Morrigan scanned the thicket of briar for signs of movement. She heard the song, but failed to pinpoint the source. She stood still, controlled her breathing, and after a time, she saw it: A rose of the briar.
It was humanoid, with the body of a woman, but the body looked like nothing more than a mass of muscle and plant fibers. Nerve endings branched from beneath the tissue, sprouting out in plumes around the body. The 'head' of the entity was a massive rose, blooming and closing as it mocked the function of breathing. Its fingernails were short but sharp. The rose and plant like fibers boasted shades of green and red.
The roses of the briar were once human. They were the most devoted worshipers of The Red Maiden. They shed their human forms and tend to the flora of The Wetworks. They sat somewhere between danger and care, wrath and peace.
Each was unique, possessing a different form, and a unique voice. Morrigan tilted her head to listen. It stared at her, as if expecting something. Morrigan slowly backed away. The creature growled, but not at Morrigan.
Morrigan heard footsteps from behind. She turned and saw a woman dressed in red robes. Her long, red hair flowed in the mist. In her arms, she held a small red box. The briar rose hissed at the women, crawling effortlessly along the thorned vines till she reached the edge of the thicket.
Morrigan scoffed at the woman. It was a grave offense to interfere with someone’s pilgrimage. Was Gemma so low she’d try and breech The Maiden’s rules? Morrigan called out, taunting her as she approached, “Don’t try it. If Gemma wants me dead, she’ll have to wait. I’m a little busy at the moment.”
The woman stayed silent, but nodded as if in agreement. She didn’t stop until she was less than a few feet away. Morrigan backed up, feeling the lightest poke from a thorn on the briar.
The woman reached out, made sure Morrigan could steady herself, then whispered, “You have to leave.”
“Excuse me?” Morrigan replied.
“Gemma is about to launch an assault on The Oxford Estate. It may have already happened. Time is weird here.”
“How? The Estates been warded? It would take years to break a chain of wards that size.”
“And she’s had decades. All she had to do was wait until you were occupied.”
Morrigan’s eyes went wide. “What? How, I checked them before I left.”
“Apparently, you missed some. You’re blind. It was a lucky break.”
Morrigan clasped her hand over her mouth, shaking, “I can’t just leave,”
“You can leave anytime you like. You just have to know how.” The woman walked to the edge of the briar, stared the creature in the face, and spoke with confidence, “She needs to go home.” The woman held out a small box of trinkets. “Are any of these yours?” she asked.
The creature looked into the box, reached in, and pulled out an ornate, silver hair pin with rubies embedded throughout its frame. It clutched to the pin, as if its life depended on it.
“Why are you helping?” Morrigan asked.
“Me and many other have a problem with Gemma. We keep our mouths shut, but when we heard about you, we found hope. Keep that in mind when you pick out who to slaughter.”
“Wha-” Morrigan began, but suddenly found herself surrounded by locks of red hair. The endless weave descended from the clouds above, enveloped her, and swept her up. She felt weightless, then felt gravity shift. Her vision faded, something she didn’t imagine would make her feel better. She felt at home again.
She felt something cold pressed against her skin, reached out, and tried to figure out where she was. Her hands traced along sloped walls. She felt the lip of the vessel she sat in before entering The Wetworks. She was home.
The blood was gone, claimed by The Wetworks. Morrigan felt along her skin and found it to be soft and clean. She sat up, hurried out of the vessel and reached for the clothing she set aside before.
Halfway through dressing, she screamed as loud as she could, “Tyler.”
She screamed again, and again, but received no response. No one came.
She snapped her finger, sent out a pulse of static, and the information that came back filled her with dread.
She sensed the blood everywhere, but couldn’t sense a single person who was alive. Bodies on both sides littered the floor as she stepped out from the bathroom. She nearly tripped over legs and arms in her path. She came across one poor soul who died leaning over the railing on the stairwell. When she tried to identify him, feeling for his face, she felt something wet drip on her hand. She looked up, and the light was bright enough to make out the outline of a human form swinging from the ceiling.
She ran her hand through her hair, and tried to steady her breath. There were so many bodies, she didn't know where to begin or how to keep track. Her body quaked, tears waiting for an inevitable revelation. She reached down every time she found a body in hopes of identifying them. She would trace their faces, try to gauge their height and width, but she always made sure to check for curly hair. She found several she recognized, but not Tyler. Her hand found a pool of blood. It was still warm but cooling fast.
Morrigan stood, composed herself, and channeled her fear, her sorrow, and her anger so that they could be put to better use. She condensed the static to the smallest point she could muster, like a grain of sand against her palm. She placed her hand on the hardwood floor, braced herself, and released a pulse massive enough to shake the very foundations of the mansion.
She could sense them. It didn’t matter that they could sense her as well. She walked back to the bathroom and grabbed the small curved knife. She held it in her hand, her palm presented and ready to feel its glorious sting.
She hesitated and didn’t know why. This was dangerous, of course. This wasn’t anger, this was hatred. She wanted to inflict pain. She wanted to kill. The Scarlet Arts had strict warnings regarding such things. The passion changed, the rage corrupting every drop of blood used. She knew she could spread contagions, unintentionally invite transformations in the bodies of everyone touched. She knew she could grant them a fate worse than death, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
After Ted's chapter(speaking of which, I just realized you shortened it to Ted 2 out of the 4 times you use his name -- that I could find), let's see where Morrigan takes us. Beginning at the top. It's probably just because it's been a few days, but you might want to mention what the song is at the beginning again. I forgot what it was; I remember that it was some sort of song for the dead, but I forgot some of it. I would just describe it again, maybe attempt to strike up a balance between reminding the reader and continuing the story. Not sure about that one. Your description of the rose gave such a large image that I instantly thought you were describing the briar itself. I would probably restructure it a bit to more directly explain to the reader that you're describing one rose of the many within the briar. You do manage to convey your meaning with the next line of "the roses were once the most devoted followers of the Red Maiden," but then I had to go back and realign my imagery with a singular rose. So you may need to clarify that. The more I read, the less certain I become about what your goal was. I left my comments as I read in order to best demonstrate how my mind interpreted the description as I read. Holy cow. While I wasn't sure in the beginning, I LOVED this chapter. That moment of hesitation before she brings forth the Scarlet Arts and the sheer density of the moment. Her own personal conflict was also well written. Obviously, there are some parts that could probably be better, but honestly, it's great the way it is. One thing I would say is to make that last paragraph as strong as possible you should be more direct and tell the reader instead of alluding the passion to the reader: "She hesitated, though she didn't know why. It was dangerous, of course. Hatred burned in her veins, not anger, as before. Every fiber of her being sought to inflict pain. She wanted to kill. To reject the warnings of the Scarlet Arts of hatred's corrupting touch. To summon the passion, accepting the rage as it corrupted every last drop of blood she sacrificed. She could spread contagions of the arts, inviting transformations in the bodies of everyone she touched. She could grant them a fate worse than death. And she wouldn't have it any other way." But holy cow. This may not be horror, but it's incredible. I loved this chapter, the writing was great, and there's not much to say. Keep up the awesome work!
Duuuude I'm so glad this one hit well. I was worried it would feel a little forced. Thanks so much for the kind words. I think I'll eliminate the idea of it being a horror novel in favor of weird. That covers the horror and I feel the term "weird romance" is just more appropriate. I feel I focus more on the weird than the horror anyway. xD don't know if that makes sense. Really excited to get the next one done and posted once I take the time to edit. Thanks again man!