Work Text:
The metal tool is chilly in Victoria’s palms as she furiously and frantically jabs at the door handle. It is a desperate- and seemingly futile- attempt to break free from her bedroom (or, as she sees it, her makeshift prison). Her breathing is ragged and she feels as though she is on the verge of collapse.
She pauses.
A wearied sigh spills from her nostrils. Her chest rapidly rises and falls and she places her hand over her hammering heart. The other one hangs limp at her side, the tool sitting loosely in her grasp.
Amidst the silence, she absently decides that the rain must have relented; she cannot hear it pelting her windows, which are now obstructed by haphazardly nailed-down planks of wood. Admittedly, though, the rain is the smallest occupant of her frenzied mind. She uses the back of her hand to brush away the stray locks of light brown hair that have fallen into her eyes.
Despite the ache in her arms, she takes the rod in both of her hands, raises it above her head and begins ramming it against the door handle once again. A series of grunts tumble from her compressed lips. She just has to get out of there. She needs to save Victor. After all, it does not seem like anyone else is going to.
Victoria is not sure what she thinks that Woman, or Thing , will do to him if she cannot rescue him. In fact, she has no clue how she is going to get him back. But, if there is one thing she is certain of, it is that there is nothing she can do if she cannot escape from this blasted room. Her thoughts are so fixed on Victor and her escape that, when a flash of Blue appears, she falters.
The tool slips from her hands and clatters against the floorboards. She winces.
Her shoulders sag. She staggers a little until she regains her balance by resting her back against the door.
Blue…
Her .
The macabre image strikes her like the lightning that came just before She left, dragging Victor with Her. She cannot help but think back to the Woman who had climbed through her window, appearing out of nowhere in the fashion of a phantom.
It was enough of a shock having a stranger burst into her room, but this Woman… well, as Victor had claimed, She was dead . He must have been right, Victoria thinks. Her bones were exposed, and Victoria guesses that the flesh that had once covered it had long-since rotted away.
Speaking of flesh and skin, Hers was tinged blue, most peculiarly. Though both She and Victoria are pale, the mysterious Woman’s complexion was painted with all the colour Victoria’s lacks. Against the soft hue of blue, Her full pink lips stood out- at least, Victoria’s eyes wandered down to them- not unlike how the Woman Herself was unlike anyone Victoria had ever seen. Victoria remembers how the corners of the Woman’s lips were tugged into a frown when She realised what was going on. She had watched as fury and pain flashed in Her narrowed eyes. It was rather strange that Her eyes, which Victoria believed should have been empty considering Her deceased state, were actually filled with more life than she is used to in the people around her.
Victoria supposes she should be horrified by the image of a walking, talking corpse, and part of her must be; her throat constricts and she swallows her saliva. Not only that but she can feel her heart racing against her palm as it rests against her chest once again. Her fingers curl as she grips the fabric of her dress.
She chews on her bottom lip.
Now, she recalls the Woman’s hair. Stringy and long, it fell about Her shoulders and spilled down Her back like ivy covering a wall. Like Her skin, it was a strange colour, this time a more vibrant blue. Though, perhaps most bizarre of all was how She was dressed; She was decorated with the tattered attire of a bride. Her veil, aglow with moonlight, billowed out around Her as it got caught in the breeze that seeped through the open window. The beading of Her dress glimmered in the darkness, standing out against the dulled white of the rest of the gown. Even with the tears and stains, Her outfit still looked exquisite. Victoria may go as far to say that She looked exquisite.
Her lips part at this thought, while her eyes widen.
She rubs her hand against her cheek, and her palm feels icy against her burning face. For a split second, she wonders what the Woman’s skeletal fingers would feel like against her skin…
Victoria freezes. After clearing her throat, she shakes her head, crouches down and reaches for the rod. Much to Victoria’s relief, the sound of the tool colliding with the door is enough to drown out all thoughts of Her.