With quiet footsteps, I begin my descent down the flight. They're the trained sort -- the footsteps that one learns only the hard way. It's in this silent abandon I slow to a crawl past the stair that always groans when I step on it, sure to avoid it all together.
Once I reach the flight is where the real issue arises. I have memorised every creak in the aged floor, and know exactly where to lurk because of it. After all, I don't want to alert Them. I look around. It's at this point I realise the corridor at the foot of the stairs is longer than I remember. My stomach churns at the thought of the unknown.
But They always have ways of surprising me.
I steel myself and tiptoe down the hall, enthralled by what I see. There are many more doors than what I can recall, and pictures hung on the wall of people I have never met. I continue this search for what feels like an eternity, before bobbing my head to the side at a picture of me. I wasn't aware that They had a picture of me. Worst of all, the door my picture is next to is lit from the inside, and the faint golden creep cascades at my feet. It's begging me to enter.
The keyhole is blocked off by something. Somebody didn't want me to look in. Of course they didn't. My heart beats to a syncopated rhythm I am not familiar with, before I turn the doorknob, terrified yet anticipatory all the same.
I didn't know that They had more than one bathroom in the House. Let alone a bathroom as nice as the one I had just entered. It is the last thing I had expected, frankly, within my detour. Sneaking down the stairs at one point to escape, only to find myself in an unfamiliar bathroom. It's... almost comical.
The countertops are pure. I feel like a wretch for so much as looking at them the wrong way, as white and glowing as they are. This is a colour I have never quite seen in the House. Especially not given the state of things.
I almost want to touch it. To feel the smooth, clean surface.
I cannot.
I remind myself that I am going to the windiest ring of hell -- and for good reason. They remind me all the time. In fact, oftentimes They won't let me go down the stairs at all, in saying it is all my fault.
How odd, I realise it is. To be envious of a countertop.
I have been so distracted by this part of the room that I almost miss the mirror. When I look up, I see a perfect stranger's eyes. Somebody else inquiring within my irises.
And that is when I scream.
For these are not my eyes at all.
This is not my face.
I tremble, and cover my mouth.
Never have I ever been so fair, so round-faced or button-nosed. Never has my hair ever been so wispy, and my cheeks ever rosy.
I rest my hands on the countertop in anguish, trying all my best not to scream once more. After all, They would only antagonise further if they knew...
However, this hope is short-lived. I retract my hands in horror, screaming once more, realising I have tainted the innocence of the room with crimson seeping from my hands.
The tang of iron lingers in my mouth, breath ragged.
The Sin of the flesh. The Sin of blood.
The deafening silence rings like a church bell in my ears -- oh, how I shall pray the rosary later!
But for now, I am but a filthy, tainted sinner.
And Mary would be ashamed.
Once I reach the flight is where the real issue arises. I have memorised every creak in the aged floor, and know exactly where to lurk because of it. After all, I don't want to alert Them. I look around. It's at this point I realise the corridor at the foot of the stairs is longer than I remember. My stomach churns at the thought of the unknown.
But They always have ways of surprising me.
I steel myself and tiptoe down the hall, enthralled by what I see. There are many more doors than what I can recall, and pictures hung on the wall of people I have never met. I continue this search for what feels like an eternity, before bobbing my head to the side at a picture of me. I wasn't aware that They had a picture of me. Worst of all, the door my picture is next to is lit from the inside, and the faint golden creep cascades at my feet. It's begging me to enter.
The keyhole is blocked off by something. Somebody didn't want me to look in. Of course they didn't. My heart beats to a syncopated rhythm I am not familiar with, before I turn the doorknob, terrified yet anticipatory all the same.
I didn't know that They had more than one bathroom in the House. Let alone a bathroom as nice as the one I had just entered. It is the last thing I had expected, frankly, within my detour. Sneaking down the stairs at one point to escape, only to find myself in an unfamiliar bathroom. It's... almost comical.
The countertops are pure. I feel like a wretch for so much as looking at them the wrong way, as white and glowing as they are. This is a colour I have never quite seen in the House. Especially not given the state of things.
I almost want to touch it. To feel the smooth, clean surface.
I cannot.
I remind myself that I am going to the windiest ring of hell -- and for good reason. They remind me all the time. In fact, oftentimes They won't let me go down the stairs at all, in saying it is all my fault.
How odd, I realise it is. To be envious of a countertop.
I have been so distracted by this part of the room that I almost miss the mirror. When I look up, I see a perfect stranger's eyes. Somebody else inquiring within my irises.
And that is when I scream.
For these are not my eyes at all.
This is not my face.
I tremble, and cover my mouth.
Never have I ever been so fair, so round-faced or button-nosed. Never has my hair ever been so wispy, and my cheeks ever rosy.
I rest my hands on the countertop in anguish, trying all my best not to scream once more. After all, They would only antagonise further if they knew...
However, this hope is short-lived. I retract my hands in horror, screaming once more, realising I have tainted the innocence of the room with crimson seeping from my hands.
The tang of iron lingers in my mouth, breath ragged.
The Sin of the flesh. The Sin of blood.
The deafening silence rings like a church bell in my ears -- oh, how I shall pray the rosary later!
But for now, I am but a filthy, tainted sinner.
And Mary would be ashamed.
