https://www.artstation.com/artwork/YrV1P
Word Count: 620
Already the child had acclimated.
The human smell prominent the moment she neared the threshold of the nursery. A window was open. Carrying the scent of lavender to rest the
wicked and death to comfort the dark.
Already the price had been paid. Countless
were the minutes she’d spent masquerading around the elaborate costume party. Numerous were the days she’d spent plotting
this moment. Undetermined were the
amount of years she’d regret her decision.
Anonymous, the baby remained.
Already she’d arrived too
late. The surrogate mother collapsed
near the door, blocking her from expanding further. Still the party carried on downstairs. The child, the dying human, the party, the
smells, oh the smell of it all had the power to intimidate. To cause one to shrink into their
doubts. To hide from the reality of what
was happening and how there had never been an option to simply turn back
around.
Already she’d come too far. She, the masked visitor, would not be so
easily deterred. Pushing against the
door. The crrrreak of its rusted
hinge. The ‘ughhh’ of a ghost not yet
ready to be dead. The adorable slurp of
a nursing child. Its sing song coo that
followed as it drained the life of the only mother it’d ever known. Could the child still be regarded as innocent
as it took what was given?
Already the Risen sent out their
echo. The trees vibrated with its sound. The masked visitor noticing the bounce of the
streetlight from the window. The signal
was sturdy. The night mischievous. There would be no confusion with the urgency
in the message. The echo was a
confirmation. It was a warning. The Risen knew.
Already the child crawled. The partial slump of the human mother
collapsing forward. Was she reaching for
the crawling baby? The baby, so small,
yet so advanced made its way to the window.
Too small to understand the draw of the echo, too ignorant to recognize
it signaled its death. The masked
visitor observed the baby, now faced with it, unsure of what to feel. Had she made the right decision in her
participation? Had she chosen correctly
in adhering to the plans of the Risen?
There was no shortage of Underworld sects and yet she’d followed the
path with the least options.
Already the echo grew in
strength. It wouldn’t be much longer she
could bare to ignore it. She watched as
the small child, the baby, attempted
to stand. So small she thought. She
saw. So small, again, she noted. She would not be strayed. No tender smile perked her face. No sting graced a tear. No beat her cold heart missed.
Already…
“Come,
come, my child,” the masked visitor whispered, “come, come my child,” she edged
louder. “Come, come,” she sang to drown
out the echo. “Come, come, my darling.”
Already the child was
entranced. Paused from its earlier
plight and now facing the masked visitor.
So small once more. She began to make her way to the child. In turn the child, unable to ignore the call,
was drawn to her. The child smiled. Drool at the corners of its blood stained lips. The masked visitor adjusted her head piece,
pulling down the arms of her dress, bearing more skin, enticing the marked
child with the ripe flesh it craved. She
stepped forward when her dress was caught.
“Please,” the ghost said
clutching the hem. “Please don’t.”
Already too much time had
collapsed. The baby, now at the hem of
her dress, pulled upright. The masked
visitor reached down for it. The music
downstairs suddenly gone. The lavender candles
blown out. The darkness no longer comforted. The Risen had arrived too
late.
Already the feeding
had ended.
