Stirring, Hel rolled over, off of her stomach and onto her back. Gradually transitioning from the realm of dreams and utter darkness, she became aware of an earthen smell permeating the still air.
Her senses sharpened as she regained consciousness. Her legs were entangled by the crisp ivory sheets of a creaky, four-poster bed. Lethargic in her movements, she stretched the sore muscles of her stiff limbs.
Groggy and momentarily dazed by the golden glow seeping through her eyelids, Hel allowed her eyes to crack ajar. The light was blinding to her.
Suddenly stricken by a jolt of panic at her unfamiliar surroundings, she shot into an upright position. Her gaze darted warily about the space, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the floor lamp responsible for illuminating the room. She was below the surface, that much was evident.
The ceiling, walls, and floor were anything but man made. Rather, they appeared to be carved out of the earth, which would account for the musty scent and lack of air circulation. Aside from the bed she occupied, for the most part the room was bare. A simple oak chair, antique, mahogany-stained dresser, and vertical, gilded full-length mirror were all the furnishings it boasted.
Curiosity replaced her apprehension, and urged her to explore further. Hel was never one to resist temptation.
Slipping out of bed, she immediately noticed a navy blue housecoat draped over the back of the nearby chair and snatched it up. However, before putting it on, she strode over to the mirror. She examined her pale arms and legs, brushing her cold fingertips softly along them.
Any remnants of the damage inflicted by her impact had all but vanished. Her severe burns, deep bruising, and raw abrasions had healed, and pink-tinged, regenerated skin had taken their place. The teal paint that once stained her skin had smeared, smudged and faded until hardly a trace remained. Her damp, black hair framed her face in curling, limp tendrils.
She removed the red, pinstriped shirt that wasn't hers and it fell to the hard-packed dirt floor. Soft, feather-light fabric akin to silk caressed her sensitive, tingling flesh as she slipped her arms into the long sleeves of the gown. Hel tied the belt around her waist —securely, but loose enough to still be comfortable— and crossed the room, heading for the ladder that she hoped led to an exit from the underground chamber.
Hooking one bare foot in the second rung, she pushed herself up and gripped the highest she could reach. She climbed the ladder with ease, and found herself at the mouth of the opening within seconds.
Shock crossed Spike's face the instant he caught sight of her emerging from the lower level. She was even paler than he originally thought; a bloodless, snowy white.
Her sunken eyes were the most vivid aspect of her otherwise lifeless appearance. The left was a brilliant chartreuse and the right glacial platinum. The singular pale iris was nearly indistinguishable from the white, clouded as if by the vacant, post-mortem film that accompanies the wide-eyed stare of the dead. Their mystifying depths held a haunted, glassy light, void of hope or any trace emotion.
The hollows of her bloodless cheeks were cast in shade, her lips ashen and jawline distinct against the tendons of her slender neck. The curling tips of her ethereal hair flickered in a nonexistent breeze, tendrils of obsidian.
He was immobilized by her very presence. He did not dare utter so much as a single syllable, let alone form audible words. Instead, Spike studied her a moment longer, in sheer wonder.
Drawn in at her cadaverous waist, the graceful fabric of the dark blue housecoat he left out especially for her flowed straight down to her naked toes, caressing her long, willowy legs. The angular lineation of her collarbone verging on skeletal, and her slender, yet toned arms were narrow like reeds. A filigree of interlacing veins mapped a circulatory network of indigo and jade beneath the spectral pallor of her skin.
Spike dared to place one foot in front of him and inch forward.
As consequence, she took an automatic step backward.
"Why am I here?" She demanded, feeling cornered and vulnerable. Her voice possessed a melodic lilt, a refined quality of nobility, that softened her harsh tone.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He promised, imploring her with his earnest grey-blue eyes. His accent was a little rough around the edges, originating in East-end London by the sounds of it.
She looked sceptical, questioning his motives for bringing her here.
Her guarded eyes swept the vine-bestrewn, stone walls of the unexpectedly spacious chamber. It was oddly domestic, with a certain charm about its high ceiling, wide arches, wooden beams, occasional decorative statue, and rusted wrought-iron partitions sectioning off the front of the crypt from the room in which she now stood.
She was flanked on either side by tombs nearly identical in size and design, lidded by thick slabs of dusty stone. Tucked into the far corner was a small white refrigerator.
The entrance area served as a parlour, with a pair of matching, olive-green armchairs and a small, outdated television. The narrow ledges beneath eyebrow-style windows, with extended legs, were lined with candles of varying sizes.
"How long was I asleep?"
"Almost eighteen hours." He replied.
She nodded.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" He inquired, sounding genuinely concerned.
Now that he mentioned it, Hel was starving. Her abdomen felt painfully cramped, empty and in desperate need of being filled. "I'm fine." She lied. As if on cue, her traitorous stomach rumbled a low growl.
Spike raised his dark eyebrows at her, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his full lips.
BINABASA MO ANG
Gods And Monsters
Fanfiction"Everyone else I've met here is dull as a table lamp. Not that I blame them, of course. It's in their nature. They're just too... Human." "What am I then?" He inquired, his eyes searching hers intently. She smiled. "You're a riddle. I like riddles...
