Keep my thoughts from me.
[imgright]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v717/Sesshy_Girl/Allianne.jpg[/imgright]Click clack. Click clack. Click clack. The sound of her heels tapping at a regular pace through the town. Another block and she'd be back home. Things had gone fairly smooth today, everything considered. Definitely not what she had expected. But, thankfully, the blade in her hand had stopped dripping after only a few moments behind her parent's house, preventing a potential trail. That steady drip still haunted her, quickly meeting a pounding in her skull. For now, though, it was just in the background of her thoughts. It was an effort to keep her pace normal and casual. Inside she was begging herself to run, though it would draw more attention than the weapon held in her left hand. No one had even run across her yet, all the more to her luck. If this held she could make it home and out of the city before nightfall and no one would have any proof of what she had done.
But oncoming footsteps caught her attention, speeding her heart to match the slowly building headache and freezing her promptly in place. No one could catch her, not after this far. Her shaking hand knocked a few of the petals off of the silly bouquet in her hand. Why had she taken it? And, come to think of it, why had she taken the sword? The part of her mind that had rationalized it couldn't remember right now, but it did know that it would more than likely never leave her from this day forth. It would be proof, and that couldn't be lying about.
Move. As always it threw her into action, that voice. Just like it had the first day. Feet moving she ducks quickly into an alley on her right. The footsteps had been coming right toward her, so she knew that all of her senses had to be on guard. So, of course, that was when her vision became gradually rimmed in black. Oh, no. Not here. Please, not here. One of these blackouts hadn't come in months, and she knew they weren't her when they happened. Just calm down. There are only a few things I want to remember. A slight whimper escaped her lips, but quietly as she slipped under. As she had learned by now there was no use in fighting it. Be it her mind or not Vivianne was going to win.
Two Months Ago
The day had started off simply. As always she was humming through the house, arranging the weekly order of flowers in their neat little vases. Everything was almost identical to every other day she had had for the first seventeen years of her life. The song coming from her lips was a composition she had been learning on the piano the past week, her fingers playing along on imaginary keys as practice. Today, though, she wanted to do something new. Stopping purposefully by a closed door she glances around to check the hall. No one was there. Which was just as she had hoped for this time of day. Her parents loved leaving to many places and bringing home artifacts for her, though they remained up in the attic, where she wasn't allowed. Since the heat had been causing things to drag on and on just before the end of summer, though, it seemed ideal to sneak up while everyone else was occupied. A pleased grin caught at the edges of her mouth, but was quickly lost for view as she slipped through the doorway, the click of the mechanism behind her taking the light with it.
"Oh my." It was certainly darker than the last time she remembered being here. But the door at the top was also open then, too. "No choice now." Nodding a bit she starts heading up the thin staircase, hidden in the dark. Every once in a while the only way to bolster herself was to speak out loud and hear her own voice. But the small boost that had given her was slowly fading away. Silent words counted the steps up, afraid to break the silence in the unfamiliar space. Sooner than she thought, however, her outreaching hands found the doorway. A sigh slipped out, accompanied by the grin once more as she opened the door. Looking around she noted a pleasant amount of sunlight, more than likely from the windows around the edge that were used mostly for the house's decor and appeal.But there seemed to be a slight breeze running around the room, causing her brow to furrow. "No windows should be open.." It all seemed to be focused around a small jewelery box on top of a trunk she could remember seeing brought back from India. The small box was of a dark wood, plain except for a single name engraved and colored in the top. Out of the wood a small, dark green tinted part of history called out to her, reading simply with one word.
Vivianne
The girl's eyes sparkled a bit in the low light as she reached out, running a finger over the word. "Who were you?" In the silence of the attic even her own voice seemed loud to her, whisper or no. To her shock the jewelery box flew open, catching her widened eyes in the mirror a second before it was replaced by someone completely unfamiliar. Her unnaturally silver hair was replaced by a rich auburn color, scared dark eyes covered up by dancing blue ones. The naturally dark lips whispered, the words entering straight into the girl's mind.
Now I'm you. Showing a perfect white set of teeth the image vanished. But Allianne only had a few seconds to ponder this before a gust of wind knocked into her chest, pushing the short young lady off her feet, stopping only as she hits the wall. A rim of black edges in on what she can see, slowly building to cover it all. The last sound before it took over was a soft laugh, almost as if bells were tinkling inside her head. And there was a mocking tone to it, a sound forever hidden in the velvet voice inside her mind from that day forth.
♦♦♦
Over the next few weeks the voice would visit her on occasion, but aside from a few conversations it remained silent. A part of her was extremely accepting of the intruder into her thoughts, finding nothing wrong with it though she knew it should be unusual. To cause less stress on herself, though, she decided to let it work whatever numbing agent it was on her fear. Nothing important was learned about the girl, however, except that her name was Vivianne and she was twenty eight when she died. How or why or even when was kept from her, but every time she tried to push her head would burst into pain and she would black out. After the second try she stopped asking. Things went peacefully after that until about a month after her visit to the attic. The voice whispered insistently to her one afternoon. Go to your fathers room. Over and over in an unrelenting chorus until she burst up from her studies, having been alone in the room, and clenched her fists. "Alright!" Hours and hours had worn her down, leading the girl to only want to get this over with and finish her work. There was one more translation in her French book that the tutor expected tomorrow. Walking to the other wing of the house quick as possible she knocks on her father's study door, a small area before his bedroom, and opens it up, walking in. "Daddy, how's your work go--" She was cut off by her own surprise at the absence of her father. Where could he be? That's when she noticed the door to the bedroom cracked a bit. Go look. Hesitantly, she pushes the door open another inch or so. In the bed were her father and the woman he had supposedly been helping buy property in the neighborhood, realtor that he was. But it seemed he was helping her in a different way, as both their shoulders could be clearly seen over the blankets, more than suggesting nothing was underneath. Feeling her cheeks flush the girl stumbles back from the door, turning at the study's threshold and running back to her room. Once there her slight frame presses against the closed door, back flush with the panels, as she lets her legs crumple beneath her. How will I ever tell mother? But, sadly, she never had the chance. Two weeks later her mother returned from her trip. A day after that she died.
Wake up! Her eyes flew open, a gasp echoing in the emptiness of the alleyway as she takes in her surroundings and struggles to stand. Remembering what was going on she stands as still as possible, back pressed against the wall as she looks toward the street she had just come from. And do you remember how a week after that he said he was getting married again? And to that woman? Allianne nodded to herself. Of course she remembered. And that's what led her to the house.
It had started out as a surprise visit. A small bouquet of roses was set out on the table in honor of her father's new fiancé. The looks and attitudes presented to her were all cordial, even from her own kin. And, honestly, that was her last straw. When alone with her lone parent and soon to be new mother she berated him, asked him why he would do this, how he could disrespect her mother's memory so, and so soon. When he tried to defend himself she cut him off with a few short sentences. "I saw you that day when you were supposed to be working. But were with her instead when mother was gone." His eyes had gone wide. But to this he had no response. His intended bride, however, flushed a scarlet and stood up to excuse herself. But we couldn't let that happen, could we? As it turned out they couldn't. She had pulled the sword from the wall, never used. It was supposed to be a decoration, add to the room's ambiance. At the last minute, however, her hand shook and the sword nearly dropped. That was the first time Vivianne had tried assuming control since she had brought her back to her own room after the event in the attic. Let go. I promise when this is done, it will all be better. I promise At that point it was the only thing in her life she felt she could trust. With a sense of peace imparted into her through the velvet tones that flooded her mind she slipped away and left Vivianne alone in the room with the only two people she had ever wished to never see again.
No more than ten minutes later the presence in her mind nudged her back to consciousness. Eyes opening, she let out a small scream, her only free hand covering her mouth. Both the people in the room with her were considerably less alive than her. Both were laying face down and no injury was visible, but they both lay in a pool of blood, the two beginning to merge into one before her eyes. What she could see, though, was blurred after that. Her left hand would not let go of the sword, blood still dripping from the blade. This should be mine. And those should be, too. She never deserved them. Involuntarily her left hand reaches out and grabs the roses, holding them so as to cover the handle of the sword. Now go. Without thinking about it her feet burst into action, carrying her quickly out the back door. She could hear Vivianne thanking the stars they had let themselves in and had not been seen. But right now she just wanted to get back to the quaint house she had moved to after her mother's death.
Logic had kicked in, though, convincing the frightened female that walking calmly and normally would be better cover than dashing. If I act like it's normal no one should question the blade.. Right? Though she composed herself well she could not help but be shaken up. Though not of her own will her hand had killed her father. And that was the thought in her wide, dark violet eyes as another set met her own. Good going girl. This will make things easier. Scorn evident or no she found her feet glued to the spot. Maybe it was her wish for someone to tell her it was alright, or maybe it was her wish to talk to someone who didn't know her, who maybe would treat her like a person. But maybe the girl was just scared witless of being found out. No rational person would believe her story of a voice controlling her limbs. If she wasn't experiencing it she wouldn't believe it herself. Her jaw moved, but no words came out, vocal chords held as still as her legs. And through the words she could clearly hear the enraged older woman yelling at her, smothering out thoughts, she felt herself trapped by the inquisitive orbs that were all she could see of the person whose footsteps had brought her to be pinned to this wall like the helpless butterfly she felt like.
