From behind the drawn silky curtains, he fixes his tie and straightens out the wrinkles of his wool coat. Soundlessly and carefully, he lifts the fabric a fraction of an inch and peers through the thin crevice. He was cautious enough to make sure that he was entirely hidden within the safety of the shadows that spilled from the towering curtains.
His eyes, two dark violet crystals, glitter with an unidentifiable gleam. The audience is excited, all waiting for the exceptionally anticipated show that has never failed to capture the attention of many. A ghost of a smile grazes his soft, red tainted lips. It amazes him, how awestruck and fascinated humans could get when they attain the chance to experience incomprehensible things. Humans are infatuated with mysteries. Perhaps they are in love with having the power of solving and understanding the impossible. But why do they spend so much time doing something like that when they can hardly understand themselves?
The crowd chitters amongst themselves, wildly buzzing with a certain kind of naive enthusiasm. Underneath the pale, dim yellow lights, all of their faces look the same. Glazed eyes and empty expressions. His amethyst irises glimmer as they flicker from row to row, in search of anything that caught his attention. Like usual, he doesn't find a single person who has a distinct spark in their eyes.
"You mean they're always going to be caught under your spell?" He asked naively, the disbelief clearly evident in his dubious expression. "That's impossible. There are thousands of people everyday. They can't all be..." His voice quickly faltered once he heard the single sound of her tongue clicking.
The lady lightly chuckled, before a cat like grin flickered between her blood red lips. Her eyes, two large black pupils flash as she glances up from the thread and needle in her nimble hands. "Yes, yes, my boy. No one can resist magic can they?"
He withdraws his hand from the curtain and it falls back to its position as he turns away from it. He makes his way towards the back of the stage, where the preparations are still taking place. As he does so, he does not bother to acknowledge the mad frenzy of performers who were getting ready for their scene in the show. The sounds of his footsteps are utterly silent. She's mad, but she's always right isn't she, he thinks almost regardfully. But he is not foolish to tell the lady to her face. Surely, she would mistaken his small token of respect as a weakness instead- and besides, the woman has the arrogance of a queen, there was no need to put her on a pedestal.
Barreling towards him is a tiny figure of a girl in pigtails, chaos and glee bouncing in her footsteps. She rams herself into his legs with a small oomph and falls onto her bottom with a light thump. Without a flicker of surprise on his face, he glances down to her and gives her a hand.
The little girl giggles for a moment before taking his hand and bringing herself back onto her pink flat studded feet. He notices that her hands are clammy and sticky. Displeasure flares in his system.
"Charlotte, I expect you to know better than to run around the set without a single ounce of cautiousness. Especially because you are the opening act." He says in an impassive tone as he takes out a piece of silk cloth and wipes his hand. Warily, he regards her giddy expression and dirty, sticky state.
Her once clean, freshly pressed dress, is coated in a rather thick and viscous red substance. The liquid clings onto sections of the white and black fabric, the bottom hem of the white dress completely soaked in red. A shiny drop makes its way towards the floor, leaving a crimson circle as it makes contact.
The little girl watches him curiously, as if waiting for his reaction. It is very much like Charlotte to play around with other people's emotions and discomfort. Of course, he didn't like the girl at first, her and her reckless, childish behavior could only be capable havoc and unnecessary mistakes, he assumed the day she was introduced to Infernum.
"Who is she? And why is she playing around in my room at two in the morning?" He demanded, his patience already wearing thin. He sat up and studied the girl from his bed, eyes narrowing as she fiddled around with the weapons that hung on the walls. The tiny girl was nearly half of his size- and he had stood at a measly five feet and two inches.
The lady saw through his discomfort and annoyance. She patted his head with a gentle hand and said, "Charlotte and Charlie will be a wonderful addition to us, don't worry my boy." He only gave the girl a wary glance before turning back to Madame with a question in mind.
He took note of how her dress was split directly down the middle by two completely different shades, just as her hair was. Wild, curly ink black on the left, stark white on the right, all tied down by two red strands of ribbon. "What do you mean Charlie and Charlotte? She's only one girl- isn't she?" He asked, genuinely confused.
The woman followed his gaze and spoke very quietly. "Charlie is remarkably timid and... scared of most people, so I can safely say that he doesn't usually come out to make friends. Charlotte, however, loves making friends and playing games." She paused, giving him a moment to absorb the information she had given. When he responded with a slow nod, she continued. "Charlie and Charlotte are two very different kids in one body. They are incredibly special, you see?"
"I still don't understand why they're in my room at two in the morning."
She threw her head back and laughed a soft, ominous laugh. Madame hardly ever laughed, but when she did, the sound of her laughter reminded him of hisses belonging to poisonous snakes and purrs of panthers. She lifted her hand to pat his head once more.
He swatted her fingers away from his sleep ridden hair with a scowl etched onto his features. "Get them out of my room. They're even going into my storage area! The only wonderful about Charlie and Charlotte is that they're going to be leaving very, very soon." His words are laced with sourness.
"You are such a poor sport. You haven't even been properly introduced yet. You're both the same age and well, I suppose you both have the same common interests so I don't understand why-"
From across the room, the sharp, distinct sound of a blade unsheathing rang made its way to his ears and pricked his eardrums.
"Ooh, I like this one!" Charlotte piped up, waving a dagger the size of her forearm in the air. "It's so pretty. It's mine now!"
"They're holding my dagger, Madame. And they don't even have any proper training. They're only going to get in my way." He argued, giving the girl another sharp look.
Madame's lips pursed into a thin, dark red line. She studied his rather vexed expression before meeting his angry eyes- two violet irises filled with wickedly sharp edges and two black voids in the center of those crystal caverns- with her own nearly black irises. "My child, you must learn to get along with others. This lone wolf attitude of yours will certainly not take you any where. Your fierce independence is also your finest weakness, little boy."
His small body tensed. His head slightly fell and his fists tightened. She had managed to hit a nerve, intentionally, without a doubt. Madame's bloody lips stretch into a satisfied grin. "Little boys and girls that are weak don't survive. The weak don't get to live." She reminded him before ruffling the mop of unruly dark hair on his head. This time, he did not bother to stop her. His eyes stared blankly ahead of him, his mind filling with unwelcomed flashes of his memories.
A small crack sounded in his ears and he immediately ducked and tumbled out of the bed, as his instincts had told him to do within the split second. He landed on one knee while balancing on the tip of his toe. Gripping in one hand was a thin knife that he had always kept hidden underneath his pillow. He sent Charlotte a murderous look before glancing back at the spot he had rested his head on earlier. The black hilt of her dagger protruded from the spot where his forehead would have been if he had sat there a millisecond longer.
"Oopsies! But hey, I almost killed you!" She giggled rather madly as she made her way towards him. He noticed that Charlotte walked with her right foot first- her right side being the entirely snow white. White hair, white dress, and even a white slipper. While her left side was the complete opposite. Even from first glance, he knew it was clearly no coincidence. "And you could have died! Wouldn't you like to know what dying feels like, hmm?"
Charlotte wanted him to fear her, he concluded from her actions and attitude. And although she may act clueless and innocent, he would no longer be making the mistake of underestimating the harmless little girl she wanted him to believe she was. He strode across his room and stopped once he was directly in front of her. Bending down so that he was her height, he moved so that his mouth was an inch away from her ears. "If you try to kill me again Charlotte, I will kill your Charlie." He whispered.
Her other hand shot out in a blink of an eye, another dagger in her grip raised at an arc, poised at his heart. With ease, he captured her wrist and forced her arm at an angle where the tip of her blade laid a millimeter away from her throat. His violet eyes darkened and bent his head back, taking in all the terror that had clouded in her wide beady eyes. "Unlike you, I've never missed." And a morbid yet rather boyish grin graced his lips as he spoke.
"That's quite enough, chaos parvum meum. You've both had enough fun for today. Let us go rest, shall we?" Madame suggested, her voice neither angry or enthusiastic. It was a command, not a suggestion.
With plenty of haste, he dropped the dagger so that it clattered to the ground with a loud clang. Madame took the little girl's hand and guided her out of the room. Before closing the door behind her, she turned to him and without a trace of emotion, chastised,"Next time, aim for the heart."
"I was cautious! You were in my way." Charlotte pouts, stomping her right foot in what seemed to be absolute frustration. It was a rather annoying habit she had. "You were in my way." Charlotte repeats, unblinking.
He shakes his head narrows his eyes. "Look, I don't have time for this. Just clean yourself up and get another dress on - the show is starting in thirty minutes and we can't have you looking like that can we?"
She heaves a dramatic sigh and puffs out her cheeks before she sticks her tongue out in his direction."Fine, fine, fine. I'll be a pretty little girl and put on a pretty dress." Charlotte agrees, pivoting on her heel.
Before she walks away, she looks over from her shoulder and gives him a poorly constructed pouty face. "But you're no fun anymore."
"We're not little kids anymore. I've grown up, Charlotte. And you should too." He chides, his violet quartz irises darkening as he speaks. "I'm no long interested in playing games and making friends."
"You were never into those things in the first place!"
He sighs. "Go change already. Oh, and not to mention your axe is dripping a hell of a bloody mess on the floor." He tosses his silk handkerchief at her feet and walks away, expressionless.
She will always be the child that she is, he remarks to himself. When will she learn to grow up?
He sets off to find Madame. Navigating his way towards the dark corridors leading to the backstage preparation rooms, his eyes search for a door with a single cursive M on it. It never fails to amaze him how large Infernum was, how impossibly grand it was in comparison to most of the other buildings in this dying city.
Wide, broad obsidian walls stretch on for what seems like miles, while dark pillars of towering black crystals are arranged on both sides of him. The crystal gems poke out at every angle, their sharp points narrowed into fine, blade-like structures. Beneath him is the same black material as the walls were and above him an endless obsidian roof decorated with golden chandeliers and very tiny runes etched in gold. If he remembers correctly, the interior design was exactly identical to the other side of the building, where the hotel lobby and guest rooms were.
Taking a sharp turn to the right corridor, he follows until he reaches the end of it, which ultimately led to another hallway. I can see why she had built herself a labyrinth of a hotel- for the sake of her own well being and protection. But what he couldn't understand was how it takes him nearly half an hour to get to her room yet it takes her half a second to get to he and Charlotte whenever they bickered.
Four golden elevators lay between two walls. He goes to the last one and presses a button. He waits for the familiar ding to resonate against the utter silence and the elevator doors slide open. Without a sound, he steps inside and lays his hand flat against one of the gold walls. The entire space vibrates softly and then goes still. He watches as the gap closes, sealing him inside.
When the doors open, he steps out into a massive and nearly empty room with a marble staircase spiraling down at the center. He steps out and the elevators slide shut. Around him are obsidian walls entirely etched with golden runes and symbols, from the ceiling to the floors. A large throne of gold and black is placed on his far right, the edges of the chair completely carved out of gold. Fine black lines of obsidian curl around the chair in intricate patterns, wrapping and twisting around the air the same way that smoke would. Situated on the seat is the infamous Madame herself, in a dark red velvet dress that pools at her feet. A mask covers half of her face, leaving only her cunning red smile to show.
"Charlotte is making a mess of things again, as usual." He says, leaning against one of the walls closest to her. He rests his head against the cool marble. He studies her warily. "You don't seem surprised."
She raises her chin. "I'm aware of that. I was the one who sent her to do that after all." Madame admits, crossing her legs and leaning forward.
"Of course. But it wouldn't kill to tell her to clean up after her mess would it? She's leaving little puddles of red everywhere- which could very likely result in minor injuries of performers. Which means a bigger mess. Because the I'll have to be the one responsible for finding replacements, and if you didn't know any better, I hate finding replacements because that requires talking to people that aren't worth my time." He explains with a curt nod of his head and a rather bored look written on his features. "Plus talking requires effort and to be honest, I am feeling quite tired of using my vocal chords. Also, this has been the most talking I've done in months."
Madame laughs, a sharp hiss of laughter and gets up from her seat. "My, oh my, I swear you grow more arrogant every day. Not to mention you grow more irritable everyday. I suppose no amount magic can suppress the natural process of teenaged hormones."
Ignoring her previous comment, he moves to another topic. "I've already checked the audience, and like every other day, they are bland and boring. There is no sign of anyone different." He sighs. "Things are starting to get repetitive. Perhaps we should move on to another city- I don't believe we'll have any luck finding in this junk."
"Don't be so hasty, chaos parvum meum. It's only been a month. It's still to early to tell and distinguish anything yet. Be patient, you will find the girl eventually."
"But here? In the city of lost dreams and corrupted hope? It sounds like it would be the last place a descent of an angel would be. In fact, that actually sounds quite ironic." He says without looking up from his leather shoes.
Madame rises from her pedestal and descends gracefully from the small staircase that leads her to where he is standing. The sharp clicks of heels on marble echoes around the room like a gunshots in an empty hallway. Her voice is barely audible, soft yet still heard. "You give angels all too much credit."
"What do you mean?" He asks in the same bored tone, but raises his head.
She taps her fingers against her wrist, as if tapping a nonexistent face of a watch and makes her way towards the elevator doors. "Tsk, tsk. The show is about to begin, my dear, and I'm afraid that there is no time for this ah, discussion. Perhaps some other time, when we are free to speak whatever matters coming to mind."
She walks past him and without turning around, beckons for him to follow with a quick wave of her fingers. It almost similar to the same gesture a queen would make to dismiss her loyal subjects.
He narrows his eyes and grits his teeth. Silently, he follows in pursuit. Once he reaches her elevator, it has slid shut, leaving him behind.
And the witch doesn't even bother waiting for me, he thinks disdainfully. Good, I wouldn't have either. The pad of his thumb hovers over the gold button of the elevator. He warily turns around to find two dark shadows looming over him.
He regards his companions with an expression that was a void of all emotion. "Hello again. Now what was it that you sought me out for?"
Simultaneously, they speak in hushed and scratch voices that could not be understood by any other regular person. When they finish whispering into his ears, the two shadows fall back into the darkness and disappear in a blink of an eye.
A slightly amused grin graces his lips, all with the grace of a fallen angel, as he watches them dissipate into nothingness. So I've finally found you, my beloved.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hello all of you! Thanks so much for all the reads and comments on the last chapters. Hopefully you guys have enjoyed this story and had much fun reading it as I have writing it. If you truly liked it and think that it deserves a chance at the Watty Awards, then all you need to do is add #Inexorable(Wattys2015) and #Wattys2015 in a twitter post, retweet, tweet OR share it on Facebook and any other social media site (Instagram, etc) Other ways you can support the story is to simply share Inexorable with your friends and families and spread the word or leave a comment or a vote (only if you think it deserves it c: ) Thank you for your attention you lovely readers c: That's it for this chapter, until next time!
Sophia