Lahatiel's Creation

Her hands were cold for the first time since her return, and she was beginning to worry me. Her soft fingertips rolled over my shoulders, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the vague, purple mask over her face. Her long, flowing hair was tied up behind her head into a large bun, which was quite unlike her. She’d said entering that wicked forest might change her, but I would never think it would be this drastic.

“What’s wrong, sweety?” Her voice was her own, but… something was off. I shrugged her hand off of me and covered my bare chest with my arms. She retracted herself a bit, her mannerisms showing disappointment. I shuddered, the feeling of ice bare on the bottom of my spine. “I’m not going to hurt you. You mean a lot to me…”

"Marielle," I started, but she rose a frigid finger to my lips to quiet me. Her touch was much colder than even a moment before, and my hairs stood on end. “I… what happened to you, out there, in the Errant Edge?”

She gave a short laugh before running her hands along my sides, chilling me further. “I… learned some things…” Mari giggled a bit as she trailed her pointed nails up and down my flesh. “Found some things…”

“L-Like what?” I shuddered again and breathed out in a shaky puff… When did it get this cold in here? Was this her doing? As she crept closer, I could see a smooth scar on her shoulder, and I ran my hand down her back. Scars, many of them. Thick ribbons of torn and forcibly healed flesh and a few deep pockets of flesh just… gone from her. I shuddered as my fingers dipped into the depressions, tracing the wounds. They should have felt fresh, surely, as she’d only left a week ago.

I hadn’t even noticed Marielle pinning my other hand to the wall behind me until I’d stopped studying her. “Mari… are you alright?” I grinned sheepishly as she took her other hand and gripped my hip bone. Everything was cold, her hands, the wall, the bed, the air itself. Heated breaths escaped my mouth, but I noticed none came from behind Marielle’s mask. No puffs, no smoky wisps… Nothing. She wasn’t even breathing. Was she holding her breath this entire time?

She pushed me against the wall, leaning into my neck with her mask. She still hadn’t touched it or made any motion to remove it, but I could feel gentle, cold breaths along my collarbone. I quivered beneath her, her other hand firm on my hip, squeezing me as my face warmed up a bit.

In a quick movement, she took her hand off of my hip and shrugged off my hand, grabbing something at her waist and driving it into my ribcage. The sudden stabbing caught me completely off guard, and I screamed out in pain, instinctively wrapping my slow, clammy hand around her wrist in a vain attempt to remove the implement. Why was she doing this?! I thought she had loved me, but I could feel the comparingly boiling hot liquid seep from my chest as she only shoved the sharp implement deeper.

Screaming loudly, hoping anyone could hear to save me, I realised how futile it was. She’d convinced me my friends weren’t worth the trouble, pried me from my family, told me I was her everything. My blood coated her hand, steam rising from it and the wound. The blade she had in her hands was as cold as winter itself, and I heard the crack of a bone before I closed my eyes.