Juju
PREY-FOR-US
Marianne hardly listened to the demon’s mimicked pleas for help as she focused instead on tracing the spiralling eyes and teeth that slipped beyond her grasp. The former of the two was obscured for a moment in goopy shadow, which Marianne had a mere moment to notice before the ink was flung into her eyes. She heard the dirt shift beneath claws and brought up her arms in a flimsy attempt at a shield. With her eyes as useless as they were, she turned to the last resort; refined sight. The logic within her knew it was useless with all the anima fog, but she was willing to use anything at her disposal to reunite with Annamarie. No matter how improbable and no matter the cost.
Instead of the usual miasma, she found the clear outline of the demon before her, crouched and ready to pounce. It was a near perfect silhouette, and with it she could follow its movements in full clarity. She saw the demon lunge upwards, jaws parted for her neck. The creature’s technique was crude, and if anything, reckless. If Annamarie were here, they could easily land a strike on one of the many openings it left itself.
She’s here, above you, She told herself with an instructor's sharpness, Step with her shadow. As if by your side.
Marianne had never been trained in unarmed combat, so as she twirled to the left she clenched her fingers around imaginary blades before she slammed her fist against the creature’s head in the zenith of its lunge. The force of the blow shot pain up her entire arm, and she could feel the skin of her knuckles tear. Whatever anima formed its skull was incredibly tough.
Thankfully, it would seem that the demon was worse off. Its only remaining horn broke and exploded, which Marianne only realized by the bang and pressure against her face. With her eyes closed as they were, she experienced none of the unusual side effects she once had.
The demon stumbled from the blow, stunned, but Marianne was not one to waste the upperhand she had so sorely gained. Once again, she struck, this time aimed for the fresh wound on its head. The demon crumbled to the ground, spilling ink into the soil as it flailed weakly. With one boot, Marianne stomped down with all her weight.
The creature no longer resisted, offering only trembled breaths as its form clung onto existence. Clumps of anima drifted like sparks, its body rapidly breaking down. Dribbles of black ink seeped out from beneath its red teeth. It coughed, spattering more rotten blood.
Marianne stared down at the pitiful creature that had parted her from Annamarie and had tried to end her life. It was hideous, disgusting, a wretched creature that preyed upon the innocent if given the chance, and yet an unusual feeling bubbled up from within her and refused to sit still or be dismissed.
Pity.
The demon was young, newly formed, and she loathed how it brought her beloved Annamarie to mind. This creature had been created by someone’s agony and fed evil emotions, shaping it into the fiend that lay dying at her feet. It had no choice in its creation, nor the poisoning of its anima. Such a process was the very fear that haunted Marianne like a plague, a worry of what might become of Annamarie.
A shudder ran across her shoulders, an ache in her chest. Had it not been for the unchecked cruelty of humans, this creature would not have to feed upon suffering. All of its cunning could have been used for the protection of humanity, as she wished for Annamarie. Alas, there was little she could do but lament the inability to turn sin into virtue. An impossible and naive wish.
One hundred sins and one good deed, she ruminated once more on that stupid familial saying. One sin and one hundred good deeds.
There was no changing this tired world. All she could do was fight until she fell, just as all she could do was put an end to this creature's wretched existence. Marianne lifted her boot and prepared for the final blow, but hesitated for a moment. Before the execution, she spoke softly to the creature. Her voice was full of a surprising tenderness, one she wished she could muster for the humans in her life, “I hope Sam came back for you in the end. I hope you found them. Or maybe that you will. Somehow.”
One of her earliest teachings had been to never feel sympathy for a demon, but this damp and forgotten cellar would forever hold her secret. How could she not feel empathy when she too knew the sting of separation, the very thing that possessed her every action in that desperate struggle. Now that the fight was over, she could feel it as sharp as every tick of scissors upon the floor above.
Perhaps emboldened by her hesitation, the demon crawled painstakingly closer to the girl poised to end its life. The mere action caused one of its arms to fall off and crumble away. Marianne wasn’t sure if she should be impressed by its tenacity, or concerned by it.
Before she could decide, she noticed something unusual in the flow of anima. It flowed away from the demon, even as its body fell apart, forming a little river that tugged at her own anima ever so slightly. The closer the creature got, the stronger the pull became. It was almost as if the anima was inviting her to tug back.
Against her better judgment, Marianne indulged in her curiosity and reached out to the sensation. Instantly, the demon’s dying anima latched onto her own. She could feel it absorb into her, a sickening flow she was unable to stop. What remained of the demon’s form broke up into anima shards and melted into the rest until nothing was left. The sensation ended.
Marianne stood silent in the dark, her eyes wide and heart racing. Weighed down by a wave of exhaustion, she leaned heavily against the nearby pillar and panted in shallow breaths. Her thoughts were a dizzying haze of disbelief and horror. What had just happened? The question remained unanswered in her mind, running rampant and free. Could it have been a mistake? A trick of the mind, perhaps? All logic pointed to the impossible. The only thing she could think of was that it reminded her of the way anima flowed towards Annamarie’s blade.
Annamarie.
Her crumbling psyche sharpened at the reminder of what was far more important. She had to leave this basement and reunite with her twin. Everything else could wait.
Marianne pushed herself off of the pillar and had to grit her teeth just to keep back a scream of pain. With the adrenaline fading and the exhaustion settling in, the bite of her wounds were coming back for her. She wanted nothing more than to lay down, but she forced herself to press on into the darkness. With one hand feeling through the dark and the other staunching the sticky wound of her shoulder, Marianne found the wall and made her way out of the basement. She took a small comfort in the sound of Annamarie’s scissors following her path, knowing that for as long as the doll remained focussed on breaking the floor, there was no threat.
Eventually, the darkness opened up into a stairwell and Marianne made her way up. At the top of the steps was Annamarie, her red eyes glinting in the darkness. They scanned for a threat, and when they found none, turned to inspect the mess of Marianne.
Ink and blood stained the fabric of Marianne's dress, which had been slashed and bitten into disrepair. It stuck to the gruesome bite on Marianne’s shoulder, and her black tights had been ripped open around the gashes that still bled red into the fabric. Dust and dirt covered her hair and skin in dark splotches. Though worse for wear, Marianne's face was only one of joyed relief. Her anima flared pink in spite of its suppression.
“Suppose we should afford a bit more caution next time?” Marianne suggested in good humour as she leaned heavily against the creaky railing, tears welling up in her eyes.
She could hardly walk, but she had just enough composure to wrap Annamarie in a hug. It lasted only a second before Marianne withdrew in a jolt, “Good heavens, what am I doing? I’m absolutely filthy! I'll soil your dress."
Marianne went to wipe off some dirt she had placed on Annamarie, only to nearly lose balance and fall over. A porcelain hand caught her before she could fall, helping her up. "Right... we should find a suitable spot to recover first. Perhaps the laundry room?"
The anima in this wing was lighter now, free of the oppressive weight created by the crazed demon. A heavy miasma still clung to the place, but it was only a fraction of the weight it had once been. It would seem that this area had been the territory of that demon, and the lesser creatures had not yet realized its defeat. For the time being, she could use the fragile peace as a moment to recover.
With the assistance of Annamarie, Marianne limped her way back to the laundry room. She had a small hope that there could be some rags that were suitable for fashioning makeshift bandages, but sadly they all were infections waiting to happen. The most she could use them for was to wipe off the worst of the dirt and ink that coated her. Annamarie helped her, cutting off the better pieces of the moth-eaten cloth with her scissors and passing it to Marianne.
As for dressing her wounds, things were not as simple. Marianne went to retrieve the handkerchief from her purse, only to remember it had been used to hold the uneaten portion of her Yorkshire pudding. Thankfully, it had been spared of the blood and the ink. She picked up the wrapped pastry and set it on an old counter. While it may have struck off a possible make-shift bandage, she wasn't about to let it go to waste.
Borrowing Annamarie's scissors, Marianne snipped off the cleanest strips from her petticoat and used them to wrap the mess of her shoulder and legs. It wasn't the best bandage, but it would do for now. She fastened them off and then sighed, leaning back against the wall. Between her wounds and her dwindling energy, there was no way she could be useful in a fight. From now on she would need to rely soley on Annamarie for combat.
A tap on her shoulder brought Marianne out of her thoughts. Annamarie was crouched beside her, holding out to her the Yorkshire pudding. It brought a tired smile to her face as she took it appreciateively, "Best to get some energy before we continue on. Thank you."
Marianne took a bite of the pastry. She remembered thinking that it was nothing like the ones her grandmother made, but as she sat the ruins of the asylum, bloody and beaten, she swore it was the best thing she had ever tasted.
Instead of the usual miasma, she found the clear outline of the demon before her, crouched and ready to pounce. It was a near perfect silhouette, and with it she could follow its movements in full clarity. She saw the demon lunge upwards, jaws parted for her neck. The creature’s technique was crude, and if anything, reckless. If Annamarie were here, they could easily land a strike on one of the many openings it left itself.
She’s here, above you, She told herself with an instructor's sharpness, Step with her shadow. As if by your side.
Marianne had never been trained in unarmed combat, so as she twirled to the left she clenched her fingers around imaginary blades before she slammed her fist against the creature’s head in the zenith of its lunge. The force of the blow shot pain up her entire arm, and she could feel the skin of her knuckles tear. Whatever anima formed its skull was incredibly tough.
Thankfully, it would seem that the demon was worse off. Its only remaining horn broke and exploded, which Marianne only realized by the bang and pressure against her face. With her eyes closed as they were, she experienced none of the unusual side effects she once had.
The demon stumbled from the blow, stunned, but Marianne was not one to waste the upperhand she had so sorely gained. Once again, she struck, this time aimed for the fresh wound on its head. The demon crumbled to the ground, spilling ink into the soil as it flailed weakly. With one boot, Marianne stomped down with all her weight.
The creature no longer resisted, offering only trembled breaths as its form clung onto existence. Clumps of anima drifted like sparks, its body rapidly breaking down. Dribbles of black ink seeped out from beneath its red teeth. It coughed, spattering more rotten blood.
Marianne stared down at the pitiful creature that had parted her from Annamarie and had tried to end her life. It was hideous, disgusting, a wretched creature that preyed upon the innocent if given the chance, and yet an unusual feeling bubbled up from within her and refused to sit still or be dismissed.
Pity.
The demon was young, newly formed, and she loathed how it brought her beloved Annamarie to mind. This creature had been created by someone’s agony and fed evil emotions, shaping it into the fiend that lay dying at her feet. It had no choice in its creation, nor the poisoning of its anima. Such a process was the very fear that haunted Marianne like a plague, a worry of what might become of Annamarie.
A shudder ran across her shoulders, an ache in her chest. Had it not been for the unchecked cruelty of humans, this creature would not have to feed upon suffering. All of its cunning could have been used for the protection of humanity, as she wished for Annamarie. Alas, there was little she could do but lament the inability to turn sin into virtue. An impossible and naive wish.
One hundred sins and one good deed, she ruminated once more on that stupid familial saying. One sin and one hundred good deeds.
There was no changing this tired world. All she could do was fight until she fell, just as all she could do was put an end to this creature's wretched existence. Marianne lifted her boot and prepared for the final blow, but hesitated for a moment. Before the execution, she spoke softly to the creature. Her voice was full of a surprising tenderness, one she wished she could muster for the humans in her life, “I hope Sam came back for you in the end. I hope you found them. Or maybe that you will. Somehow.”
One of her earliest teachings had been to never feel sympathy for a demon, but this damp and forgotten cellar would forever hold her secret. How could she not feel empathy when she too knew the sting of separation, the very thing that possessed her every action in that desperate struggle. Now that the fight was over, she could feel it as sharp as every tick of scissors upon the floor above.
Perhaps emboldened by her hesitation, the demon crawled painstakingly closer to the girl poised to end its life. The mere action caused one of its arms to fall off and crumble away. Marianne wasn’t sure if she should be impressed by its tenacity, or concerned by it.
Before she could decide, she noticed something unusual in the flow of anima. It flowed away from the demon, even as its body fell apart, forming a little river that tugged at her own anima ever so slightly. The closer the creature got, the stronger the pull became. It was almost as if the anima was inviting her to tug back.
Against her better judgment, Marianne indulged in her curiosity and reached out to the sensation. Instantly, the demon’s dying anima latched onto her own. She could feel it absorb into her, a sickening flow she was unable to stop. What remained of the demon’s form broke up into anima shards and melted into the rest until nothing was left. The sensation ended.
Marianne stood silent in the dark, her eyes wide and heart racing. Weighed down by a wave of exhaustion, she leaned heavily against the nearby pillar and panted in shallow breaths. Her thoughts were a dizzying haze of disbelief and horror. What had just happened? The question remained unanswered in her mind, running rampant and free. Could it have been a mistake? A trick of the mind, perhaps? All logic pointed to the impossible. The only thing she could think of was that it reminded her of the way anima flowed towards Annamarie’s blade.
Annamarie.
Her crumbling psyche sharpened at the reminder of what was far more important. She had to leave this basement and reunite with her twin. Everything else could wait.
Marianne pushed herself off of the pillar and had to grit her teeth just to keep back a scream of pain. With the adrenaline fading and the exhaustion settling in, the bite of her wounds were coming back for her. She wanted nothing more than to lay down, but she forced herself to press on into the darkness. With one hand feeling through the dark and the other staunching the sticky wound of her shoulder, Marianne found the wall and made her way out of the basement. She took a small comfort in the sound of Annamarie’s scissors following her path, knowing that for as long as the doll remained focussed on breaking the floor, there was no threat.
Eventually, the darkness opened up into a stairwell and Marianne made her way up. At the top of the steps was Annamarie, her red eyes glinting in the darkness. They scanned for a threat, and when they found none, turned to inspect the mess of Marianne.
Ink and blood stained the fabric of Marianne's dress, which had been slashed and bitten into disrepair. It stuck to the gruesome bite on Marianne’s shoulder, and her black tights had been ripped open around the gashes that still bled red into the fabric. Dust and dirt covered her hair and skin in dark splotches. Though worse for wear, Marianne's face was only one of joyed relief. Her anima flared pink in spite of its suppression.
“Suppose we should afford a bit more caution next time?” Marianne suggested in good humour as she leaned heavily against the creaky railing, tears welling up in her eyes.
She could hardly walk, but she had just enough composure to wrap Annamarie in a hug. It lasted only a second before Marianne withdrew in a jolt, “Good heavens, what am I doing? I’m absolutely filthy! I'll soil your dress."
Marianne went to wipe off some dirt she had placed on Annamarie, only to nearly lose balance and fall over. A porcelain hand caught her before she could fall, helping her up. "Right... we should find a suitable spot to recover first. Perhaps the laundry room?"
The anima in this wing was lighter now, free of the oppressive weight created by the crazed demon. A heavy miasma still clung to the place, but it was only a fraction of the weight it had once been. It would seem that this area had been the territory of that demon, and the lesser creatures had not yet realized its defeat. For the time being, she could use the fragile peace as a moment to recover.
With the assistance of Annamarie, Marianne limped her way back to the laundry room. She had a small hope that there could be some rags that were suitable for fashioning makeshift bandages, but sadly they all were infections waiting to happen. The most she could use them for was to wipe off the worst of the dirt and ink that coated her. Annamarie helped her, cutting off the better pieces of the moth-eaten cloth with her scissors and passing it to Marianne.
As for dressing her wounds, things were not as simple. Marianne went to retrieve the handkerchief from her purse, only to remember it had been used to hold the uneaten portion of her Yorkshire pudding. Thankfully, it had been spared of the blood and the ink. She picked up the wrapped pastry and set it on an old counter. While it may have struck off a possible make-shift bandage, she wasn't about to let it go to waste.
Borrowing Annamarie's scissors, Marianne snipped off the cleanest strips from her petticoat and used them to wrap the mess of her shoulder and legs. It wasn't the best bandage, but it would do for now. She fastened them off and then sighed, leaning back against the wall. Between her wounds and her dwindling energy, there was no way she could be useful in a fight. From now on she would need to rely soley on Annamarie for combat.
A tap on her shoulder brought Marianne out of her thoughts. Annamarie was crouched beside her, holding out to her the Yorkshire pudding. It brought a tired smile to her face as she took it appreciateively, "Best to get some energy before we continue on. Thank you."
Marianne took a bite of the pastry. She remembered thinking that it was nothing like the ones her grandmother made, but as she sat the ruins of the asylum, bloody and beaten, she swore it was the best thing she had ever tasted.
