middle of a deserted alley, a place she was particularly not fond of to be hanging out with a total stranger even if said stranger did rescue her from something. Circumstances were rather unusual at the moment and some pieces does not fit in the puzzle. But right now, she was more interested in her safety rather than finding answers that were starting to form inside her head.

She turned to leave, her pace almost breaking into a run.

"Wait! Giselle!"

The fact that he knew her name, even if she'd bet her life that she had never met him before, made her stop and turn around.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Giselle demanded.

"My name is of no importance. Right now, your life is in danger."

~x~

♰. Word Count: 1,660 | Novel Index

(prologue)

sinistrous — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 05:05:20 GMT

The thatched dilapidated cottage that leaned wearily by the clearing at the center of the vast woody expanse was filled with palapable tension. Inside, five moving figures could be found. The first noticable one was a tall and handsome, dark-haired man with such a stature that he’s easily recognizable as someone who held power. His striking golden eyes gazed sharply at the door before him and with folded arms, his stance never once wavered. Next to him was his most trusted right-hand man, Lucien. Though also standing firm and motionless his worried eyes and creased forehead reflected the emotions he was trying to hide. His eyes flicked back and forth between his lord and the closed door that led to the only room in the house where the other occupants were. Every now and then, he would distractedly run a leather-gloved hand halfway across his blond hair and withdraw it suddenly as if he was not sure of his actions.

Soon, the heavy wooden door creaked open and a woman in a white uniform and stained apron -- a midwife -- appeared. She wore a somber expression hinting that whatever news she came to bring was not good.

“My Lord--" she began but could not seem able to find the words to continue.

"Well?" The man inquired with just a slight hint of impatience.

Again, the woman hesitated.

Lucien could not stand it any longer. In a flash, he unsheathed his sword that was hanging in its scabbard by his side and pointed it at the woman's throat.

"Speak." He demanded, "if you still have value for your life."

"Lucien," his master spoke in a deep baritone. The strong and soothing voice seemed to had instantly calm Lucien down and he withdrew across the room where he was partially shrouded by the shadows created by the flickering candle light. "Do not be afraid." He continued, addressing the woman. "No life shall be in danger while I am in this house."

"They are twins."

The candle flickered and a heavy silence followed the pronoucement.

"I want to see her." He moved towards the door but the woman stopped him.

"I am sorry, My Lord," she said, even more hesitantly that before. "We tried. . ."

Without a another word, he pushed past her and hurriedly entered the adjoining chamber. The room was sparse. A single bed stood at the far left of the room and beside it was a tiny table barely holding a white porcelain basin filled with water that was tinged red with blood. The bed was occupied by a pale woman with flowing copper hai that contrasted sharply to the white linen wrapped around her body.

At the sound of his footsteps against the floorboards, the woman stirred. She called out his name with a low, hoarse voice.

"I am here." He said, taking her right hand and caressing it slowly in a circular motion. "You must have some rest now."

She smiled at him and that singular action seemed to have brightened up the entire room and his mood.

"They are... such beautiful babies." She softly said, turning just slightly to the corner of the room where a younger woman stood carrying two bundles swathed in soft linen. "My love, please do not surrender them to their cruel fate." She closed and eyes and breathed deeply. "I am afraid. . . I do not have much time left."

"No!" He cried. "All you need is some rest. I will call the best healer. Please! Do not leave me."

"You must promise. . . "

And with that she drew her last breathe.

~x~

♰. Word Count: 599 | Novel Index

(index) The Laundry Conspiracy

sinistrous — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 00:07:54 GMT

SYNOPSIS:
Coming soon.

CHAPTERS:
♰; Prologue
♰; Chapter One - The Unhappy Deathday
♰; Chapter Two - The Last Inheritance

♰ Cast of Characters | Settings and Concept Ideas ♰

STATISTICS:
♰; Cups of Coffee: 6
♰; Death Toll: 2
♰; Number of times I wanted to erase the whole thing and start all over: 25

(info) Cast of Characters

sinistrous — Fri, 31 Oct 2008 23:45:44 GMT

MAIN CHARACTERS

Giselle (Last name to be determined) - Around 16-18 years old. She is a rare hybrid of demon and angel heritage. Separated from her twin at birth, she was raised by a wealthy businessman(?)/politician(?) and grew up with a rather comfortable life. She has a strong sense of justice and tends to wear her heart on a sleeve. -Before the time skip, she was cheerful and optimistic and has an inherent curiousity which often leads her to trouble before becoming withdrawn and more serious.- Giselle shares the greater part of the Core along with her older twin brother.
Appearance: Wavy copper hair that frames her shoulders and dark blue eyes.

Trace O’Reilly - Appears twenty-two years old but is actually much older than that. He bears the burden of a curse that gives him vampire-like characteristics which he believes only Giselle can lift. He’s rather quiet and doesn’t speak often. Cares deeply for Giselle even if he often disagrees with whatever she says.

THE CLEANERS

Rosalie Malveaux

Christopher Farrows

GÖTTLICH ORDEN

Allegra Auclair

Ceros Calleri

OTHER CHARACTERS

Lucien Vonnegut

Mr. Thimbles

* more to follow eventually

(info) Setting and Story Concepts

sinistrous — Thu, 16 Mar 2006 03:07:47 GMT

...