Today's fanart: this is by @CEO-of-GEO ! This is the scene from Lurking Through Dirt, when Camilo said they wouldn't get hurt. (Spoiler alert: he was wrong) This drawing makes me so happy because Camilo looks so sweet and gentle. I need an IRL Camilo... Thank you, CEO-of-GEO!!
BACK TO THE STORY
You could have sworn he had white hair.
The old man's paper-white head had dulled to a mousey gray. The pale blue veins that had bulged around his eyes had softened into clear skin. Did he change? He hasn't always been like that, has he?
You blinked angrily. You were supposed to be distracting him, but he'd unwittingly outsmarted you at even that.
"I've come to make a deal," you bravely shouted, crossing your arms over your chest. The projected strength of your voice roared throughout the cavern, surprising even you.
"Ah? And what might that be?" The old man chuckled, bemused. With a dismissive, bony-fingered flick, he tethered your forearm with a slick, tar-black metal. Clunk. Your chain slammed into the wall, binding you next to Camilo.
I just need to get him talking. It doesn't matter that I can't move. You battled panic. Because it did matter. How would you use the moonstone now?
"Remember Bruno?" You invented, scowling at the old man with contrived coolness.
"Yes. The prophecy Madrigal," the old man tilted his head, interest scattering his amusement.
"Well, good," you deliberately enunciated, stretching out every syllable like gum. "He saw something. Something really..." you fumbled for a convincing word. "Useful."
"How marvelous," the old man smoothly purred, regarding you cynically. "But you'll have to excuse me for a moment." He drew the Madrigal miracle candle from his cloak, dappling the cavern walls with speckled bursts of its golden light.
It's still burning. You exhaled, glancing around with relief at the faces of the other prisoners. An uneasy chill scuttled down your back. Why were the Madrigals wary of their own candle?
"Pepa," the old man wheezed in a ghostly, malevolent breath. "Your turn." Cold terror leapt into Pepa's green eyes, and Camilo stiffened in horror.
"Wait," Camilo interrupted, a strangled plea. "Do it to me instead."
The old man laughed. It wasn't even a mean laugh.
"We've done enough to you, little friend," he apologetically grinned, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the butterfly-embroidered candle. "My conscious simply would not allow me."
"Oh, then doing it to his own mother is better?" Sebastian muttered, chewing at the cuticles of his nails. When the old man ignored the sarcastic remark, Sebastian crossly mocked, "Your conscious doesn't like that, huh?"
"Sebastian," your father softly warned, like an embarrassed mother appalled by her child's rude manners. Sebastian heatedly narrowed his eyes at your father, jamming his hands into the pockets of his black jacket. Thin, green wisp designs spiraled down the shoulders and arms of his sleeves. Ghosts.
"Dolores," you hissed discreetly, lowering your head to slide the jewelry off your neck. "They caught me, and I still have the moonstone." The precious necklace chinked softly, balled in your hand.
A melodic, lyrical humming seeped into the chamber, twisting and gliding through an eerie song. Baffled, you stared in silence. The old man was singing.
"Wait. Stop it. Come on, just do it to me," Camilo growled, but the last word hitched in a begging, scared whine. You desperately willed him to meet your gaze, but he wasn't looking at you. His bloodshot, intense eyes clung to his mother.
Enchanted by the clear melody, the room hushed in a mesmerized silence. Sparks whizzed around the miracle candle like tiny shooting stars. Brighter and harsher, the miracle candle's light burned until you feared it would combust.
Just as the old man hummed the final, bass note, Dolores exploded into the cavern, breathing heavily. Reacting quickly, your free hand anxiously flung the necklace to her.
"Why can't I hear?" Dolores fiercely demanded, her breathy tone infused with a harshness you'd never heard. Dolores clasped the moonstone charm against the old man's wrist, crippling his metallic gift. She'd stopped the procedure.
Wrenching away, the old man flung out his fist, ramming into Dolores' jaw. She staggered back, red trickling around the corner of her lips. The necklace clattered in a neat, silvery pile like a coiled snake.
"It's moonstone, my dear," the old man declared in an educational, nonchalant tone. His grisly palm scooped up the necklace chain, dangling the crystal in front of his own, watery-pale eyes. "None of our gifts work while touching it."
But that wasn't really Dolores' question. She knows what the moonstone does. Is something wrong with her gift?
But Dolores didn't respond. She cried out in pain, crumpling into the floor. She pressed her fingers into her temples as if trying to rip the skin from her skull. Horrified recognition seized your chest. She had been too late.
Is a Madrigal dying? Is this what happened to Isabela?
Julieta gasped violently, collapsing to her knees. Isabella's sick eyes tore open like an awakened zombie. Camilo hissed in pain, sliding down the wall with his head pushed up against it.
Extending his arms, the old man roared with an unearthly, anguished shriek. His heavy cloak whipped and snapped behind him, battered by an invisible, scorching wind.
Shielding your eyes from coal-hot dust, you strained to glimpse Pepa. A syringe of repulsed dread punctured your heart.
Her eyes and mouth hollowly hung open, glowing a freakish, bright yellow. Radiant, golden tendrils leeched the life from Pepa's body.