Previously on Wings of Light:
--- *** ---
"I was thinking it's better to listen to your version instead of keep ignoring me and soiling yourself by switching abruptly your partners like in a New York minute."
"First and foremost, you're incredibly overreacting which aided me to see through your showed true colors, Maddie! I knew so far that... that you wouldn't be capable of breaking my heart with your Drama Queen persona that I have perpetually studied during this time we've been together. Anyway the damage has already being done to me."
--- *** ---
"I didn't mean to bring it up, howsoever, are ya actually Andrea's friend?"
"How do you know that I am a friend of Andrea?"
--- *** ---
"We're doing good. We can't even complain about our lives. We have had our fights and ordeals in our best and our worst as well."
"That's pretty interesting! I bet you have had your worst times when you couldn't even look at each other."
--- *** ---
"It's just great to be at home again!" A low honey-mouthed hum in approval sloppily clumsy expelled from the young woman's nude pink, plump mouth on her extraordinarily gracious mission to aid her mother figure to peel off her casual cashmere peacock blue hugging her torso as its perky hem flares against her pelvis, whereas the former nun felt pristinely smooth, dexterous fingers toying gently the fabric and working on discarding the garment until channelizing to hang it on the coat hanger at last. A vibrantly sunny smile elaborated to buff the former pious nun's naturally roseate, lusciously plump lips, pearly hedonistic appreciating her daughter figure's celestially gilt aid. "I truly appreciate yar help, Maddie!"
"You don't need to thank me whenever I'm just saving your time and woes as well!" Darting a cheerful wink at her mentor, Madeleine's efficiently infectious, lethally venomous smirk broadened abruptly past her pink mouth. The genuine sentiment of discarding even the most light-heavy garment guarding her eminent outfit, nevertheless, it conveyed to Jude its friendly reminder to be enveloped in the convenient ambience's kindheartedly tight, doting hug snaking its invisibly velvet arms cocooning promisingly her petite-frame. The medley of the delightful fragrances of freshly brewed tea and enigmatically breathtaking jasmine wafted into the noses of the female duo lingering their very presences in the corridor and trading with one another gutturally healthy, jovial giggles clicking the roof of their mouths to perform their sardonic cheerfulness at Madeleine's utterance. "I'm not some kind of a cloth hanger, however, I just enjoy helping the loved ones that don't deserve even to waste modicum of their energy and time for something even if they are in no hurry." At the moment, the middle-aged woman managed to kick off her jet-black flats and hopping up in a pair of comfy slippers shoeing her petite, flimsy feet on her mission to march towards the kitchen in the company of her protégé until the prospect of the four-month-old kitten, the six-month-old youngster and the adult platonic duo glimmered vividly past their eyesight, illustrated in its most brightly realistic brushes etching every discrete detail.
"Yar kindness never fails to astonish me!" A heavy, cold-bloodedly dry snort surged through the middle-aged lady's tiny, flexible nostrils whilst propping unhurriedly on the polished doorframe, whereas the Michiganian ventured up inside the kitchen's interior and seating nonchalantly at the kitchen table. The sinisterly obdurate attempts of the Michiganian's rage's severe pulsations into her petite-frame at the prospect of the brunette escorting the youngster and the former pious member of the clergy simmered vigorously into her veins and the categorically invincible course of the cataract of adrenaline that greatly blended its blood's boil. Even if she had once exchanged a guiltless colloquy with the brunette and knew about her famous persona years prior before moving into Hartford with her older brother, besides eavesdropping somewhat facts about Jude's experience with the fame-hungry journalist, yet the juvenile saleswoman couldn't even tote its thunderous weight of serpentine resentment her feelings manipulated its extraordinary performance spotlighting each element leaking pale enough to be distinctive for its witnesses. The darkened glare twinkling up its passive aggression ferociously kindling her hazelish-brown big, roundish gems once they pronged the journalist's physique sharply. Her straight line flattening remarkably her naturally roseate lips, wearing its thin web of bittersweetness and bitterly relentless emotionlessness speaking volumes about her true sentiments simmering its liquid deposited in a monumental cauldron.
"Oh hey, my rare bird and Maddie!" The haphazardness of the British aristocrat's attention shift to the recent new additions to the site's very assemble didn't wear out his velvety graciousness powdering his informally joyous address to them in the lighter shades of the felicity, whereas his fingertips lingered on the hob's ergonomic knob to conciliate its unconditional heat contacting the silver kettle's surface, forming a light-hearted, broad smile skewing the corners of his pink lips. "I bet after plenty of costumers you had earned visits in the flower store made you going bananas."
"Hi Jude and dear young lady!" In the interval, the Michiganian darted her honey brown minerals to the reporter at the friendly, primly honey-mouthed tones puncturing her address and knitting her eyebrows to the bridge of her dainty, delicate nose eerily scornful followed by the reporter's primly light-hearted chortle. "It seems that you are doing fine and you are just pretending that you see red."
"Hi!" The blonde platonic pairing couldn't stifle a blatantly blunt, demurely velvety giggles floating in the kitchen at the epilogue of the British aristocrat's monologue quivering his bottom lip, whilst Madeleine and Jude's twain of honey brown cabochons landed on him even though their sheerly inebriating oblivion to Lana and Edward Ralph's gazes fixated on them once Jude marched towards her baby son, then shifting her utter attention to him. "We are always going bananas. Every single day even if we are trying our best to be as cool as a cucumber in the toughest situations when certain customers are having even an ounce of daredevil audacity to be the ones making us to clean after them." Lulling her tongue to severely pensive lick her upper and lower plump lip shortly before sealing the meager space of proximity that could emulate to not even an inch dividing the figures' muscles even the most blameless contact.
"Mama!"
"My lovely little cherub angel!" Suddenly the former devotional sister of the church slipped her petite, femininely creamy hands to hoist the six-month-old toddler into her promisingly loving scooped embrace and leaning down to nuzzle his button nose in a discretely welcoming Eskimo kiss. The wholeheartedly heartwarming maternal love the middle-aged lady partnered with her baby son platonically and loving him in every single way more than anything in this world could never peter out even any single fragment of her huge, flimsily gilt heart thumping into her ribcage and sunder perpetually. Their obdurately megawatt bond was inseparable in any kind of way. It would be impossible for Edward Ralph's very existence to ride its dynamic roller coaster without the outstandingly emboldening, heartening support and love he obtained from his both parents or either of them in perhaps the worst cases when either of them ceased from the sight's stage. "Aren't ya hungry, are ya?"
"I just waited for you, due to the fact, we ran out of breast milk in the baby bottle!" Meantime, the British compatriot's naturally baby-pinkish, lusciously plump lips quivered desperately at the caution addressed to his wife once his deft fingers channelized to adjust the hob knobs to ebb off the fiercely sweltering heat zapping the kettle's surface, throughout settling it on the countertop and pouring its healthy liquid to coalesce to the rims of the entities at last. Then the Bostonian scooped in a dotingly inviting, tight embrace the youngster and manifesting to bounce him a handful of times, in order to console him and scarcely retiring her marbled, still young-looking complexion from his during the ethereally timeless Eskimo kiss clinching their nose tips smoothly. "Likewise, do you want some tea?" The childishly pure distraction of Judy due to her utter focus darted to their baby son whilst the former religious holy man sensed to play the protagonist who was actually donned up in the third wheel's mantle eclipsing him even from her peripheral gaze once she planted a feather-soft, benign kiss to Edward Ralph's nose. "Rare bird, are you even listening to me?" The unremittingly relentless decibels' mild increase vacantly caught her off guard momentarily as she widened her pools of abysmally luminous cinnamon brown with inebriating affection.
"Urm, you said that we're running out of breast milk?" Velvety low hum sloppily clumsy drizzled her jaw self-consciously escorting docilely its stutter as her northern lilt punctured the enquiry, struggling to format properly umambiguously, whereas Timothy's fingers ushered the kettle to be pooled to its rim with crystal liquid once the kitchen sink faucets were twisted for a couple of seconds and allowing its cataract of jet water splashing against the kitchen sink's surface. Cluster of honey-mouthed, consolingly nonchalant coos and babbles chimed cheerfully, whereas the bare domino of mirth embellished fashionably the middle-aged woman and their baby son's facial attributes. "Is that only which could be deemed quite urgent?" All of a sudden, the former aspiring Monsignor managed to bob his head in solemn agreement while clearing gruffly, his throat with the palm of his colossal, milky hand promptly. The heavenly release of the bitter lump seething his Adam's apple was midst the most awkward moments that have ever been staged non-verbally and the very thought of emitting a blatantly dry, cold-bloodedly shrill cough pitching the site with his own ballad even if it wasn't composed in dozens of vowels and syllables' etched constructions eventually.
"Well, it's not that urgent, but would you like some tea?"
"No! I'm good without it, darling!" Then the former religious woman of the cloth approached the dining table, registering to seat alongside her daughter figure and poise Edward Ralph with one of her leanly strong, satin arm, whereas her other hand's ghostly pale, pixie-like fingers worked on undoing a couple of buttons until it peaked to her lower abdomen to leak her vulnerable milky torso that was solely buckled with a convenient sable lacy bra plastering to guard her sore, naturally plum nipples and soft fat at each vigorous motion such as jogging, ambling and so forth. "However, better Lana and Maddie to not have a chip on each other's shoulder." She shot a swift glance to the hideously antagonistic duo Lana and Madeleine formulated via their facial expressions' brightly baffling contrast. The unspeakably significant difference between Madeleine and Lana's distinctive facial expressions' hidden message behind their beautiful facial attributes' very ripples of their lower eyelids and buffing thousand patterns of emphatic ambiguousness their oral slits couldn't be more apparent. "It genuinely spotlights that sharp accent of their hostility especially Maddie." The haphazardness of the former ambitious Monsignor crooking his fingers to grapple the mugs' handles and roosting them on top of the dining table for himself and the brunette, whilst taking a seat cozily elegant and worrying his front pearly-white teeth to nibble his bottom chapped lip. "Maddie, I know how much ya can't stand her, but give her an ounce of respect since she's a friend of us!"
"I'm not going to give somebody respect for casting a cloud over their friends for their own cheap celebrity story, come rain or shine!"
"Maddie, I gave her the freedom she deserved for better or worse," Rolling categorically sardonic her eyes at the older blonde's reprimand, a remarkable medley of stark disappointment and dim vexation ambiguously each etched vowel and syllable's abraded structure of her monologue, whereas the brunette's calmness yet engrained her youthfully fresh facial features as her nimble, marbled fingers danced around the cup's handle and lugged it up to swig a handful of tiny, timid sips from the hot tea even though its sip faintly singed the fat of her strawberry-coloured tongue. "Even if she is yar worst foe, she hasn't murdered and skinned corpses like you know who. That is something to make you changing your mind somehow about her!"
"You think everybody is saint even when they are aiming to the fame as they are thinking their stories and cheesy shit they offer to gild them as the big deal."
"Don't ever forget she really had to kill somebody who absolutely ruined her-" At the moment, the Bostonian readjusted the youngster into her hug whilst guiding him as he ushered his baby-pinkish, fleshy lips to wrap around her sore plum nipple and subsequently suckling its natural breast milk, utterly oblivious to the potent tension erecting its invisible barriers of the impulse and rage warding the kitchen. A bittersweet pout flattened the juvenile blonde's plumpish lips just seconds before cutting off curtly the former nun.
"I second that the homicide in final cases like self-defense are totally acceptable, however, once she dares to even include my name in her pathetic story," Bleating a ruthlessly blunt slurp during his mission to graze his biological mother's nipple and swig it remaining waterfall of alabaster liquid staining his nude, cherub lips, meantime, the former sleazy jazz nightclub singer gingerly cradled her son's head in her tender, uniquely meaningful paw whilst abrading its stable eye contact with the younger ladies even her husband whose hoary passivity tinged his smoky quartz bijous during the tension's savage escalation. A heavy, jadedly dry snort coursed through the Michiganian's button nose and shooting her piercingly fiery glare at the brunette's innocuous domino unmasking her true face of her epitome's portrayal, whereas curling her petite, creamy hands into balled fists stealthily under the kitchen table and opting to abrade her tone nonchalant even if the medley of sheer resentment, wild wrath and invincible disgust avidly toting every fleece of monologue's progress trance into an afflictively straightforward revelation. "Or eventually yours as if she is selling her own soul to the devil, she will better my eat hat and we shall see the consequences of the whole dilemma just to paint gold your names just because of what her ego growls like a ferociously peckish wolf," Lingering her fashioned hands into balled fists roared its tremble motion heinously frosty aerating through her veins and brilliantly commingling with the livid roast of her heated blood, whereas a grimace buffed her tonic facial features, bearing a semblance of unpropitious plague instilling every healthy palette of glossiness and crispy callowness camouflaging the Michiganian. "Yearning for that raw meat days after letting himself starving and struggling to rise from the ashes." The click of her berry-coloured tongue hopelessly strong-willed, swarm of medley of pinched widened moons were fixated on her that truly epitomized their arrant emotionlessness and eerie bafflement glinting against their indiscernible jet-black pupils.
Even though Lana and Timothy couldn't put a finger on the baleful circumstance about the juvenile blonde scarcely banishing her sorely painful monologue about the reporter erupting its venomously serpentine timbre accompanying the nausea undulating in the pit of her stomach at the vista of beholding even her façade, Madeleine didn't have any tolerance for anybody that dared to endanger diabolically hazardous the Howards' numbering herself just for a fame-hungry reporter intractably launching her top priorities on the fame and eavesdropping her name being entwined in a wide circle of people one day once visiting any public places. Unlike Timothy and Lana's lethal shocks paralyzing their palish façades, the former devotional holy woman's stunning facial attributes plummeted down its childlike radiance and versatile glee stain sticky clinging its domino of her recent humor interpreting her inescapable reaction to her daughter figure's words that left her fleshy pink lips like a musical note at every drum of the fingertips against the slim piano keys. At least, what it was better for the six-month-old toddler was that he didn't have any clue in the conflictingly fiery ruckus between the journalist and the juvenile saleswoman.
"I'm purely shocked you are even giving her attention just to sell your names for her forthcoming book." The unexplainable vulnerability the Howards sensed just contemplating through the thin veil of efficiently infectious ire barking through Madeleine's very bones and muscles, whereas she managed to lift up her rear from the chair and approaching the refrigerator to grab a bottle of Jim Beam whiskey, afterwards retrieving a scotch glass from the upper kitchen cabinet and pouring herself from the sinfully indulgent brown liquor merging to the rim of the miniature entity. "Are you losing your minds over a journalist that doesn't know even what the hell she is bringing to the audience as authentic information, aren't you? I cannot trust her at all."
"L-Look what, Maddie!" The suddenness of the British aristocrat's unholy nonchalance to attempt to engulf Madeleine's demonically stubborn nature to refine her very accent into his British lilt's stammer caught her off guard once she hooked her fingers circa the scotch glass to heave its light-heavy entity and slugging a few wee sips from the brown liquor greasing its virulently palatable past her rosy-coloured, cherub mouth. A composed grimace crinkled the British aristocrat's lower eyelids, light-heavy wrinkles and perky dimples inscribing its swan, sufficiently deep curves sketching his facial structure. "Lana can help us! Thanks to her, we can do one of the essential things that could change every Vermontian's life. It's not that I'm finely agreeing with her story, howsoever, you have to see some light beneath everything that rises up the bile in your throat."
"The cruelest thing of all is a false hope!" Shortly after putting the bottle of Jim Beam whiskey back in the refrigerator and slamming shut the door, whilst her virginally dainty fingers braced the miniature entity and propping her elbow with her other free hand, thus Madeleine reclined dilatorily against the counter and her hazelish-brown moons glazed the tetrad until she sensed the delightfully sleek daub of Stephen's head against her bony ankle and his mouth crafting cluster of gracefully silky meows. What it initially flinched her was the eventual cat's non-verbal contact with her ankle and ushering her cinnamon brown gemstones to land on the charcoal gray kitten bestowing her with myriad of baleful affection through his head rubs. The abruptness of paralysis twisted across her crispy facial structure didn't fail to dumbfound her meager formed audience seating at the kitchen table. "Aww, what a tiny fluffy ball are you, aren't you?" Meanwhile, the young saleswoman crouched down shortly after dumping her glass on the countertop to channelize her elvish hand to stroke gently the four-month-kitten who lulled his midget strawberry-coloured tongue licking greedily his greasy-stained muzzle whilst his dyad of feline green gemstones glazed up the Michiganian during his arduously effortless attempts to appease each ounce, whose sinisterly severe pulsation throbbing into her frail skeleton.
"Lana," The abruptness of the former devotional man of the cloth's bleated playful bark at the reporter to avert her crude accent from the Michiganian's stance anomaly from the berserk into passive unmasking her baneful crossness, whereas her coffee brown optics wafted to Timothy's altruistically sympathy enciphered his handsome face. The megawatt amplification of Lana's heart pulses thudding into her chests didn't fail to dally sluggishly underneath her bony armor syncing its hammers into her petite, vulnerable ears. "Forgive Maddie! She isn't very fond of certain strangers especially journalists and somebody having associations with the popularity."
"I can see that!"
--- *** ---
--- A Week Later ---
--- 18th of April, 1966 ---
A week later after the bleakly bland bicker of Madeleine towards Lana even when her stout intuition and brilliant instincts urged the young lady about her foe's actual intentions, a couple of events bled into the week episode that could be interpreted in manifold versions the behind-the-scenes and crudely superficial events structuring every prominent segment. Midst the structure of the events' segments were not only the daily routine in the flower store and being run by Jude, Andrea, Cassandra and Madeleine, but also Lana's regular visits in the Howards' property that actually happened per a few days at least, a big family dinner night that consisted its members besides the Howards the Michiganian with her older brother, the former prostitute along with her nuclear family, Frank and Nikita exchanging a couple of hours in babbling outspokenly shenanigans, eating and drinking.
The time was ethereally timeless at its sluggish pace of the monotonous hum of the car engine's chime depending on the moments that could be gradually interpreted in an extreme torment that could take even a decade to indicate its wee progress. There were times or rather it s sketched line that formatted the borderline of the moderate pace's progression and the genuine notion of trance into the future. Sometimes the tempo's advancement contrived its versatile swiftness transgression into the unnerving stride of each elapsing second that enshroud each ounce of the past gloomily. It resembled a brassly argent fog lofting significantly into the thin air and obscuring every living being's vision on their mission to their dream destinations while utterly controlling on their own vehicles.
The wee hours of the mid-April afternoon bled into the medley of copper, topaz and sapphire's palette tinging the spring panorama, conducting the assemble of the roundish aureate sun's mount of the cloudless sky. The toothsome honeyed birdsongs vehemently bonging the very panorama entangling the stitches of every veritably distinctive detail of Hartford's every fragment construction.
Oddly, the Michiganian had a day-off from the flower store and leaving Cassandra along with Jude and Andrea having utter control over everything ongoing behind the scenes of the miniature facility. Sometimes either of the cardinal saleswomen in the flower store can have even a day-off from their workplace, due to opulent of reasons even if according to the austere rules they can exert their brief break in the range of a week and twice a year, in spite of depending on their stringent responsibility and raw accomplishment of their very duties during their shifts as well. Even when the Michiganian struggled to halt her overwhelmedness to prevail her chance to construct her own outstandingly interesting day that wasn't depositing solely hard-work and exceedingly immense stress in her communication with the customers and guiding them to certain flowers and plants that were initially fogging with disorientation, yet she was herself and another one of a kind individual that desired for modicum of freedom to develop perpetually her private and social life behind the scenes after all.
Notwithstanding the circumstances, the juvenile lady decided to sign to attend yoga classes nearby her home as the classes were twice a week and she could bring a bag of her yoga equipment such as ordinarily practical emerald green three-quarter trousers coupled with a cotton jet-black training bra. In a couple of minutes preparation in the women's locker room to get ready for her first yoga class, besides tying her halo ringlet of richly luster gilt locks into a high ponytail towering the back of her skull firmly as a fistful of unruly locks curtained exquisitely her oval profile.
The genuine concept of attending yoga classes twice a week couldn't be more a meaningful relaxation for the flower store saleswoman after spending several hours almost daily with her mother figure paired with her friends even when there were a couple of urgently mercurial clients that could be the bona fide exemplar of the sanguinary stress and vast ire rippling the very muscles of the owners that tried their best to guide them and communicate with them. Sometimes the vast grizzly stress and the brass exasperation could no longer be endured by Jude's daughter figure that had decided to practice some yoga.
After venturing up inside the main room where a sea of nobodies were gathered, gracefully avid anticipating for the instructor's arrival in the site, the very presence of the blonde oddly caught its dyads of bijous gimleting her petite-frame who was looming its foreign exemplar that mesmerized the others that didn't appear to be novices in the sphere of the relaxing sport. Even if it was her first time to practice yoga class with the nobodies that were passionate enthusiasts about the peculiar sport, yet the ominously vitriolic marsh inundated the pit of her stomach and infectiously breaking her facial expression into ultimately passive. Struggling to abrade an eerie flat line to decorate her palish, young-looking profile, the Michiganian manifested to lodging on top of the solely available teal yoga mat.
The brine of nobodies whose age range alternated between young children, adolescents, young adults, middle-aged and seniors outnumbering the Michiganian whose destination to the desolated teal yoga mat didn't take her than a quarter a minute to conquer her own territory like an unimaginably invincible, hard-hearted gladiator leading its troop to the tractable zone. Every yoga mat had its own trainee bedaubing their fleshy figures against the soft fabric of the rug. Heaving a cold-bloodedly jaded, relentless sigh seething Madeleine's feminine Adam apple, she examined in a scrutiny the entire site that was sufficiently capacious to stock fifteen people per a class as her caramel brown abyss studiously scanned every salient even discrete detail, in spite of a familiar face whose wheelchair was dumped with a few inches parting her petite-frame folding her legs.
The notorious serial killer's daughter. Or rather Jekyll and Hyde lite Martha Gray.
Opulence of questions whirled furiously in the saleswoman's blizzard of thoughts which answers were unavoidable foggy at the time. How the medical student could be capable of practicing yoga even when she had physical disabilities just a few weeks after the bloodthirstily unimaginable window accident? Was it some kind of a coincidence their reunion to be situated somewhere else except the salon that metamorphosed into a training battlefield of stringent diligence and bare discipline greatly alloying together? What are the real motives behind attending yoga classes?
The bitter flavor of the notorious serial killer's daughter name singed Madeleine's tongue even once the very presence of Martha divvying a half a meter ideally adequate distance could remorselessly plunging the younger woman's attention to one of her foes that was far cry from physically tough to resist the farther damages of her attackers. Even if Madeleine's passive aggression barrenly fringed her femininely dainty facial attributes painfully to mirror her utter nonchalance masking her facial expression unlike the untouchable fuel of dream scenarios she was recently descending in the preternatural realm of the brashly inebriating reverie, besides replenishing every patchy gap with an ease. Perhaps until the reality and somebody was the crucial antagonist to snap her out of her preternatural realm of the reverie and the small world of her own divinely unnatural fantasies even scarcely possible scenarios to gear and articulate their own language out of the barriers.
Although the harsh affliction the brunette has rode its dynamic roller coaster ascending to her impending goals and descending forth to her woeful tribulations, yet the far cry from foreign heartwarmingly heartache sentiment glittered luminously in the blonde's chest to sear her frail heart at the rueful landscape of the medical student being midst the sole disabled disciples. Even if the blonde wasn't midst the spiritual acolytes of the brassly vicious vices consuming her in a seamless remorse of her baneful mercilessness towards her foes and traitors that have imperiled not only her life, but also the Howards who were the best of her friends in every single way, sometimes she could no longer manipulate its stoic transgression trancing through her veins to swelteringly scorch its scarlet liquid's antsily rich brook.
"Good day to you all!" The suddenness of the sole door in the whole saloon's roomy space swung widely opened at the panorama of the instructor's petite-frame jogging agreeably to her yoga mat in a long stride, attempting to orbiting swiftly a couple of disciple caught off guard the enormous mass of nobodies reckoning Madeleine and Martha. The graciously mellifluous New Jersey lilt deflated the severe torrent of infective discomfort stewing in the pits of the clearly apparent freshers participating in the crowd of nobodies that were solemnly looking forward to the yoga classes to alter their daily routine and drastically soothe their nerves. "It's fantastic to see you again back on the ball after the last time when practiced our important lessons for novices which will be endured like a straight month at least." Her pools of profoundly warm lapis lazuli scanned each nobody reckoning the new face of her class's addition until they landed on the juvenile saleswoman whose cinnamon brown depths kindled once the medical student's chocolate brown, ablaze with fervent emotionlessness and glassiness fending her eyeballs' structure and its lukewarmly translucent glint of the ordeals sinisterly crinkling its dark circles under her eyelids, incarnating the crudely true nature of her insomnia, gruesome melancholia and unquestionable aloofness shortly after losing her beloved uncle.
Rueful sentiments ruffled Martha's blizzard of thoughts to behold one of her foes or not exactly a rival joining a yoga class and the least expecting somebody who isn't getting along with her hair-risingly notorious family. Little did Martha know if she could get along with the blonde even though their unspeakable rivalry when it comes up to the grisly past when the brunette was still teaming with her father against all odds, besides fabricating the false story behind the former priest's sexual assault that was far cry from real emulation to the absolute reality. Even though the brunette covet to repair every kind of a patchy blunder from the past up to nowadays where she could team against her father and ultimately fathoming the genuine notion of his atrocities that enveloped not only Cayden in its sable veil of the demise that roared fiercely like a frantically starving hound the relentlessly pliable and defenseless, but also chancily jeopardizing her reputation and name eminently because of the nefariously bloodthirsty serial killer.
What the medical student covet was redeeming herself and rewind back in the ethereally abysmal past to riot against anything Cayden could possibly smack its timelessly painful slap of the Grays' ebony reputation that could be interpreted as nothing else than an intense disgrace! Furthermore, the young woman reciprocate to the inner voices' trenchant echoes whirling and twirling its irate tornado painting in vermilion its very inkling of the invisible demons and angels bestowing her the best advice or otherwise the worst. The majority of the rivalries her father constituted were also articulating every unknown personage's dyad of gems scanning her in a scrutiny as if she was the big-shot of their hurricane of thoughts and trashing them in an unholy eternal void to ponder deeply about her, besides judgmentally interpreting her body language, persona and physical looks.
At least, surprising or not, the yoga instructor didn't seem to utterly recognize the fresher or rather acknowledging what she would be capable of at least. Perhaps as much as the medical undergraduate wasn't the core of the spicy din pitching the very walls of the site, Diana Clara wasn't even prepared to award the nefarious serial killer's daughter with an austere permanent ban to have an access to her classes.
Diana Clara was actually a middle-aged woman in her late thirties with pleasant bronze tan tone highlighting her anatomy and graciously feminine facial attributes. First and foremost, the ginger stood 5'6 solely accompanying her average body structure puncturing its sharp accent of her authentically mesmerizing muscles and curves contoured by her lime green tank top and her pitch-black leggings. Her lion mane of satin crispy ginger tresses were tied in a high ponytail and coiffing flawlessly each stray lock breezily faint lurching to curtain her unblemished, round façade. Her cordately nude, brim lips accommodated obstinately its recurring contagious grin etching at every angle and curve paired with her facial expressions' canvas of her elegantly thin eyebrows formulating the sheer nature of her reactions' manipulated reflection. Last but not least, Diana Clara's birth town is Ocean, New Jersey and spending partly her adolescence until defecting with her older brother to Hartford just shortly before her eighteen birthday eventually. Her full name was Diana Clara Sykes.
"Furthermore, we are having a new fantastic addition to our group which is always a brilliantly unique opportunity to expand our family!" Meantime, the redhead's mellifluously squeaky undertones accented remarkably her opening monologue, whereas the enormous horde of people honed their ears until the disabled brunette and the Michiganian shifted their ultimate attentions to the middle-aged lady. Opulence of childlike inquisitive chasms darted to the middle-aged woman who seated on her separate yoga mat, gesticulating with her spidery bronze fingers articulating its smooth dance of vowels and syllables' fluent construction, eager for the forthcoming torrent of their tasks that will fulfill their very presences' stay in the room. The inescapable reek of human flesh, sweat and steamed feet wafted into each one of a kind's tender nose and effortlessly zymotic dredging the thin air's thickly translucent layer. "Let me introduce that young lady on the teal mat to you!" Ushering the juvenile saleswoman emboldeningly amicable shortly after maneuvering to gesticulate with her petite, creamy hand Madeleine to participate by lifting off her rear from the entity and jogging ordinarily to the ginger whose adequate maintenance was no more than a few inches at least, consequently the younger lady couldn't brashly neglect the sheer opportunity to introduce herself to the beehive of strangers that girdled her. "It's so good to see you, miss! What is your name?" The pure detection of the Michiganian's real age visually without shadow of a doubt didn't actually dumbfound anybody at all even though Martha's noxious apprehension paralyzed her femininely delicate, majestic facial features that could be properly scoured from any perspective's eyesight pronging the discreet details that were far cry from unreadable.
"Hello everybody! It's just wonderful to be part of that kind and majestic family! I'm actually Madeleine Skyler Wilson." Managing to clear gruffly her throat whilst muffling its guttural dryness feather-softly fanning the tender flesh of her palm, throughout Martha was all ears to her father's enemy short introduction as she knitted her dark, femininely thin eyebrows to the bridge of her dainty nose at the illustration of the ginger and the blonde's brief bond that was rather kindheartedly professional lastly. "I have never practiced yoga ever in my life, howsoever, it will be just more than splendid to be part of that community and practicing that pretty relaxing sport for our very bodies, souls and minds." At the moment, the New Jerseyan channelized her elvish hand to paw gingerly the young woman's dainty shoulder and then kneading her shoulder blade as her fingertips and digits timidly brushed the fabric of her training bar. Yet or not, on one hand the juvenile lady sensed its genuine sentiment of the foreign realm she was initially struggling to accommodate, in spite of cusping its girlish demureness knotting its tangles of the undertones of her revelation foaming her rosy-coloured, plump oral slit greatly merging with the unorthodoxy velvet optimism draping the shades of her calmness and radiance to not cease in the thin air like a dim fog in the wee hours of the morning. "Moreover, I'm coming from Michigan, although I came there almost three years ago with my older brother and we are living one of our best and most marvelous years in our lives!" At the thought of her rawly stringent Catholic parents in her birth town, dim nauseous spate inundated hypodermically her abdomen and reproducing its surreptitious saltation of uneasiness taunting her well-sculptured, healthily plump cheeks to darken its shades of paleness in the generous layer of crimson heating its sensitive facial skin. Notwithstanding the circumstances, she refrained to interpret the real motives behind her permanent emigration nowhere else than in Hartford, due to the fact that sometimes she could obtain galore of luxurious versions the strangers have eavesdropped her ballad without even mentioning her parents' very names and the history beyond her adolescence and childhood.
"It's sincerely great to hear that you are coming from somewhere else than to be a native Vermontian, dear young lady! Just for the record that you are already welcome in our big and vastly special family!" Ushering to swat faintly benevolent the fresher's shoulder blade that emulated to a refreshingly warm welcome and friendly introduction just seconds before resuming the class, therefore the Michiganian's fragile heart glowed virulently luminous and tangoing its playfully fervid heart whacks in her ribcage. "Just a question before the end of our wee interview that is watchable by fifteen people at least!" The second nature the yoga instructor has mustered to diligently follow for years of practice and hundreds of impassioned fans of the majestically intriguing sport have unremittingly steady forming her persona with its own bright ideals, motives and purposes eventually. Although the New Jerseyan's excessive open-mindedness spectacularly mingling with her unblemished hospitability, the Michiganian's mixed feelings about the kindness the community she participated and wee inkling of stark prejudices seethed her sea of thoughts unnervingly as she has expected the middle-aged woman's open-mindedness to not exuberantly ineluctable rocket at all. Yet the blonde possessed an ounce of demanding respect for the trainer and it couldn't cease in the limbo unless the circumstances tangoed.
"There was something that quite intrigued me to be jotted down in the list of participants that are solemnly looking forward to practice yoga, besides I'm actually a fan of the healthy lifestyle and to persevere," Scanning warily sedulous the horde of strangers for a split second and then her smoky quartz cabochons speared continuously her sport mentor, a heavy sigh efficiently ejected from her tiny, amenable nostrils and inhaling gently its oxygen through relaxing deep breaths escorting the worry of her front pearly-white teeth grinding its sharp edges to nibble her bottom brim lip. The pause stung significantly awe-inspiring the saloon to halt each kind of sweetly melodious chats and susurrations that were sufficiently audible to keep the ginger and juvenile blonde's wits about the apathetic attitude to the new addition. "The vast stress that I am encountering even as a young person that is part of our world and society with my own responsibilities and duties. Let's not forget that it is not actually a child's play to be living with your brother, who seems to be mildly irresponsible and oblivious to his own duties sometimes, you know!"
"Money talks, bullshit walks, miss!" The haphazardness of the curt scoff snapping the redhead and the juvenile saleswoman drifted their attention to the senior gentleman, whose raspy bicker tingled unhallowed anthems into their ears and obtaining galore of inquisitive grimaces fixated on him for interrupting crudely Madeleine without even bestowing her modicum of respect even if she was much younger than him. Harshly low grunts almost died on the nobodies' tongue tips, yet coherently sheepish and formidable, due to their medley of simmering emotions and feelings at the same time. It could be interpreted as a medley of frosty frustration, mild hostility and baneful nonplus as their dominos immaculately clandestine buried their temper to not haul them too far at all. "Dear young lady, you are overreacting so much that you don't have even an idea what are you even talking about!" Shrugging instinctively his elderly gawky shoulders at the facial expressions twiddled past the young lady and the New Jerseyan's healthily parchment until they unremittingly morbid drained each adequate hue of their natural skin tone tinting their anatomies shortly after eavesdropping the low-spiritedly antagonistic ode of the other protégés of Diana Clara. A bittersweet purse wedged his naturally pale-pinkish, chapped oral slit to alter his stance to antagonistic to Madeleine and manifesting his frustration of her bland oration even if it was also leaning to a brief interview. "For crying out loud! What are you even looking at me, folks? This young lady is solely talking and sounding as if she complains about the life she is looking forward to its adversities!"
"Excuse me, Mister Goldwind!" Suddenly the redhead caught off guard the senior gentleman without even daring to fold her arms to indicate her dim amusement fantastically mingling with her authentic vexation at his sharp comment apt to arrow the novice's declaim. "Nobody has asked you to have your say and having even the audacity to interrupt that dear young lady, because if you have an ounce of decency," In the meanwhile, Diana Clara registered to quirk quizzically an eyebrow at the frustrating stupidity and brashness of one of her protégés without paying no heed to the sharp comment. "It won't fly to have future problems with anybody who thinks otherwise than you."
"I didn't truly mean that, Mrs. Sykes!" Managing a humble bob of his head in fair agreement, throughout the older man readjusted his seating posture on the floor momentarily.
"Don't be sorry! Likewise, Miss Wilson you can get back to your seat and I am cordially grateful for your short introduction!" Then Madeleine dashed back to her seat as the yoga instructor and she maneuvered to roost their rears on the yoga mats. A childlike smug grin decorated Madeleine's unblemished alabaster, young-looking face at the heartwarming words of the New Jerseyan, and folding her legs by shooting a perky glance at the brunette for last time who caught eventually a glimpse of her honey brown abysses followed by a benevolently weak smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Let's get back to our classes. Just take a deep breath!" Throughout the cluster of indomitably unnerving tick of the elapsing seconds, the yoga tutor sharply exhaled, and the whole group unquestionably dutiful followed her instructor. "Good! Now let's start with the first pose you are presumed to do as easy as pie! Just cross your shins, widen your knees," During the modestly dour instruction shortly after the persistent clash of vowels and syllables to formulate its utterance grinding restlessly on the ginger's tongue fat, thereafter she folded her shin, and widened her round knees she has fluently practiced for years, even though her struggles as a beginner in the beginning of her adulthood. Each motion twitching the very muscles of the protégés manifested to not miss any single eminent structure of the pose's basics. "Then just slip each foot beneath the opposite knee as you bend your knees and fold the legs in toward your torso."
--- *** ---
--- A Few Hours Later ---
Once the yoga class bled into the aureate apogee and the protégés modestly pursuing every prominent step to compose their very bodies, souls and minds in the ultimate harmony and heavenly peace undulate their tense muscles like the monumental tempest of waves colliding with the seamlessly gilt sand blanket, thus in an hour the disciples retreated back to the locker rooms to get ready such as taking quick lukewarm showers, take off their practical attires and hop up in more comfy, and last, but not least, preparing their bags or rucksacks with the whole baggage. The female locker room sunk in the ineluctably abysmal briny of chit-chats and goofy whispers as if it bear a semblance of book club, where the gather of horde of nobodies having a magnificently entertaining, enticing day without their families and spending a handful of hours with their best of friends in drinking coffee or tea, besides debating one another fierily about their favorite Literature.
Strangely or not, the brunette's postpone of her very presence to peter out of the site unmistaken glutted the blonde with blizzard of questions, which answers were far cry from tangible. Little did the blonde know the real motives beyond Martha's hindrance to flee the locker room in a jiff. Even after taking a freshly lukewarm shower to nurture its delicate epidermis of her overall leanly fleshy arms and legs paired with her most intimate parts to scrub with an ease effortlessly every ounce of bountiful perspiration, building its pungently sweltering heat on her armpits and face, yet she was embraced by Martha's somber panorama twinkling past her eyesight.
Despite the circumstances and the feud the both young women built, thanks to the opposing factions and Madeleine sticking to team with the Howards and Frank, whereas the brunette traded her indubitably potent bond with her deceased uncle and biological father, there was still a hope to alter the scales' weights and the older lady to redeem herself. The celestially long path to hallowed atonement was far cry from painlessly facile as well. The Howards reckoning the juvenile saleswoman didn't even have any trust in anybody that suddenly switches their factions, and, of course, hurling effortlessly to the opposite side that was once their bloodthirstily unavoidable, vastly detrimental foe with its malicious intentions to riot the ideals, dreams and purposes that were in the boosterish favor of Cayden.
In each case of powerfully inebriating atonement, the trust was among the most resiliently challenging keys that unlocked galore of opportunities for the individuals and their chances to prove themselves as either better, or otherwise worse. The outstandingly one of a kind key that could be a pretty enigmatic dilemma, won with either stark honesty, or on the contrary with perniciously remorseless manipulations and sugarcoated lies. Every inauspiciously tarnished soul had two completely different alternatives to tweak either for better or worse, following the path of the light or otherwise the ethereally eternal darkness, confining them like a wretched child with its own vices that daredevil attempted to refine starkly the unsacred name to impress the others with its own extraordinary luster, even if it wasn't possible.
The vindictively quiet, muffled snivels of the medical student, whose tear-rimmed pools of glassy chocolate brown dispassionately jaded impaled her bare marbled hands as her tear-stained well-sculptured, chubby cheeks refused to zap the beehive of crystal beads draping its profusion unremittingly. Her rear stilled on the wheelchair's seat, and her inexorable melancholia malignantly emboldening her delay to meandering beneath the very walls of the locker room without shadow of a doubt. It haunted her not just for a few days the lethally unimaginable suicide of her uncle just before fulfilling their ultimate liberty from the doctors and nurses' formidable care, besides spending unearthly hours in absorbing their vortex of thoughts grisly in the life outside the hospital's grandiose façade. It was more than a few days the unearthly hair-rising mull of witnessing the true epitome of the demise with her brown gems.
Once each mortal's fragile heart no longer vehemently pounded in their chest and syncing its blood's divinely free spout coursing through the person's veins, besides finding variety of substitutes to end their lives even descending to strangle themselves mindlessly, subsequently their very souls dwelled out of their former homes thoughtlessly swift and roaming the world's corners nervously. Each mortal can't be any longer resuscitated to repair certain scale of mistakes they have crafted through their dynamic roller coaster ride and rewind back in the past for the inkling of their subconscious oblivion dueling their hardships, shrouded with fantastically vast will, in order to engrain its cardinally long road to success.
On the pinewood bench dawdled to handle its extra weight of the medical student's compact bag that could manipulate to persevere to be a temporal home to a couple of items, reckoning neatly folded garments as an inexorable addition. Yet the brunette was unwholesomely filmy unmindful to her recent abutting exemplars, or rather a pseudo-audience that wasn't impassionedly riveted in her desperate muffled snivels accompanying the mere background noises of the fleet symphony of the zips' manipulation, the inward moans and groans, and, last, but not least, the slams of the oak wood door once any kind of an individual's cards were played right.
As soon as the Michiganian put her trainer bra and three-quarter trousers in her back shortly after hopping up in a casual bubblegum pink raglan short-sleeved shirt fully buttoned under her chin, besides hugging her torso coupled with a plain pair of hipster dark denim jeans, denim jacket and eventually bubblegum pink flats shoeing her petite feet, consequently she loosened her high ponytail as her virginally nimble fingers worked on rubber band until it slithered smoothly from her scalp to the back of her skull.
"You weren't even destined to die and leave me to rot against every hardship," In the interim, the older woman's fidgety, delicate fingers reached for her bag's tiniest pocket to rummage for her birthday present. The prominently mere, lovely crystal moonstone pendant nonetheless. The plain pendant with the pearly unique crystal moonstone lingered its graceful composure refrigerated the palm of her cupped hands as if she held the most precious, the most miniature bird that has ever occasionally daredevil perched in her invitingly protective grip. A frosty paroxysm sent chills down her spine at the bewitchingly soul-stirring vista of Martha dearly treasuring her birthday present that has never left her sight and mind every time whenever she just coveted to behold its meaningfully vivid brilliance of what she has never acquired for her birthdays through the years. Of course, a couple of exceptions in her whole life weren't fairly counted as a handful of years' materialistic nirvana her flimsy heart shrouded its perky gilded attires to be her cordial armor! "That has tried to stumble my fragile self! You aren't even aware how desperately lonely am I against the whole world, first and foremost, uncle!" Reciting in a grisly mumble her soliloquy, oblivious to the Michiganian's purely unintentional eavesdrop detecting the older lady's grotesque misery tinting her lilt, Madeleine managed a sharp exhale shortly after putting the elastic band in her bag and re-sat on the pinewood bench, pondering cavernously at the current impressions her train of thoughts reconstructed about the medical student.
Even though Martha couldn't bear any longer the cogitation of residing the crudely cold world all alone against each adversary that had evil-intentioned nature against her will and versatile motives, the heartache over Sebastian's suicide had never dwelled out of her cogitation's abysmally abstract realm at all.
Although it wasn't easy as pie to prevail the severe anguish and never-changing trials, there was still hope to be against the entire world in the toughest times, and still not giving up at all. The awe-inspiringly gigantic world was always full of dynamic roller coasters to be worth its ride, every living being's outstandingly meaningful missions and purposes, besides galore of trials, and advantages to expand their path.
"Madeleine Wilson," The suddenness of the spookily deep, preternatural medley of despondency and deepness saturated medico's bewail unbuckling her strawberry-coloured, dry tongue as her sore throat anguished pleaded for modicum of hydration to not torment her, maneuvering with her only free elvish, marbled hand to control the wheelchair and her puffy smoky quartz gems pursuing for the younger girl's honey brown. Meantime, the blonde flinched at the forlorn bewail, escorting modestly its symptoms of her impulsive reaction, due to the least predictability to detect the nefarious serial killer's daughter accent to saturate remarkably her very presence and the everlastingly steady heart pulses amplifying fiercely at the requiem. Healthily mirthful powder of cerise darkened the blonde's angelically palish, young-looking profile and hopeless glassiness apt to tandem her abysses. "I am strongly afraid to admit that I am no longer keeping in touch with my father even if you don't believe me!"
"Needless to say, I won't believe any single thing that drips from your filthy mouth!" Folding her leanly velvet arms across her chest, the Michiganian's sheer nonchalance fell from her delicate facial features, whilst the medico dawdled to ball in her firm grasp her pearly precious birthday present. The heinously viciousness ornamented promiscuously the juvenile saleswoman's oval profile, whereas knitting her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose and channelizing to incline ironically to gesticulate her absolute unimpressiveness at the unforeseen change Martha took in her hands. "I also spoke to your father sooner than you think and he also confirmed that he is with his tail between his legs once he acknowledged about your uncle's imprisonment in the Vermont State Hospital," Then the Michiganian reciprocated to lull her tongue to lick pensively her upper and lower lip instantaneously for the searing pause enkindling lightly her lingua, whilst her cold-heartedly aloof pools of hazelish-brown examined in a scrutiny the notorious serial killer's daughter physique and her vision taking prominently peculiar notes of her visually like the broadly spread pages of a book, gracing the avid reader with its gloriously beneficial knowledge to the new, undiscovered world and its chasms. "And, of course, when he realized that you were having an affair with your uncle and having his baby!"
"You are actually right!" Registering to bob her head to reaffirm solemnly her reprimand, throughout the older lady's vulnerable nose elaborated its heavy sigh, resembling as if her arrant bewilderment and surreptitious forgetfulness clouded her hurricane of thoughts analyzing the sigh of the young saleswoman's brilliant sanity humping the skeletons out of her closet. "He taught me a lesson, even though I don't care about him anymore!"
"Y-You mean Cayden, right?"
"Exactly! Why are you even mentioning his name?"
The ineffable nausea rose in the bile of the brunette at the very thought of the last time when she has encountered her father and he gifted her with nothing else than sorely afflictive retribution for her betrayal, besides sticking to grace Cayden's deceased brother and the Grays' with a child that downrightly took after Sebastian and his niece's crossbreeding remnants. Every mention of the ill-famed psychopath's name not only boiled Madeleine's blood and rocketing up the unhallowed ache for revenge on him for razing spine-chillingly the lives of hundreds of people, and giving chills to thousand of innocents, but also emboldened Martha to no longer sympathize her father and abide neutral when it comes up to his undeniable atrocities behind the scenes through the gradual development of his evolution. If Martha had to choose between her father and uncle in terms what they have done for her through the years, the answer is far cry from ineffably dim and arcane.
Despite the Michiganian's dim hostility with the medico and hankering her dismal ode, she couldn't instantaneously trust anybody, who had always antagonized her inner circle even for not the most ordinary reasons. The actions, which the medico might prove herself as somebody better than what she used to be, or rather, be donned up in the marionette's ineludible attires of her youthful gullible nature not exactly aiding her to distribute the right and the wrong side, followed by their decisions and their commands grinding on her.
On one hand, the time was the authentically painful medicine to heal the wounds of low-spirits, lies, heartbreaks and jotting down mindlessly as mental notes to aware its preys of their mistakes. It syringed its remnants of hopelessness and harsh asperity unendingly and gathering in its hypo the gory marsh.
On other hand, the actions could unavoidably unproblematic take care of the heavily injured preys of the sugarcoated lies, heartaches and solid misery, and overwhelm them with tormenting death for ruining the lives of more than thousands of people eventually.
"Well, I thought you wouldn't be offended somebody calling your father a turd for example!"
"That really suits him! You are an expert in keeping an eye peeled on such monsters like him!"
"Is that another lie to win me and then turn a blind eye on anything I am trying with my allies to give him an earful?" Raw flippancy plashed dauntlessly abrupt the younger lady's posed question, replete with playful derision and monstrously subtle crossness, meanwhile, her caramel brown moons flicked up to admire the formidably abstract a handful of posters hanging on the walls of the female locker room, and elaborating its process of licking greedily her naturally roseate, angelically cherub lips. "Look what, Martha! I am not some kind of a detector lie test, you are forcing me to do it nonetheless." Salty lump seethed the older woman's throat and her fleshy throat muscles struggling to conjugate its quaffing, whereas Madeleine's caramel brown moons impaled Martha's unhealthy pallid, tear-stained complexion in a grotesquely fiendish glare as she crouched down to maintain an adequate eye contact stabilizing the rusty reins of their gazes. "But once you are no longer with your father, you perfectly know that nobody is going to believe or help you. You did to yourself to lose allies and you also can't get away with falsely accusing an ex-priest for touching you and so forth!"
"I am not all alone!"
"Just prove it to me that you aren't fucking alone!"
"I swear," Fashioning wrathfully into balled fists her pixie-like hands, thus the blonde's oral slit formed a spitefully wry, broad smirk plastered in the corner of her lip and wearing thousand patterns of wryness, tinting her growl's timbre and the healthily refreshing hues of her face. The harsh growl, sheathed in its fiery impulse to bicker Madeleine's very conscience to grind on her tongue tip effortlessly tingled unhallowed fiendish hymns and inner voices' assault in the medico's vortex of thoughts vigorous whirl. "Just listen to me for once! It won't cost you less than a minute to hear out my straight explanation and keep your hair on." The suddenness of the medico fueling her fantastical nonchalance to plaster on her femininely beautiful facial attributes and saturating her sharp bicker to halt the blonde's spiteful attitude pelting her rapidly rabid, subsequently her frail heart no longer importuned her to fairly forge its series of uncontrollable sobs, and her fingertips reached to daub softly the salty beads decorating her cheeks.
"Okay, okay, okay! Nobody is forcing you to stop!" Afterwards the Michiganian fashioned to straighten her posture and spread her petite, marbled hands cynically in the thin air.
"I reunited with my older brother whom I have never got the chance to meet him in person. My older cousin was the last family member I have made a reunion like when we were quite young."
"Except for your father and uncle, right?"
"Exactly!" Suddenly the juvenile saleswoman couldn't stifle an infectiously inarticulate, blatant giggle her rosy-coloured, plumpish lips bleated bluntly once the brunette managed a humble nod in strong agreement until she didn't roll her coffee brown optics at the prospect of her foe's blunt expression responding to her revelation. "What makes you to laugh your head off?"
"Oh God! Hopefully I am not heavily dreaming!" Registering to readjust her T-shirt's perky hem as her brittle fingertips snatched the heavenly smooth fabric brushing against the pads of her bony fingers the young saleswoman chaotically hysterical couldn't even command an austere control over her guttural, jovial guffaw piercing the site's walls. Sheer forgetfulness fogged Madeleine's mind and having little to no sober control over her dexterous glee's phenomenal demonstration. "Just a wee reminder to saturate your attention like a bat out of hell, Martha!" Inching the brunette's parchment, freshly youthful profile shortly after meagerly maintaining its innocuous intimate proximity of their facial fleshes, consequently Madeleine's warm breath faintly breezed and authentically blending its monotonously incessant blink of their eyelids. "If you are aiming to win somebody on your side like me, Timothy or even Jude, therefore just forget about it! You don't have a chance with people you solemnly lied to once, so you don't have to lie to the same people multiple times. It is just end of story, isn't it?" All of a sudden, the blonde retreated to retrieve her sport bag and adjusting appropriately its strap on her shoulder blade as her bony fingers worked on stabilizing the soft fabric's balance on her shoulder, stilling her honey brown big, round optics.
"Y-Yes!"
"Excellent!" In the meanwhile, the juvenile saleswoman manifested to march towards the door, darting a lethally final glimpse at the infamous serial killer's daughter seconds before camouflaging herself out of her sight.
--- *** ---
--- Later That Day ---
Once the mid-April's day bled into the nocturnal twilight with the full, roundish ghostly pale moon mounting up the starless horizon and dim luminosity tinting the ebony sky, the medico preferred to stay tonight in the company of her older brother in his flat he shared with his slightly younger girlfriend. Just shortly after the yoga classes, thereafter the medico has decided to have revenge on her father for the severe opprobrium she had stoically endured the whole physical and mental torture.
Even though the young woman has almost never had even modicum of control over her inevitably vengeful anger pulsating into her body and drastically gearing the atoms' megawatt speed acceleration's function, matching with her adrenaline, her short-tempered persona didn't fail her to construct with the electrician a vindictively noisome scheme against the infamously bloodthirsty, blood-curdling psychopath. It took them no more than a handful of minutes to connect on the phone with one of the best brands that vend its extraordinarily mouth-watering wine in Hartford and ordering it for the Italian compatriot's desolated property.
As soon as the Italian compatriot took a refreshingly hot shower to fertilize its glossiness peeling off its filth and scum clinging to his overall epidermis of his arms and legs, afterwards he dashed to the front door, and crystalline nonplus blending its great bewilderment glittered starkly vivid in his cinnamon brown abysses eventually. Little did he know who had dropped out the bottle of high quality French red liquor on the porch as well. Galore of speculations vividly invaded his train of thoughts to elaborate its vague conspiracy theories behind the cryptic ordered wine he has at least expected to behold just shortly after taking a shower.
First and foremost, the first speculation leaned to emulate to an utter mistake along the anonymity of the sender except the recipient's full name and address of its property's official location. The second conspiracy theory hyperbolized heavily as if it is a present or otherwise just a woeful hoax. The more the middle-aged gentleman dipped in the misty ocean of his childlike inquisitiveness to question the bottle of scrumptious red liquor, more the answers he was eagerly looking for unceasingly obscured their disappearance in the limbo.
In a long minute of fluctuation, the obdurate resolution urged him to bring the entity inside his two-story house and popped up its wooden cork with an ease to pour its promisingly inviting, intoxicatingly scrumptious liquor in an empty, unused goblet. Settled comfortable on top of the kitchen table shortly after his masculinely meaty, strong fingers deftly manipulated to cork its entrance, subsequently the haphazardness of the retro phone's humdrum peal caught off guard Cayden momentarily.
Crooking his meaty, nimble fingers to stabilize its firm grapple of the goblet, the flock of short footsteps ghostwriting the kitchen floor in mellifluously dull, arduous murmurs tingled its own tiresome ballad into Cayden's ears on his mission to grab with his only free hand the earpiece, and ultimately clinging it to the shell of his amenable ear.
"Hello?" In the interim, the middle-aged gentleman's fingers maneuvered the glass of French wine to hardly inch his oral slit, whereas his naturally pale-pinkish, brim lips wrapped around the rim of the glass and gulped a few tiny sips gamely. Little did he know who was phoning him in the middle of the night eventually and scarcely possessing even modicum of piece of evidence to detect the other nobody, who is the one that caught him out of the blue in the most leisure moment. "Who is calling?" A wickedly feminine, peculiarly godless snicker bleated in the thin air, far cry from foreign to the Italian compatriot's eardrums, sharp instincts and indubitably headstrong intuition to detect even his traitors' crude slyness behind the scenes of the schemes. "Martha?"
"What do you think you psychotic old bastard? Do you think you are missing the boat for atonement?"
"What is all this?"
"You like it very much. Don't you?" Mewling its desperately blatant, ruthless slurps of stark hedonism saturating the older man's gulped sips of the mouth-watering liquor sweetening inebriating his tongue tip promptly, meantime, another sweet purr of bone-chillingly unholy, girlish giggle bubbled up from the medical student's throat to share a phone conversation with her father out of the blue.
"You aren't even sounding like Martha at all. I completely doubt you are honestly about to leave a bad taste in my mouth."
"So as I am the one, who is aiming to leave a bad taste in your mouth," At the moment, the grave pensiveness the medical student stubbornly simmered her blizzard of thoughts, a rueful gasp escaped her pink mouth and managing to roll her eyes at her father's diabolical incredulity puncturing his utterance. She didn't resist the urge to wedge her mouth in a dramatically soar purse. "Be excessively careful what are you wishing for to pelt down your balding scalp!"
"Are you actually trying to take after that dumb blonde's tremendous arrogance, aren't you?"
"You don't have the right to ask me that question. I have always refrained to take position in your heavy atrocities you have done not only to the others, but also soiling my name and reputation."
"Listen here, you little twat!" Relentlessly fierce pause stung the notorious serial killer's chapped oral slit, raw stringency emphasized his reprimand, whilst taking a docilely hedonistic sip at his glass of wine. "Who do you think you are about to fool with your ineffably immense arrogance I have never even presumed to encounter once in my damn life? Are you about to team with those dummies that had ruined a few times my life at least?"
"Shu, shu, shu, fool! Watch out for your glass of wine to not ferment at all!"
"There is nothing wrong with the wine, Martha!" The abruptness of crafting its thickness coating remorselessly his Adam apple, therefore the Italian compatriot muffled its choke shortly after slamming the goblet on the counter and wrapping his meaty, parchment fingers circa his throat to pay full heed to the impending sequence if his throat muscles couldn't adequately swig its lump at all. All of a sudden, a villainously huge, eerie grin embellished the medico's rosy-coloured, brim lips. "I have actually to mull that there is specifically wrong with your chaotically foul, diabolical mind! I doubt how you haven't dared to visit a professional to solve your anger management. "
"I have only one thing to say, if you doubt my character yet!" Suddenly, the infamous psychopath's eyelids broadly wrenched at the panorama of the artificially scintillating aureate lights impaling sorely its tender muscles, seconds before blacking out and the last thing he beheld before the senselessness spine-chillingly consoling coma was the golden lights. "Go to hell for not only ruining my life, but also the others that are being through a heavy trauma, just because of you! I hope you rot in hell." Loosening its grip circa the compact entity and the earpiece, consequently Cayden's motionless body flumped backward as its prominently uncharitable noise pitched the earpiece.
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Author's Note: I'm candidly apologizing for not updating this story for almost a month, howsoever, I struggled with an author's block, besides opting to sort my mind to structure every chapter's exact storyline as well.
✞ Do you think there's a possible redemption of Martha Gray to no longer obtain any sort of abhorrence from Madeleine and her allies?
✞ Are you more team Madeleine or team Martha? Why, tho? ✞
✞ Do you think the Howards and Madeleine can candidly trust Lana? Is Lana worth even modicum of trust? ✞
✞ I frankly hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter, besides for your tremendous patience! Don't forget to leave a straightforward feedback so that your voice to be audible! ✞