Burning Embers

Chapter 8-Well I Never

CHAPTER 8

DELANEY'S POV

I stand alone in the darkest hour of the night. The moon hanging above my head with seemingly invisible eyes taking in my every move. The garden looks as soft as a rose, but in my gut I can feel it churning with possibility, as fierce as a storm. I suck in a breath, the cool air chilling my body making a surprising shiver run through me, a surprise because I don't feel the temperature anymore. It is almost perfect. Above me an owl perches itself on a branch, it's golden eyes reflecting my face, colored cheeks, ratted hair stained with blood, in the dead midst of it's soulless pupils. I gasp slightly and look down to the sound of a crunch.

Samuel...

He stands there with a kind smile, he always seems to have that smile when he looks at me. It is almost like his reassuring way of saying, 'I'm here for you.' I run to him, not knowing or caring of my current situation , and throw my arms around him. His arms embrace me, pressing me closer to him as he presses his face into the crook of my neck, his warm breath fanning my skin. I gulp.

I have never felt this way before. "Samuel.." I whisper his name, as if it's ease to my tongue, to my mind just to have that recognition. He pulls back a bit from me as he looks in my eyes, his hand comes up and brushes across my cheek sending pleasant shivers down my spine. His oceanic blue eyes capturing mine with a swift glance, his other hand holding mine, his thumb gently stroking over my knuckles. Then I take it in, every little piece of him that seems to have me drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I close my eyes, leaning in slightly as if giving permission for him to kiss me. I feel him leaning in, before a muffled grunt escapes his lips and he collapses to his knees. I open my eyes fast, in shock, seeing scarlet red dribble from his lips, staining his teeth as a wound appears in his chest, a blade sticking out from the tip. I fall to my knees as my eyes scan him in fear.

"Delaney." He chokes out with tears brimming in his eyes, making my heart stutter in my chest as he drops down, lifeless in my lap. Tears spill from my own eyes as I cradle him there, blood staining my hands as my cries turn to wales, into screams...

I jolt awake with a start, sitting up quickly as fast breaths catch in my throat, my chest tightening with unease. I'm in a room I do not recognise, the brick walls, thick glass window outlined by the heavy red velvet curtains. The floor plain mahogany wood, the doors an old renaissance revival panel, and the lights are nothing but candlesticks flickering on a nearby nightstand but still is enough to illuminate the room in its flame.

I look around, and peel the blankets from my body setting my currently bare feet on the cool floor, my body concealed in a white nightgown that reaches maybe mid-thigh, definitely nothing that I own or plan to own anytime soon. And some of the thoughts raking my mind are: why am I here? Where are my clothes? And who the hell dressed me? I look like shit!

I hear the door open, and my eyes jump up to see a small, dainty figure: a young girl with a white bonnet on her head as if this were the early settler times. Which, in my personal experience, were a dreadful time indeed. A bit of brown hair tumbles across her eye, her eyes a lovely shade of forest green. Her skin is flawless, and her thin figure is roughly discarded by a very old, tatter and shrewn, dress with a torn apron wrapped around her waist. The dull brown color of her dress making her what would be porcelain skin, looks mute with life.

"Hello miss." Her voice comes out like a feather, soft and steady, "My name is Angelica Moore, and I am his master's mistress." She introduces herself. I look at her for a good couple seconds before returning the favor.