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Skeleton Will Lie

By Quasi-Verbatim

Horror

Chapter

Two souls dwelled within the Chamber of Secrets, marking the highest occupancy since its creation.

 The first lay on their back staring at the other, still and silent, unmoving with all but their lips—which twitched—speaking silent words that no one would ever hear.

The other stared back impassively, watching as the first slowly paled; their life blood dripping out, into him, draining every drop to make their life his own.

It was a painful experience for both participants, willing and unwilling, but he didn't care; the end result would far outweigh any hardship that this endeavor may have put him through.

They continued to stare at each other; time had no hold here—it slipped—falling away into the cracks between the stone pavers.

Two souls dwelled within the chamber of secrets with only one life to claim between them. The first held the life that the other coveted, something taken for granted by any who have not had to experience death in its many forms.

So innocent, so pure; he was a blight on her soul. He felt a thrill run through him at the thought.

One stared and the other stared back, head cocked.

He extended a hand outward, the tips of his fingers moving gradually closer to her. There was no rush, his hand moved incredibly slowly, carefully moving his slightly curled fingers towards her pallid face. It was not human touch that he craved, but proof of existence; validity, vindication.

Proof that he was right.

Such proof had been denied to him for too long. And as long as her eyes were still open, his proof would continue to be denied to him.

He knew the process wasn't complete, he knew it hadn't even reached the stages where the girl would lose consciousness.

She had seen to that.

He felt the tiniest sliver of admiration which was swiftly wiped out by a far larger surge of annoyance. The girl was weak, this should have ended by now; he should have his existence! But no, the girl was somehow still conscious and he was still but an apparition.

He could feel the burning desire to have it done; years in the making, years laying in wait, and the day was finally here, but this scrawny little slip of a girl had managed to delay his plans longer than he would have ever thought possible.

The girl's gaze moved sluggishly from his face to his hand which, still unnaturally transparent, had curled into a semblance of a fist.

He frowned slightly at his own lack of emotional control. His impatience was getting the best of him. He wanted to know, needed to know. This girl would not stop him!

So he stretched his arm out further, his slowly uncurling fingers moving closer, and called once more on his withering patience for the moment when his fingers would pass cleanly through her cheek.

Then he felt resistance.

His fingers were no longer moving effortlessly though the air, but were now pressed slightly inside the girl's cheek. He pulled them out and let rest his not-quite-there hand on the flat surface of the girl's gaunt cheeks. He could feel her. His smile widened unchecked as he let his fingers trail down her sunken features.

It was in this moment that he saw it.

He saw the hope in her eyes disappear.

Saw the moment her resolve crumbled, the defiance that had been on her face since the process started, slipping away. Even the pain that had been so obvious in her eyes flickered out.

She was numb to it the moment she had stopped fighting it, the moment he had touched her; the moment she realized she was going to die.

It was beautiful.

This moment was his, part of his triumph, and this girl, resistant as she was, was now part of it too. So he smiled a smile of success, annoyance at the girl forgotten, and laid a chaste kiss to her lips.

He could touch her now.

Her gaze was now blank, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

Her lips stopped trying to form unspoken words and her eyes became more unfocused as the world blurred before her. She felt his skin touch hers again; cold and damp, not quite solid, but still very much there.

There was a pause before he smiled thinly, running his not-quite-there hand down the length of her face, her heart sinking with it.

After a moment he spoke and it occurred to her then that it was the first time she had ever heard him speak outside of her own mind.

"My dear Ginevra," He grabbed her chin, jarring her tired eyes open so that she was looking into his sharp obsidian pupils. "It will be like you never existed at all."

He received no answer as her eyes slid shut, closing for what may very well be the last time, her heart still sinking down, slipping between the cracks and stone pavers, collecting with the dust that wasn't there and the time left long forgotten. In that moment, two tortured souls lay in a chamber of secrets that hides away, untouched and twice forgotten; the way it was supposed to be.

The moment passed, and then there was one.


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