Chapter 4
A blatant treble note resonates in Eupheme´s ears. Steadily seeping through the nerves in her skin, progressing to her gray matter. Her brain rattling posthaste back and forth, knocking into the walls of her crown. The toll travels to the strings of red and blue, her only reliability of sight.
A pulse flows through her head, strangling her brain and eyes with a rhythmical pattern. Her eyes start to saccade, following her brain. Her surroundings of blue, grey, and white forthwith smear. The encephalon hurting in each direction in the hollow of her skull, fracturing the surface as every stroke of a brush is decorated.
Her fingers uncontrollably jerk, tailing the flow of a millisecond. The uncomfortable movement snaps the fingers until they’re numb. Eupheme starts rattling her arms in agitation. Her torso withers in a harrowing and peculiar posture. The purgatories cloaked her face, making her nearly unrecognizable. Lines of wrinkles deepen on her expression while her jawbone shatters and expand odiously.
Tick Tick Tick.
Out come the frogs and the quills. Performing their usual... thing, though it appears the logs linger now. Ah! They’re truly valuable for once, how delightful. If this was the outcome, the torture was not worth it. At this time Eupheme understands that the agony ended. As the sensation of her bones crushing halted, and a new one approaches. The identical hyperthermic touch the of cold returns. Encasing her and the logs, both converting into an ice sculpture. The toads and feathers leap and scrawl lickety-spilt to get away from the unforeseen snowstorm.
The pictures made by the pen are not eager to stay as well. They gradually die, starting from her trotters. Eupheme springs, ascending the trunks like a fool, all she has is bolts and nuts to help her move. Occasionally almost plunging into her grave as the blizzard clothed the logs in frost.
The glaciers only get colder the further she goes, numbing Eupheme’s entire body. The whiteout trickles through her orifices. Circling her organs and bones, generating a pinch on all surfaces within. The delicate lumps tugged and wrenched, her osseins rattle as the gale encompasses, icing it into winsome crystals.
Well, if she desired to flee from death, she can’t. Her hands are chilled to the bone, connected to the logs. Quite unusual how her covering isn’t affected, I wouldn’t have known she has a blizzard swimming in her.
Since poor Eupheme hasn’t suffered enough, her eyes start darting to and fro rapidly. Eliciting a twinge befalls within her eyes.
Her vision of white aggressively coated over with a royal blue.
Tick Tick Tick.
Instead of ice, Eupheme’s insides are enclosed by a massive pressure. Weighing down, smothering her organs, destroying her bones. Then the feeling disappears when bumps into her cheek. Eupheme squints swiftly and notices a tadpole meeting to her face. Yet, Eupheme doesn’t focus on it when her lungs are divested of air. Eupheme struggles to paddle up, her body still grieving from the snowstorm.
Her hooks seize the soil girding the pond, clutching the strict grass to pull herself up. The single strands of fabric on her clothes, the tiny skin cells on her body, drier than Mr. Wickham’s skin during the wintertime.
Rising out of the creek, Eupheme’s appearance seems sane. After climbing out the pits of limbo, and not dripping with the blood of her bones, and not filled with the tears of her organs.
The gray, morose little girl, hair duller than black and skin paler than white, remains the same.
