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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1475516
Rated: E · Novel · Supernatural · #1475516
The beginning of the second book in the Maquerade series: Awakening
I  awoke, and it was dark in the bedroom; the black, heavy curtains were pulled tight over the many windows.  I did not know if it was day or night outside the chamber, but a tickle at my spine warned against pulling aside the thick fabric.  I was suddenly aware of a body at my back, and I moved before my mind processed what I had done.


My voice was hoarse, harsh and broken, not a voice I recognized as my own.  I stared at him, motionless, aware of something wrong but unable to name it.  I watched for a long moment, my mind racing.  How had he gotten here?  Why did I not remember him coming, surely I would have woken?  I let my hand fall to his cheek, yet I drew back with a start.  He was cold as ice, his flesh like molded stone.  For what seemed like a minute I did not breathe, did not blink, willing him to move, to flinch, anything to stop the dread clenching at my throat.  Nothing, not even a flutter of his eyes.

A cry echoed in the silence, and it took me a moment to realize it came from me.  I bit hard into my lip and I tasted blood on my tongue.  I pressed a hand to my chest, and everything stopped.

One... Two...

Nothing.  I counted to ten, and still nothing.  I tried to gasp, but my lungs refused, a sharp burning piercing my ribs.  I had no heartbeat.  I grasped my neck, my mind racing.  I willed my blood to pound, my heart to beat.  How was this possible?  The man I loved lay cold as death on our wedding bed, and I had no sign of the life within me.  Yet I could feel my skin...

My nightgown was gone.  I was naked in the emptiness, the darkness my only cover, and I had not noticed.  I felt no chill, no discomfort, no prickling of flesh or shivering of my body. 

I fell to my knees, the chamber floor hard against my legs.  I felt heavy, weightless, my face falling to bury into my palms.  I huddled on the floor, sobbing wordless tears into my open hands.  I pulled away as if burned, the tears freezing cold against my skin.  I stared down at my hands, at first unable to put words to what I saw. Something was wrong.  I lifted my arm, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

I watched the strange liquid drop off of my fingers and down my arm before I realized it was blood.

This time I knew it when I screamed.
© Copyright 2008 Shelai C. (saravi at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1475516