Chrysalis Ch25: A Perfect Union (pt3) (Patreon)

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With every light out of operation, the old oak door looks more like it was grown from the walls themselves. A massive crowbar, as cold and heavy as the gating outside,  has been wedged through the two looping brass handles. The frame is splintered. The metalwork twisted.
          Someone’s done a very hasty job.
          Neith pulls back as soon as she’s pointed it out, Citrine hissing hungrily by her feet.
          Ian sidles up, grasping the iron jam, and grunts with effort to work it loose.  It isn’t easy, and when it finally breaks free it slides out with a scraping metallic squeel.  The immediate release of pressure causes the door to open slightly, like the room exhaling after holding its breath for hours.
          Neith raises a hand.  “Let me take the lead.”
          Quietly, Ian sets the bar down, feeling the cool air of the opened room. It’s just as dark as the last. His stomach twists.
          He can smell the blood, too.
          “... I… Neith I can…” Astraea starts speaking. It’s the most she’s uttered since the gallery, her skin dim and her face shrouded beneath her black hood. “... I’ve seen bodies before.”
          “And if it’s hers?”
          Astraea’s breath catches, her breath going frosty.  Neith places a hand on her shoulder and whispers gently.  “I’ll take the lead.”
          Ian furrows his brows. “We don’t know what’s in there. You might-”
          “You don’t need to protect anyone.” She says flatly. Somehow, the kindness is far scarier. He lets Neith sidle past him, stepping over broken glass.
          Ian and Astraea follow, Astraea’s wavering glow reflecting back at strange angles. Bits of wood are strewn over the floor. What’s left of the containers are jagged shards. Citrine slithers through, forked tongue licking the air.
          Neith stops over an upturned cabinet, smeared with something sticky and grey.  She runs her finger along it and tastes it.
          “‘Neith what the fuck-” Ian starts.
          “Lolly.” She says, and a chill runs through Ian. “Part of her.  And sharpnel”
          He’s about to reply, but Citrine’s face rises, head bumping against Neith’s chest. Neith wards the others back. Carefully, she follows her serpent through the broken shelving, her face finally revealed by a faint, orange light.
          “There’s scents. Lavender and heather and-” Neith’s cut short. Her eyes grow wide.   Ian and Astraea circle the last cabinet to see what’s stopped her.

          It’s the source of the smell.  Thick and sticky and morose, washing over the floorboards, a spray across posters.  So much of it.  Pooling, it stains cotton socks, suede shoes, discarded cracked glasses, a robe of darkest black. Mattes the head of platinum blonde, dries over pale skin, lingers in the nails of a lacerated hand still reaching for a rifle long knocked aside.
          His mouth hangs open. The gaping hole in his throat. Red seeping through fingers that once desperately clung for life. His muscles are taut, his brows are wide with fright, his eyes once so bold and vibrant with piercing blue are simply gone.  Vacant. Ruined.   A single gauging slash crosses from socket to socket.  
          Whatever happened here, the one thing that’s clear…
          Spencer Harcourt died screaming.

          Ian blinks several times as he stares at the ruins.  A thousand questions run through his head but he already knows the answer.
          “Where is she?” Ian asks, looking around.
          Astraea is unable to answer, her eyes locked on the cadaver.   A mix of horror and confusion on her face. “This isn’t L.  This is….”
          “Where IS she?”  Ian interjects, some emotion he can’t place burning inside him.
          A hand on his shoulder.  He turns to swing, stops at the sight of Neith.
          "She’s here. She couldn’t leave." Neith whispers, making eye contact with Ian.  Holding it until that feeling inside him releases its hold.  Then she turns and approaches the corpse. She lifts the body.   Slips the contract out of the robe.  Stained with blood as it is, she can still read it.  Studies it with a scowl. “Confirms my little theory. Someone else was here. Barred the door and drove off the first chance they-”
          Neith stops, head shooting up. She turns to them and puts a finger to her lips. For a moment, everything is silent.
          Then Ian hears it. A scuffling, off in the corner. Faint and whispering, like wind through a door or leaves scraping concrete.
          Neith draws in a slow breath, moving towards the noise. They follow, stiffening with every creak. It’s at the far end of the hall, where several large cabinets have been toppled together, forming a perch. From there, more’s been dragged: cushions, splinters of wood, metres of netting. All piled high, for-

Shivering, crouched and defensive. One wing shielding her, the other lying limply in front of her, bloodied and useless. Like a shutter with a broken hinge. Tears stream down her eyes, one her usual soft brown, the other…

A yellow ember in a sea of black.

          "L?" Ian calls out instinctually, before touching his lips. He spoke her name. Whatever magics were in place must have died with her Keeper.
          No response. She doesn’t move a muscle.
          “... or… is it…” Astraea steadies herself and calls. “Lyra?”
          The nymph shudders and draws back, retreating further into the shadows, arms wrapped around her sides. Her injured wing dragging.   Her shielding wing brought close.
          She still doesn't answer.
          Astraea frowns, and steps forward. “It’s us. We’re your friends.”
          Silence. Astraea pulls back the hood, speaks louder. "You remember, don’t you? The first time you saw solas na bhflaitheas? I was there, waiting. I didn't hurt you. I spoke softly until you were ready to come out...
          "Tá tú saor in aisce a fhágáil ar an dorchadas. ‘You can leave the darkness.’”
          “Tá tú saor chun dul isteach sa solas. ‘You're free to walk in the light.’”
          “Coinnigh mé. Muinín dom. ‘Take my hand, I won't lead you astray.”
          Above, the wreckage shifts, furniture quivers. The figure moves carefully over the wood, and emerges, huddled, into the light.
          L's dress is torn open, its front stained with dried blood. There are scrapes on her arms, a spray of blood on her leg, a bruise growing on her cheek. Her antennae lift defensively, and her wing-
          Ian’s eyes grow wide. A hole has punched straight through her right wing.
          L whispers to herself, shuddering. She squints away from the light, a breathless stream of words tumbling from her mouth.
          " - had to didn't have a choice he wouldn't stop we had to stop him we h̶́̕a̵͔̔d̶̪̾ ̷̀͝t̶̹̾o̵̐́ ̸̯͑ - "
          One moment her head tilts down, the next she's looking right at them, then down, then back. Over and over, in the time it would take to blink. The reddish haze in her eyes grows and shrinks against the brown, in time with her frantic wingbeats.
          Ian can hear two voices, faint in the stale air, rising against each other. He takes a cautious step forward, “L, he’s gone. He’s never, ever coming back. He can’t hurt you-”
"I know h̷̏͒e̸̊̚ ̵͎̈c̴̔̚a̷̰͝n̶̐̚'̷̹̆t̵͗̇!" L jolts forward, her face pulled back in a feral grimace. "We stopped him! He wouldn't listen a̴̩͋ǹ̶͠d̸̀͠ ̸̾͒w̷̅̀ę̵͗ ̵͉̀h̷̥͑à̶͝d̸͎̈́ to stop him! We tried! We tried everything and he just - wouldn't - l̸͆̆ȋ̴͓s̵̿̑t̷̘͌ē̴̐ǹ̷̲! Why wouldn't he listen!?"
          Behind the others, Neith takes a slow, constricted breath.
          "He wouldn't stop, and w̶͑͝ë̸́̈́ ̷͎͐c̴̐̏o̷̕̕ü̵̦ĺ̸̍d̵̽͘n̶͆͑'̸̦͝t̴͒͝ stop, we s̴̺̕ṱ̸́ī̵͘l̷͑͐l̴͌̿ can't stop - we can't-” She clutches at her head.. "It's so m̷̺͚̈͘̚ͅû̷̗͝c̸͚̻̘͛h̵̹͊͘ it’s too m̷̺͚̈͘̚ͅû̷̗͝c̸͚̻̘͛h̵̹͊͘!”

          Realisation hits both Ian and Astraea. “She’s stuck” she whispers.
          “They are stuck,” Ian corrects. “Both of them. At the same time.” His eyes are distant from horror. He feels the Dryad clutch his arm.
          L sucks in a harsh, whispering breath."We- We c̴͇̽a̶̗̽ň̴͌'̷̫̆t̸̗̕ ̸̙͋s̷͒̄t̵̓̚ò̵̱p̴̗̾!. It's n̴͐̂o̶͑̎t̶̟̋ safe.  It’s never safe.  It’ll never be safe!"
          “It is,” Astraea starts, stepping forward. “It’s over, you can come back, you don’t have to be-”
          Ian’s grip pulls her back. He stares at L, lost in thought. She watches him back, recoiling. “Astraea, she… they don’t trust us. They’re scared we’ll hurt them.”  The Dryad turns to look at him, watching the way his head bends in sorrow.  “Again.”
          Ian’s struggling so hard. To see the woman he knows, locked beneath the blood and fear. But he can see her eyes. One red, one brown. She’s still there. He just needs to find her.
          … no.   Not that.  He needs to help her… find herself.
          “… do you remember…” he starts slowly, thinking “...sitting on that rooftop in the Glade,” Ian forces a sad, nostalgic smile. “Sipping a cup of peppermint tea, playing with the bands you love on your antennae. Rotating them around and around?  I kept teasing you the… the whole Market below us, all its hustle and bustle and wonder. You’ve got a book in your lap, the crystals glimmering like stars in the cavernous sky.
          Astraea watches silently, studying him. Ian continues, even as he voice quivers.
          “You were there once.”
          L's breath picks up, and her shoulders hunch. With her body relaxed, Ian can see more blood. “... the Glade...?" She shivers. “... I…”
          Ian turns to Astraea, offering a smile. “You see? She wants to trust. Wants to listen. But she has to step through it on her own.”
          Astraea watches him speak, eyes wide and sparkling.
          “So let’s… show her the door.  Show both of them the door.   Do you… understand?”
          She glows. Radiant, like a summer day. With a smile, Astraea nods. She pulls away from Ian, swallowing a sob before she can start.
          “... Lyra… once you perched on the threshold of Xylia, that little archway where the Porter can never find you. You would retreat there whenever things became too much at the court.  There in that place… here, in that place, where, there’s no foreign warmth, no alien light. Just a nice and familiar cold, where you can hear the wind.”
          "Ỏ̶̐u̸͚̓r̷͖͆ ̴̍͘p̵̚͠e̶̬̾r̴͉̔c̷̈̑h̶͆̈́." L’s breath hitches. "I̵͚͠ ̶̳͗c̵̎́ö̸̽u̴̮͗l̶̔́d̴̈́̇ ̷͛̐h̷̀́e̵̊̌a̸͛̍r̴̿̉ ̴̃͛t̷̖̾h̴̻͘e̴͉̚ ̵̌̿w̵͐́i̷͌̆n̵͆̄d̵̚͝.̵͊̕."
          “Our perch.” Astraea smiles, trying to keep her own emotions at bay.  “I’ve come out to sit with you, pulling you close. Listening to your songs until we’re nothing but ourselves again. Do you remember?”
          The nymph doesn’t answer, but stares at Astraea intently.
          Ian reaches out his hand. “You’re bored at Cro-Mart, stacking shelves. Remember when it was just us and the moths by the door? Banterin’ and jokin’ all the way to dawn?”
          Astraea reaches out in turn. "You’re running through the branches, finding a new quiet place. You’d show me and we’d hide and laugh and breathe, mocking the reeves that tried to chase us down.”
          “You’re on stage, singing your heart away to a cheering crowd,” Ian smiles. “You close your eyes and let the music move you. You’re in love, because you’re finally being heard.
          "You’re wearing your dress, the one you always loved. The one you got to choose, without anyone else deciding. Simple, black, and better than all the world.”
          L’s head shakes, her hands clasp together. Her fingers intertwine as tightly as they can.
          “You’re excited.”
          “You’re free.”
          “You’re finally spreading your wings.”
          “And becoming who you were meant to be.”

The dryad and the human hold their arms out together. Two pasts. Two worlds. Two voices, joined in a single song, uniting into a beautiful whole.  In the distance of her mind, shrouded in fog, she hears the people she loves tell her the words she needs.

          “It’s time to go home.”

          The red light in L's eye stills… dwindles... and fades to a constellation dancing in a chestnut sky.
          A soft, keening whisper rises from L’s throat. “... I…”
          L’s voice cracks. She stares at the trail of blood leading down from her nest. "... I… I killed him...”
          She starts, but she can’t continue.   Can’t say anything else.  Her voice splinters into sobs. She buries her face in her hands, wailing in the ruins and the blood.
          Through the pain in her ruined wing, she feels strong arms effortlessly lift her up, holding her close. L clings to them, Ian's familiar scent wrapping around her like a blanket. She looks over his shoulder to Neith’s vacant, broken face. She’s scowling at the ground. Spitting at what’s left of-
          L tucks her head in, and her vision grows black.

          When she looks up, they're in the hallway. The dark walls illuminated by Astraea's golden glow, her hands up to guide a tree branch.  It shatters the window. The wood coils around the manor's iron bars, twisting and pulling them apart. Neith's snake is the first through the gap, punching out what's left of the glass.

          L blinks. There's a roaring in her ears, a tingling in her antennae.
          The rain is cool on her skin. She can taste how clear it is. L wants to say something, to ask Ian if they can stand there in the storm for a while, let it wash her until she's clean of all that's happened, but her voice won't work. She can feel him yelling something, but can't make out the words. L can see the wall behind them, flashing blue and white and yellow. Police lights.

          They're running faster now. Her neck prickles, a frosty cold sweeping over her. They must be getting closer to the fence.
          L closes her eyes. She doesn't want to think about it. She just wants to think about the rain. And after a few moments, she's not even thinking about that.

          Just darkness. And silence.

          The taste of peppermint on her tongue,
          and worked stone on her skin.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Howdy y’all! Keira here!

As the newest member of the creative team, I wanted to thank all of you for joining us on our journey through Chrysalis!

We are now officially at the midpoint of L’s story, and what we have decided to call the end of book one.   As such, Chrysalis will be going on hiatus until late 2023 as we draft the rest of the story.

IN THE INTERIM, we will be releasing a TOTALLY NEW PROJECT… a Chrysalis Companion Piece we’ve been hard at work on, which we will be releasing on a weekly basis starting in June:

The Fairy Bride

So keep your antennae out and your eyes peeled for further details on HeartWorks’ newest project! Until then, thanks for your love, support, and enthusiasm…

… and thanks for stopping by!