Post by Caitlin Cockfoster on Jul 13, 2014 1:38:01 GMT
OPEN TO ALL
There was no sound. Caitlin felt like she was walking through a void, a vacuum with no noises as she tread slowly through the hall of her fathers house. Up on the wall were family portraits going back generations through the barony. All of them had a black gauzy cloth draped over them, all of them deceased, like her mother.... All of them, except for her fathers portrait. Caitlin touched a few of the fabrics just to see if they were real but she didn't bother lifting them. By the time she reached the foyer she'd lost interest in the portraits. Good thing, or she might have noticed one extra hanging new on the wall and covered in mourning.
Caitlin turned the corner, not to go up the stairs, but to go into the sitting room where the doors stood open wide. Too much sunlight cut through the bay window at the front of the house and poured in her eyes making it hard to see, but eventually after a series of blinks, she could make out two figures in a room. They were standing on the other side of a raised platform between where they talked soundlessly, and where she stood in the doorway. Caitlin let herself in. This was her house, she could do whatever she wanted to. Within reason. Slowly she approached the long mahogany box raised on a platform in the middle of the room. The platform was covered with a white knitted tablecloth and at either end of the box were vases overflowing with flowers.
The box itself had Caitlin's rapt attention. It was the length of a man, and nearly as wide as the table it sat upon. It was octagonal in shape, though two sides of it ran longer than the other four. Cait started to shake as she reached the object and looked inside its hallow maul. It was a coffin, and contained within it was a beautiful, still rendition of herself. Her hair shone like gold and it was brushed into soft, obedient tangle-less waves. Her eyes were closed and she looked demur with the slightest part to her painted rose lips, as if maybe she were taking a shallow breath. Caits eyes fell to her chest but it did not raise, not even a millimeter. She wasn't breathing.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Caitlin shouted, her eyes snapping up to the two figures in the room, ignoring her prone body on the table as if they could not see it. Her voice echo'd and it sounded wrong in the quaint space, like standing in a cavern with no furnishings. "Answer me!" she shouted again but they didn't even pause or look over at her. They didn't know she was standing there.... or laying on the table. They didn't see either versions of her.
Caitlin walked around the offensive box and planted herself beside the two men. One was her father, the other a soldier in uniform.
"I will not allow it."
"Why, baron? Why do you always say no? What are you waiting for? Who? Someone who is worth her? I AM worth her, not those other dandies that run around here, peacocks with lace in their sleeves and mustard on their shirts."
"It's not about who's worthy, Commander. My daughter needs a man who cares more about who she is, and not a lick about what she is. She needs a man who is either stupid, or greedy, and either wont notice when she lies to him, or wont care when he knows she is lying. That is the only kind of man that it is safe for her to marry." Her fathers words stabbed into her multiple times. Each point he made was a knife in her chest. Her throat swelled and her eyes watered. She'd thought all these things before, scheming in her head how to still be herself after marriage and all those same criteria had crossed her mind. Out-loud and from her fathers mouth it sounded so much more callous and accusatory.
"I'm not a liar," she whispered, but that too was a lie. Caitlin Cockfoster was a terrible liar... but a liar no matter how you looked at it. Her eyes drifted to the man in uniform. It was Commander Skye. What was he doing here? Did he finally know the truth, was he here to denounce their family name, to arrest her and take her away? The commander rolled his eyes impatiently and she could tell he was wearing thin.
"I know why you might feel that way, your lordship, but I see it differently. She deserves better than stupidity and greed, and I promise no matter what lies she's told to save her own skin in the past, I would never use them against her. Baron.... I know the truth. I know your daughters secrets..." How? She thought, but then she yelped and stumbled backwards into the coffin because both men turned to her in that moment, deciding now that they finally saw her standing there.
"I didn't do it," she said reflexively, though she wasn't sure why she felt guilty. Something twisted in her back and she looked past her shoulder to see her corpse sitting up tall, dead eyes open and hand extended past the side of the casket, holding onto the end of a knife which was now stabbed into her own back. Caitlin's corpse reached up with its free hand and brushed aside the living Cait's hair braid. She gripped the back of her warm neck, pulsing with black blood and whispered in the living Cait's ear with her painted rose lips: "You didn't have to, men chose the fates of women. You had no say in it at all."
Caitlin woke up gasping and gurgling on her own cries and tears. She felt cold, and wet. It was raining, and the sky above her was overcast with too many rain clouds. Why was she out in the rain? Why was she sleeping in the street?
She looked down at her dress, muddy and torn like she'd spent the night running through the borderland forest. Her boots were missing, and she was wearing only her socks on her feet. they were soaked and soggy. Caitlins hair stuck to her face and it felt tangled and filthy. When she sat up she cried out again. Looking back over her shoulder - slowly - out of fear for what she'd find, there was a small sliver of glass stuck in her back between the 3rd and 4th rib. Black blood was slowly leaking out, and judging by how much of it stained her chemise, it probably had been for a while. She bit her bottom lip and looked around her for help. Everything she saw was made of scrap wood. Even the bridges over the river. "I'm in the hovel," She whispered to herself in shock.
There was no sound. Caitlin felt like she was walking through a void, a vacuum with no noises as she tread slowly through the hall of her fathers house. Up on the wall were family portraits going back generations through the barony. All of them had a black gauzy cloth draped over them, all of them deceased, like her mother.... All of them, except for her fathers portrait. Caitlin touched a few of the fabrics just to see if they were real but she didn't bother lifting them. By the time she reached the foyer she'd lost interest in the portraits. Good thing, or she might have noticed one extra hanging new on the wall and covered in mourning.
Caitlin turned the corner, not to go up the stairs, but to go into the sitting room where the doors stood open wide. Too much sunlight cut through the bay window at the front of the house and poured in her eyes making it hard to see, but eventually after a series of blinks, she could make out two figures in a room. They were standing on the other side of a raised platform between where they talked soundlessly, and where she stood in the doorway. Caitlin let herself in. This was her house, she could do whatever she wanted to. Within reason. Slowly she approached the long mahogany box raised on a platform in the middle of the room. The platform was covered with a white knitted tablecloth and at either end of the box were vases overflowing with flowers.
The box itself had Caitlin's rapt attention. It was the length of a man, and nearly as wide as the table it sat upon. It was octagonal in shape, though two sides of it ran longer than the other four. Cait started to shake as she reached the object and looked inside its hallow maul. It was a coffin, and contained within it was a beautiful, still rendition of herself. Her hair shone like gold and it was brushed into soft, obedient tangle-less waves. Her eyes were closed and she looked demur with the slightest part to her painted rose lips, as if maybe she were taking a shallow breath. Caits eyes fell to her chest but it did not raise, not even a millimeter. She wasn't breathing.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Caitlin shouted, her eyes snapping up to the two figures in the room, ignoring her prone body on the table as if they could not see it. Her voice echo'd and it sounded wrong in the quaint space, like standing in a cavern with no furnishings. "Answer me!" she shouted again but they didn't even pause or look over at her. They didn't know she was standing there.... or laying on the table. They didn't see either versions of her.
Caitlin walked around the offensive box and planted herself beside the two men. One was her father, the other a soldier in uniform.
"I will not allow it."
"Why, baron? Why do you always say no? What are you waiting for? Who? Someone who is worth her? I AM worth her, not those other dandies that run around here, peacocks with lace in their sleeves and mustard on their shirts."
"It's not about who's worthy, Commander. My daughter needs a man who cares more about who she is, and not a lick about what she is. She needs a man who is either stupid, or greedy, and either wont notice when she lies to him, or wont care when he knows she is lying. That is the only kind of man that it is safe for her to marry." Her fathers words stabbed into her multiple times. Each point he made was a knife in her chest. Her throat swelled and her eyes watered. She'd thought all these things before, scheming in her head how to still be herself after marriage and all those same criteria had crossed her mind. Out-loud and from her fathers mouth it sounded so much more callous and accusatory.
"I'm not a liar," she whispered, but that too was a lie. Caitlin Cockfoster was a terrible liar... but a liar no matter how you looked at it. Her eyes drifted to the man in uniform. It was Commander Skye. What was he doing here? Did he finally know the truth, was he here to denounce their family name, to arrest her and take her away? The commander rolled his eyes impatiently and she could tell he was wearing thin.
"I know why you might feel that way, your lordship, but I see it differently. She deserves better than stupidity and greed, and I promise no matter what lies she's told to save her own skin in the past, I would never use them against her. Baron.... I know the truth. I know your daughters secrets..." How? She thought, but then she yelped and stumbled backwards into the coffin because both men turned to her in that moment, deciding now that they finally saw her standing there.
"I didn't do it," she said reflexively, though she wasn't sure why she felt guilty. Something twisted in her back and she looked past her shoulder to see her corpse sitting up tall, dead eyes open and hand extended past the side of the casket, holding onto the end of a knife which was now stabbed into her own back. Caitlin's corpse reached up with its free hand and brushed aside the living Cait's hair braid. She gripped the back of her warm neck, pulsing with black blood and whispered in the living Cait's ear with her painted rose lips: "You didn't have to, men chose the fates of women. You had no say in it at all."
Caitlin woke up gasping and gurgling on her own cries and tears. She felt cold, and wet. It was raining, and the sky above her was overcast with too many rain clouds. Why was she out in the rain? Why was she sleeping in the street?
She looked down at her dress, muddy and torn like she'd spent the night running through the borderland forest. Her boots were missing, and she was wearing only her socks on her feet. they were soaked and soggy. Caitlins hair stuck to her face and it felt tangled and filthy. When she sat up she cried out again. Looking back over her shoulder - slowly - out of fear for what she'd find, there was a small sliver of glass stuck in her back between the 3rd and 4th rib. Black blood was slowly leaking out, and judging by how much of it stained her chemise, it probably had been for a while. She bit her bottom lip and looked around her for help. Everything she saw was made of scrap wood. Even the bridges over the river. "I'm in the hovel," She whispered to herself in shock.