Night 64: Sun Room

[overlimit]

[from here]

There was no sign of other patients in the Sun Room, meaning it was possible that Rita and her companion were the first. That was just what Rita didn’t want. It meant she couldn’t know if any monsters or brainwashed patients were lurking around, and if they were, she and the old man were going to get their full attention.

“Don’t make too much noise,” she cautioned Skulduggery in a whisper. “You never know what could be hiding in here.” Unfortunately, their flashlights probably drew plenty of attention too, which meant they needed to be fast. Treading lightly yet quickly, Rita started toward the entrance to the library, watching the darkness for signs of danger as she moved.

Comments

time skipping for simplicity!

[purgatio]

[ from here ]

Silence came to accent the darkness, and the boy's expression didn't change, didn't show a thing but bland focus. Nigredo was beneath his feet, and Albedo needed to reach him. That was all there was. His hand shifted on the shotgun in his grasp, the knives resting gently in his belt against his hips, and Albedo thought, perfectly and precisely.

How if that man did anything to his brother, Albedo would leave a trail of blood.

[deathrattling]

A trail of blood he might be willing to leave, but perhaps he was not prepared to find: as Albedo strode through the darkness, there rose a faint hint of scorched wood (and beneath it, for those who might know, burnt flesh). Beneath his feet the carpet rustled quietly, and should he care to look there were first droplets, then thin smears, and finally a thick pathway of blood extending beneath his feet.

But perhaps the boy would be distracted. From the distance, the recesses of the room untouched by light, there came the patter of footsteps, the quick bare-footed run of a child.

[purgatio]

[I'm not a week late....]

Speak to a weapon of blood and fire, and it will know them as well as any other--know it better than bonds of love and joy. The scent perforated his being, and brought that aspect to awareness. Abstractly aware of it but nothing further, he continued to move forward.

Footsteps running beckoned nearby, and the Variant halted finally, eyes searching the room. Blood and fire, and now small footsteps. It was as if the Conflict had come back to haunt.

He couldn't think of it. He couldn't think.

[deathrattling]

Those childish footsteps crossed the room in the distance, where the shadows of the room hid their owner -- then silence, absolute and breathing -- and then the same light, playful susurration in the carpet came behind him, approaching at an unusual rate. A small hand, pale enough to be marbled with blue veins where the skin was thin, reached out to tug on a corner of Albedo's shirt.

The hand led to a child, very young, with a bowl cut and wide eyes, the irises so large that the dim lighting nearly didn't catch on the whites at all. Silent, wearing only a thin T-shirt and shorts, the boy stared up at the patient.

[purgatio]

His eyes continued to trace the sound blindly in the distance, only to freeze when it halted and instead came from behind him--quickly, too quick-- Two? Were there more? What kind of enemy--

Ah, but that... Was thinking too much like the weapon he once was, and yet still would forever be.

Albedo shifted his weight, turning his body to the side to glance backward, only in time to see the child behind him (close, too close, how--), staring in a way Albedo would describe as haunted. This boy, too, had seen much and many (wondrous things, horrors untold), and Albedo, Albedo would--

He swallowed against the reaction even as his hand move to detach the child's hand from his shirt. "...Why are you here?"