Everyone she loves is dead, and so she vanishes into obscurity, her memories nothing more than a kaleidoscope of nightmares of ghosts and blood.
Emmaline works in a tiny nowhere town near the Fort Berthold Reservation in North Dakota. She passes...
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"I'm what the white man would call a king. Leader and guide to my people, wether I want to be so or not." Bellows muttered, hands trying to wipe away the blood, only smearing it more across the hard planes of his jaw. Tense silence permeated the room. Emmaline watched Bellows, the truth of what he really was spreading like poison through her mind.
"Skin Changer." A bitter smile crept across his lips
"Yes," he replied. Emmaline glanced down to observe her fingers, dread growing in the pit of her stomach.
"And who are you?" Bellows asked, appearance casual, but she saw the threat lurking in the back of his eyes, tearing at the trust they'd both possessed, foolishly probably.
"I'm the last of the Bastain line." The words were like walking through a field of shattered glass.
"The last Soul Seer." She hissed nails drawing tiny wells of blood as they pressed into her palm. Emmaline wondered if she'd been foolish to tell him, but the truth spilled from her lips, like a relieved confession from a dying man.
"You're the lost queen. The one the numina whisper about, the one they long for."
"They lost that right when they abandoned my mother and father to die, and hid like cowards, trying to save their own skin." Images moved rapidly through her mind. She saw her parents sprawled across the floor, blood seeping from their warm flesh, eyes lifeless and dull. Tears burned Emmaline's eyes as she looked up to meet Bellow's gaze, his brown eyes softening around the edges. Squeezing her eyes closed she pushed, almost desperately, her tears away. Eyes still closed she felt large soft hands remove her fingers as they dug further into her palm, one by one until her hand lay open, muscles soft and listless. Opening her eyes she watched silently as Bellows cupped her hand in his larger one, then gently tugged her to her feet.
"Let's get out of here." Casting his eyes down her frame he paused for a long moment observing her arms, where the blooming imprint of a hand seeped through the sheer fabric covering her skin. Nodding she let Bellows pull her fully to her feet, the strength rushing out of her like water spilling from a glass. Emmaline wanted to sleep, sudden exhaustion crashing over her like a title wave. She followed carelessly as Bellows led her from the room. They carefully picked their way through the bodies that littered the floor. As the passed through the large warehouse, Emmaline's gaze re-fixated on the eyeless dead man as they passed by, Bellow's large hand the only thing that kept her moving.
"Don't look anymore Em," He whispered, pausing, free hand reaching up to cup her face, turning her gaze away, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. Nodding Emmaline moved her eyes to the doorway, stomach rolling as they moved closer to the disgusting hall. From that point on they flew through the remainder of the warehouse, desperation licking at their heels. *** Fresh air curled delightfully across Emmalines face, restoring a part of her she'd locked away. The outside was suspiciously empty, and for a moment Emmaline feared they'd fallen prey to another of Eobards, or his schemes, but before her mind could delve into paranoia her eyes caught on two dark trucks parked haphazardly in the near distance, several bodies slumped around them. She didn't bother to care if they were alive or dead—although that too caused her heart to pang—she simply fled alongside Bellows. The sun was dipping low in the sky, and they were surrounded by empty land. A primal part of Emmaline wished desperately to vanish into trees, or behind hills. Something, anything that could provide them cover. North Dakota however, was an empty land, sparse with trees and foliage. Running, dress fanning out behind her she crumpled the delicate fabric in her fists, lifting it up high enough so that she didn't trip over the long trail of silk and gossamer.
"I need to slow down." Emmaline panted, legs faltering from a jog to a halted walk, chest heaving. Night had long since fallen, and with it the cold of winter ached and tore at her flesh. The air was becoming hard to breath, coated with the chill of winter ice. She longed for her threadbare peacoat and functional, if on their last leg of life, shoes. Bellows slowed, breathing in a few harsh breaths of air, only a thin sheen of sweat coating what she could see of his skin. The blood had long since dried and Emmaline wondered how much Bellows wished to scrub the stain from his skin. She tried not to think of their fractured trust, or what their future conversations would entail, but her mind continued to drift in that direction, as dread grew to replace the numb that had enveloped her.
"Alright. Hopefully we'll find a pay phone, or something soon. If we don't take shelter from the cold before long exhaustion will be the least of our worries." Nodding Emmaline continued to trek forward, her fingertips already beginning to chill and freeze. She willed the empty road before them to grace them with a car, or lone house twinkling with light amidst the empty, dark land. None appeared, and so both she and Bellows walked bravely into the night, the cold and their tenuous trust their only companions.
