CRIMSON ROTH

Chapter 11 - Fire or Fist? Friend or Foe?

Half an hour passes and still Crimson had not found any exit or so to get out of the wretched place. She pounded and pulled on platforms and planks, she banged her gun on the floor several times- nearly waking up her resting friend. At last, Crimson exclaimed, dragging herself on the wall in a leaning kind-of-way towards the floor, "Okay! Fine! I give up. Room, help me. I need to get out of here." Crimson shook her head. "Why the hell am I talking to a room?"

We would love to reply though, said a voice behind her. Crimson jumped- or she sort of, as she was still sitting- and yelped with surprise.

"Who's there?!" Crimson asked, pointing her revolver towards her surroundings as she stood up and walked around the middle of the room.

The girl is worried! a different voice laughed, rather more high-pitched than the other. Scared, though she has the blood of the brave.

Such a pity, another voice moaned sadly.

Pity, pity, pity... the mysterious voices sang in a chorus (with an additional bunch).

"Oh shut up," Crimson told the voices. "Just tell me who or where you are and I'll be done with, thank you very much." Crimson was rather frustrated at their mocking, sing-song words.

We are in the walls, said one.

And we are also within the floors, two added.

The ceiling too! another chimed in.

We would like to offer some help- but you wouldn't offer yourself to want, the first voice said. But we would give it to you anyway- because we care-

But we need proof! exclaimed the high-pitched voice. Is she the real Crimson Roth? Is she a Roth? Is she called Crimson?

Dear me, I've forgotten, the first voice said calmly. Oh well. We'll find that out easily. We always do. But I need to talk this out physically. Handle it all.

A fight, ma'am? a sorrow voice muttered.

I hope not, said the motherly voice. I know she wouldn't. I hope she wouldn't.

Silence.

Then the walls began rippling like water, the obsidian liquified.... and solidified. A body morphed out of it like a statue being carved. First the thin legs and then the torso, followed by the stomach, arms and a long neck. Finally, a head grew with long wavy hair atop of it. The woman was of stone, and the woman smiled.

"Hello Crimson," said the woman in her motherly voice. "I'm sure you're not familiar with our species- whether or not you've learnt us at school or home- but do you know the Nheiter?"

Crimson nodded. "Of course I do. You're a Nheiter, aren't you?" The woman smiled as to reply a "Yes." Crimson continued, "They're like guardian angels are they? To help their masters in need if they really need it." Crimson frowned afterwards. "I never thought you would be real though. A myth, or a legend. Folktale even."

Said the woman, "But you know I am. Now, please cooperate- we haven't have any much time. Hold out your hand where the palm is facing the ceiling- like that.... yes! Wonderful." The woman traced her finger onto the soft lines of Crimson's palm.