Cutie and the Crazed

~{-|8 |-}~

Still wary of the food in front of him, Clement focused his attention on the dagger, stepping forward to raise it - and just as soon drop its heavy weight back down. He had never felt the responsibility of such a thing, not in his hands unsheathed. War had never touched his quiet village, and he had never properly joined a hunt. Perhaps it was best to let the cold blade lie on the table, peaceful. But at the thought of the enigmatic Xavier who had seemed to worry Chrissy so much, Clement steeled himself and held it once more, fighting off the fear of actually having to use it.

Carrying it still, Clement moved to the hallway, following Chrissy's path outside of the dining hall. There, in the grand parlor, she sat at the piano facing him, messy tendrils of hair framing her still unnerving mask. Chrissy seemed frozen in thought, surrounded by assorted household items and unresponsive to the rest of the world. At last, Clement broke the silence.

"Who is Xavier? And why have you given me this?" he said, gesturing towards his blade.

Chrissy blinked and shifted her focus, seemingly unprepared for another human being to question her.

Clement continued, hoping that she would finally unveil something, anything, that could help him handle the situation. "I've just found out that I'm stuck here with you and someone or something crazy enough to threaten my life, and I'm not sure what I've done to deserve this. I'm grateful that you took me in, but I don't understand how I've suddenly become involved in your matters."

Chrissy surveyed the room around her, as if to search for advice from her inanimate companions. She seemed to find nothing. "Xavier was a friend," she said slowly. "And even I don't always understand the reasons, but finding this house alone is a miracle. Not everyone can." She reconsidered, shaking her head wildly. "I've said too much."

To Clement, however, she had said too little. He stepped forward, impatient. "I still understand nothing. I'm not sure why I'm in danger, I didn't come here purposefully, and today is the first day in years that I haven't been outdoors or known what the weather was like."

"Sunny," she said, with a wistful glance at the small hand mirror that lay on the piano, and for a moment Clement felt sympathy for her, for the years she must have lived in this cage, dreaming of the outside.

His voice softened. "I don't know who you are or how you got here, but if I'm going to get out of here unscathed, I need a little more information than what I have now."

At that, Chrissy stood from her bench, walking towards him until he could see the warmth of her eyes. "There are rules," she whispered. "I can't tell you everything." A chill ran down Clement's spine at the idea of consequences that even Chrissy could be afraid of. A smile crept over Chrissy's face. "What fun would that be, anyways?" And at that, Clement knew he had lost her serious side.

He went for one last push for the truth. "You could be a serial killer, for all I know."

"As could you," Chrissy replied confidently. "You speak as if I know every detail of your life. I haven't even asked, in case you haven't noticed, even though you came to my door in such odd circumstances. I haven't once asked you what brought you here, what you were running from."

Clement stiffened.

"See?" she continued. "We're equals. You know just as much about me as I do about you."

"At least you can see my face," Clement said, retaliating. "I'm not hiding what I look like."

At this, Chrissy withdrew, closing off her emotions just as quickly as she had seemed to open up.

"That's enough for one day." And with that, she left the room, vanishing elsewhere in escape of the one question that had struck too close for comfort.

Clement stood, uncertain of how to proceed, and finally trudged back up the stairs to the room Chrissy had assigned him, faintly aware of a pulsing ache in his head. As he opened the door and the world began to sway, he came to the realization that, in all of his caution, he had neglected to eat or drink anything since entering the house, a questionable decision after spending so much time in the rain. One dizzying step at a time, he made his way towards the corner of the room, remembering Chrissy's instructions from the day before, and pulled the string to ring the bell before finally collapsing on the floor, lacking the strength to drag himself onto the bed.

In the hours following, the world came in and out of focus. Clement caught glimpses of Chrissy, tugging at his shirt and propping him up, face flashing various emotions he didn't have the energy to interpret. Amusement, perhaps, and then frustration. At times, something close to concern.

She seemed to have brought something in a bowl that she pushed to his lips, insistent. And at last, when Clement had the energy to drink the soup himself, Chrissy sighed.

"And Ms. Pitch thinks I'm not nice enough."

Authors Note:  Back with an update for the first time in forever!  Let me know what you guys think :)  -April