Too Much Horrified

Hear the loud alarum bells--

Brazen bells!

~ ~ ~

Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells

Of despair!

How they clang, and clash, and roar!

What a horror they out pour

On the bosom of the palpitating air!

A woman tells a tale:

"They were either in the middle of a free period or in the middle of a lesson.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

"The students looked around, startled by what had previously been thought impossible: their school had been invaded by the Dark.

"A boy, nearly a man now, looked at his two friends and nodded towards the door. They followed him out to the corridors. The boy, special in ways beyond word and a confidant of the greatest of the age, walked towards a statue and muttered a few words. The statue moved and revealed a revolving staircase. The small group mounted the steps. Up, up, up, and up they climbed.

"They entered the round office and realized their mistake. The greatest was gone and the room was invaded by Darkness."

The woman's eyes glaze and she fights back a sob before continuing:

"The three friends fought so hard but one by one they were lost. One never to rise again. One captured and imprisoned. One injured beyond help and left behind.

"What happened after that, the captured one could not know. She knew that she had to survive this. She had to fight till the end. Let the Dark torture her and bind her. She cried, but she did not break. She endured. She knew without a doubt that salvation would come one day and she would see the sky free of the hideous green streaks that marked the path of Darkness. A servant of the Dark, the rat-faced man, would come daily to her cell and gloat gleefully at her, prancing around with madness. That same madness was reflected in his eyes. She felt relieved when he left her alone. She was cold, so cold when he came to her cell.

"Months passed. Her confinement seemed to have no end. Maybe she was in denial, but she steadfastly refused to release hope from her mind. Sometimes it beat its wings angrily trying to break free, but like all winged things could be kept boxed and imprisoned with force."

The woman sighed and grasped the hand next to hers, stroking it. She went on:

"Sometimes, when hope nearly escaped, despair would come to play. It invaded her thoughts with gray and wet and clamminess. Her thoughts turned toward blame. He should be suffering. He should be the tiger in the cage. He was free. She was not.

"Once the Dark forced her to talk. She revealed things she never told her best friends. They laughed. Futility filled her senses. She never spoke in their presence again no matter what they did to her.

"Daily, hope and despair fought for her favor. Hope won more often than not. But those days when despair won; oh, how she longed for it to end and let nothing take over. Why was she still alive? She could do nothing to aid the Dark. She was nothing special.

"More months passed and more and she realized she had been fisted in Darkness' hand for nearly three years. Revelation sent he straight to despair.

"He, a brother to the one lost forever, found her curled into a chilled, stone corner. Hair tangled all around her. She saw his shadowed form in the doorway and knew that maybe she would know hope again. He was like light. He did not know her then, but he picked her up, gently, and carried her to safety.

"Darkness had finally been brought to the light and the servants fled in terror only to meet bitter ends.

"He placed her on a bed and when he saw her face he gasped in shock. 'She's alive! Mum, Professor we've got her!' She didn't recognize the feeling of happiness in her it was too unfamiliar.

"She spent a week in bed. She was given nutrients and encouraged to be in sunlight. She was told of a somewhat miracle when she was stronger. The one left behind had been found and kept hidden by his friends. He was here, in the very building where she was recovering.

"She visited with him everyday but could not speak. Until this day."

The woman quieted. Silence was soothing here. Not like the pressing weight of where used to be.

"'Mione?"

She allowed the nickname because she knew they loved her here and were glad that she had been found.

She looked up at the redhead and gave him a questioning look. He came over and grabbed the handles of her wheelchair.

"Let's get you back to bed. You still need to rest."

She nodded and reached her hand one last time to the still figure on the bed and traced his scar. She would return tomorrow.

End.