Fan Fiction ❯ Kiss of Betrayal ❯ Dissapearing Embrace ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1- Disappearing Embrace

"I love ye"

The quiet words seemed to sweep their way into my ear, and I rolled over to see the face from which they came. I couldn't see much, except for a faint glimmer of light from which I presumed to be the eye of the handsome face beside me.

I could feel the warm smile intended for me, and I obligingly retuned it. The warmth of his breath touched the tip of my nose and I closed my eyes, soaking it in. The heated breath subsequently, seemed to lower to my lips, and his own touched mine so gently it was barely noticeable. Before it could go on any longer, I quickly lowered myself and rolled over onto my side, and nuzzled fittingly into his arms. I could sense the disappointment, and grinned silently with a cruelly, but teasingly, led delight.

There was a moment of stillness, until finally one strong arm tenderly wrapped around me and pulled me closer. I smiled, comforted by the embrace and closed my eyes with a deep breath.

My eyes opened, and the bright light of morning annoyingly settled itself into them. I winced, and stretched, frowning as my searching hand found a space of nothingness, except crinkled sheets dampened coolly from the morning dew. It was then that I had noticed the chill temperature of the room and found myself squinting one-eyed out of the forgotten open window. Sighing, I had decided that the still-warm blankets were much more comforting than the hardwood floor, and pulled them up tightly around my neck. I surrendered to the bright light, and my eyes waveringly closed once again, not to reopen again some few hours later.

The sun seemed to shine right into my eyes, and I knew it was high noon. Eyes barely open, and scrounging my way through the room as though half blind, I managed to find my outfit for the day. It was a pale yellow, with soft blue ribbons and buttons to make it appear amiable. But I, along with the dress's maker, knew the fabric was a common material. In fact, it was just an ordinary dress for daily things, but I adored it for its charming distinction. I slipped into the dressing room and quickly slid into the soft fabrics. The small bows and ribbons that were once so hard to tie now seemed as though I had been doing it since the day I was born. At the age of seven or eight, when I was first began to dress myself, the small bows and ribbons and other buttons were so small and I always ended up fiddling with them until by luck they might have fit together, or until my mother had come in and helped me.

I shook the vivid memory away and stumbled to the bureau, legs still waking up from their comfortable slumber. Sitting down in front of the mirror, I raised a brow to my reflection as though silently scolding myself for not being prettier. Sighing, I let loose and vainly smiled into the mirror. The reflection smiled back. A tangled mass of curls draped over her head like waterfalls of bronze. Her skin was shiny, pallid and blotchy with red heat marks. She frowned, olive eyes carrying sarcastic smiles…

I looked away from the mirror and opened the small wooden box sitting in front of it. Vainly, I dipped a small sponge into the powder it held and smeared my face with it; watching satisfied as my face in the mirror quickly turned into a smoothed pallet of pale vanilla. Snorting at the mild accomplishments, I continued hurriedly, tying the curly mass into an almost heathen looking twist. Standing, my feet slipped into woolen slippers and I tiptoed to the heavy wooden door.

I stopped, running my fingers down its rough surface, afterwards rubbing the tips of my fingers together with distaste, removing any stale dust. It was just then that I noticed how quiet the room seemed, and a cold tingle sliced up my spine. I turned around quickly and seeing that the room was still the same it had been, I went to my prior engagement; opened the door and strode out into the narrow hall.

Humming a cheery tune learned from my father, I strolled relaxingly to the top of the stairs. The turn in the middle of the case wouldn't allow me to see directly downstairs and into the kitchen below, but I stopped, anyway, resting against the cool walls and listened for the usual roars of laughter from newly awakened and merry men downstairs who would be delightfully consuming a hot breakfast. But everything was silent and I felt a pit of loneliness hit the base of my stomach like a rock. Striding down the curving staircase with much ease I reached the bottom and looked around. All was quiet as it had been, and empty as well.

Strolling to the black cauldron that hung above the undersized fire pit, I looked inside. It was shiny and clean and I knew it had been that way since Mrs. McFhearghuis' young maid girls had cleaned it the night before. I let my hand waver over its side feeling for heat, but in feeling none I pressed my hand forcefully against it. It swayed slowly but my hand was automatically pulled back from it as I winced in dismay at the cold iron surface. My head rose slowly and I turned to study my surroundings. Brows furrowed loosely and I could feel the pulse between my eyes begin to pound. The kitchen was altogether tidy; with everything in it polished. The wooden fixtures seemed to glow from the warm beams of the sun that shone through the high windows, and although I was standing in the path of one of the rays, I folded my arms firmly with another unpleasant shudder.

The kitchen was small and with only a few short strides I was on the other side and stretching my neck to allow my head into the door that led into the sitting room. I eyed the wooden chairs curiously, only at once noticing the empty noble blue velvet coverings that were secured on the seats. I sighed, and wondered if perhaps I had misjudged myself and that it might have been Sunday. Everyone of the house might have already been in the chapel, and I'd have been too if it were not for my contemptuous yield to the soothing warmth of my bed.

The corner of my mouth twitched with annoyance that I could have been so ridiculously confused with the days of the week but even more that nobody had thought to arouse me. I had married into this family little more than a month ago, and was well accustomed to the daily customs and activities; it was unexplainable as to how I could have confused Sunday with what I though was only Tuesday. The mornings were not my ideal time of day for a man's tease for a sense of humour. I sneered at the household for letting me sleep through the services, and was not at all in the mood for family held trickery; especially in the morning. At the thought of morning, I yawned widely and continued my walk to the chapel. It was in the house, but in another wing. The long corridors were tiring and much less than exciting; I must have yawned absent mindedly a few times on the insignificant journey, for by the time I had reached the glass doors I couldn't seem to control them.

Finishing another ample yawn, which was politely covered by my hand, I peered through the foggy panes of glass, into the chapel. I was still staring, shocked at its emptiness when a fading voice brought me back from my daze.

"Mrs. MacTayrn"

My jaw dropped. Turning around to find the source of the voice, I felt my heart race and my temples swell. The bloody mass strewn in the corner behind me was trembling hysterically. The left corner of my lip rose in terrorized repulsion, the thick aroma of fresh blood spewing into my nostrils for the first time. My hands rose to the defense of my mouth and nose as I stood there, staring at the torn up girl. Although her face was barely recognizable, I knew it to be Marilon, one of the young girls of 15 or so who was often in the kitchen with Mrs. McFhearghuis helping with cooking or cleaning. Seeing her now, it was hard to envision her attractive countenance that I had known her for. In fact, it was a face that I had once been extremely envious of, until this moment. Her cheeks were rounded and features soft and rosy. She had naturally taut curls of a highlighted gold and her body was tall and slim.

"Mrs. Mac…." The slurred voice was choked over by a bubble of blood that had ruptured somewhere in her throat, and was now spilling out from between her slightly parted lips; I felt myself grow pale. I looked over the corpse, and gagged helplessly at the sight of an unbearably long slice from her collarbone to just above her knee. Her hair was dyed crimson with her own blood, and her bright eyes were still open, puddles of blood still forming in the deepening sockets. I stood in terror, my heart pounding within me until I finally awoke from the traumatizing stance. It was something that made me move, a sound but I couldn't remember what it was or where it came from. I ran.

I reached the quarters that I had been introduced to a month ago as my own, and that I had so recently woken from, and did not stop until a reached the foot of the bed. I stopped in my tracks and the realization of everything had just come into play. I stood there, ignorant to everything but my own thoughts…

… I winced, and stretched, frowning as my searching hand found a space of nothingness, except crinkled sheets dampened coolly from the morning dew. It was then that I had noticed the chill temperature of the room and found myself squinting one-eyed out of the forgotten open window…

The memory of feeling only cool sheets in my hand replayed for what seemed 100 times in my mind before I thought more of it in depth. I had reached for my husband's hand, but it was not there and I boorishly fell back into a lazy slumber. That was early in the morning, where could he have gone? It wasn't Sunday… there were no morning services today.

My head started throbbing again, and rubbing it vigorously to try and make it stop only made it worse. My breaths were heavy and I could feel the perspiration trickle down my neck, back and the side of my skull. The vision of Marilon and the empty bed replayed a thousand times in my mind and I felt a crazy wave run over me.

Then it stopped. I was shaken from the horrifying replays when an icy hand clenched onto the ball of my shoulder and spun me around with much force. I attempted unsuccessfully to scream, but the man in front of me lifted me by the neck and seemed to float forward coming to an abrupt stop when my back slammed against the wall. I would have cried, but the choking gags from his tightened grip around my throat muffled anything that would have come. He lowered me until my feet were reacquainted with the floorboards again, and then stared at me in the eyes.

The ominous pools of amber were truly astonishing, and I found my own locked on them. His hand slithered from under my jaw to the muscular flesh above my collarbone. His grip tightened and the pressure was unbearable.

"You will not scream" was all I heard before I fell limp into his arms. Everything went black.