A shudder passed through the woman’s body, a dark feeling of recognition eating away at her insides from the words Marianne had spoken. The darkness of the mysterious woman’s tone had clicked somewhere in her mind. It reminded her of a whisper she had heard hundreds of years ago, one that had been displeased and angry with her after she discarded her mortality… her humanity. There was no way it was the same voice, though it chilled her to the core just like the whisper had.
Then suddenly the presence, the feeling of danger, dissipated and when it did the room changed once again. The action pulled the Nebula from her musings quickly. Rosaline’s glassy orbs blinked, a look of annoyance flashing across her doll-like features. “I truly wish this hellish place would refrain from changing every 10 seconds.” She huffed, her voice barely noticeable before she turned to face her shaken companions.
The angel/ demon man, the one Marianne had referred to as Adrian, seemed to have been unfazed… unlike the rest of their group. Rosaline’s legs still had spider web cracks, though they were hard to notice, running up them and her hair was a little tousled from being thrown to the ground earlier. Faira however looked awful, she was pale and she looked like she’d faint if Marianne returned and pulled another of her tricks.
“I know we all want out of here quickly but I have a hunch that the one responsible for our entrapment isn’t a mere psychopathic human…. He seems to want our suffering to be drawn out, hence the house sending things to slow us down and injure us.” She states, trying not to look back at the portrait hanging on the stairs behind her. It felt like the eyes were mocking her, staring into the back of her head, and she didn’t enjoy the feeling.
Maybe I could destroy that miserable excuse for art… but if it’s anything like it’s likeness…… Rose thought, only to refrain from shuddering at the idea. She wanted to forget that, after all what was the use worrying about the dead.