The light trickles down through the curtains as morning comes. A warm caress brushes against your closed eyelids, and the rising sun beckons you to the waking world. You answer the call, opening your eyes to see the new day. The ceiling of the room welcomes you, adorned by flowery patterns of marigolds, roses and sunflowers.
You stand up on your feet, stretching and excising all of the stiffness your muscles built up during the long night. For an evening spent sleeping on a couch, there was little, if no after effects at all. One could attribute this pleasant rest to the softness of the fabric and the quality of the furniture.
You go to the bathroom and face your reflection in the mirror. How do you look like on this day? It would seem that the sleep and rain from yesterday night had given you a rather disheveled look, but it was nothing too hard to fix with a comb and some careful application of water. There are some more routine things to do of course, other than getting rid of bed hair. While your belongings were at the school, this hotel had provided an extra set or so of toothbrushes. Dental hygiene is important, isn't it? Mother and Father always said to brush your teeth well, so that you could keep a beautiful smile... indeed... oh, and remember to wash behind your ears properly as well! A clean and prim daughter, was that not the most beautiful thing to behold and be proud of as parents?
Recollection. Reminiscence. But no reconciliation yet.
A fleeting thought, of something that once was... that could be... but can you make it transcend from possibility to reality?
Yesterday, in the fire of discord and enmity, a fire was lit that you thought had forever been extinguished. From a pyre burning with anger and despair fell the ashes of hope and possibility. Perhaps in a not so distant future, these ashes will be rekindled to brighten the formless darkness in which you live, like a phoenix rising from its embered remains to illuminate the nightly sky.
Why are you here, Vivienne Bianchi? What series of events lead to this path which you now trod? What form of brush and paint is being used to draw on the canvas of your story? The answer to that question is ever-shifting, is it not? But have you ever truly answered that question, thinking about it?
Perhaps you have, but wherever you were correct, or right, is another matter entirely.
Yet, are you not forgetting something?
Mayhaps you conveniently forgot about it.
Though I am in his presence no more, his whispers linger on into my ears.
They fill my every being. They take me back to that moment.
I am still there, in the basement, my body strewn on the floor. My sinews are torn, my bones snapped. Out of my broken body, flows blood, dousing the stone floor in red.
His voice silently booms, incomprehensible, unfathomable. It enlightens me to many Truths, Truths that I wish I could forget.
But it is too late, now this knowledge is mine to bear… as are its implications.
Still, what use would a dying soul be for Him? His gifts are not for me to keep, for me to bring along to a lonely grave. No, few are as fortunate as I am, to remain cognizant in the face of Truth. He recognizes this, and that is why he mends my broken body.
Words that cannot be spoken wash over me. They belong to a language neither uttered nor thought, but rather willed into existence by methods exceeding both human and inhuman comprehension… and in the end… I am reborn.
Broken.
Incomplete.
Such is the price to pay, to speak to Him. The Man Behind the Fire.
Vivienne Bianchi
Location: Owl's Nest, Alex Terot's Room
Phase: Morning Phase
Date: 10.09.1994 (SAT)
Weather: Overcast
Vivienne quietly covered Alex with the blanket, the latter having been discarded by the reporter as she had flailed around in her sleep. Was she having bad dreams, or was she one of these 'agitated' sleepers? Well, one thing was certain, she could certainly sleep through an alarm.
Having made sure that Alex was properly covered so that she wouldn't randomly catch a cold, Vivienne went to open the windows to let some fresh air in. Indeed, this was not the most... well maintained rooms. A bit of a reminder to Vivienne of what she had stumbled on the 'previous' week alongside with Prushka.
Vivienne had considered searching through the books, notes and pieces of paper strewn about the entire room, searching for information that might be different from 'last time', however she figured that it would not be very nice towards Alex, especially if the latter simply woke up and saw her searching through the reporter's belongings.
However, she could do something that could land her some clues 'accidentally', such as cleaning this mess up yes. Stacking papers properly, putting books together on a shelf or table, and just... cleaning up the thrash that was lying around on the floor. In a sense, she could simply be doing the hotel's staff job... and while there was no guaranteed reward, the possibility of stumbling onto something was a much better prospect than just doing... nothing at all.
So for now, her plan had been laid out: make sure that the room isn't a mess and that one does not have to pay attention to every single step they take, lest they trample upon some evidence or trip over some book... then go get some coffee from the kitchen for Alex should she wake up. Oh, and a croissant perhaps? If they had these around here. Perhaps waking Alex up to the nice smell of coffee and patisserie would be much better than just... well... rudely waking her up.
What a beautiful, logical plan, isn't it Vivienne?
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Originally Posted by Ahti
