Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Part Four: The Concern

“Dear Miriam, may I make conference with you?” my eldest sibling inquired of me as I strolled past our study one evening after my venture into the mortal world. I sighed to myself and joined my sister, placing myself adjacent her and her cup of tea. “Mother and I are concerned about you,” she commenced. “We appreciate you taking young Cylia under your learned wing--she needs the attention--but we fear you may be pushing her too hard; pursuing her into something she cannot handle with a clear mind.”

“Are you saying she is not intelligent enough to handle a human soul or two?” I asked insulted.

“It is just she may not be fully mature enough,” Annalisa amended. “You are an excellent mentor. Liza adores you and the young ones love to hear you speak of your own inquiries and infinite wisdom. Mother is proud of you as am I.”

“That is not as true as you wish me to take that,” I replied, seeing through her lie like looking into my mirror. “I know how horrid and despicable I appear to the family. I know you wish I could lessen up on my practices but you must believe me when I say I cannot.” I could tell she did not believe me at all.

“But I have seen these boys before,” my sister continued. “They are harmless. I was with Cylia on that fateful night. I comforted her. And I know she acted prematurely. I could see it in them, in their hearts. I just did not have the heart to tell Cylia she was wrong.” That is what separated me from my sisters. They could only read the eyes and heart where I could read all the way through the soul.

“There is another thing,” Annalisa continued. “Mother is concerned about your relationship with Diana. We care very much for Diana as you know but it does not seem you share in our feelings.”

“That is not so,” I snapped, standing from my seat. “Diana is blind. I am trying to help her see.”

“Diana is not blind. She is just misguided.”

“She is blind, I tell you! Do you think I scold her because of it? No! I want her to see where she is going. See the clues. She is doomed and she cannot see this. If only you knew.” I took a deep breath and held my hands to my chest. “Forgive my outbreak. I meant no disrespect.”

“You are tired, dear. Go to bed. Tomorrow is another day, you know. I am sorry for misjudging you.”

“Understandable, believe me.”

 

“Liza, darling, what are you reading?” I inquired as I passed Liza’s room since leaving the study for my own bed. Liza sat upon the edge of her bed engulfed by an old manuscript from our study.

“Tis a new spell,” she answered. “Nothing of which you would take interest.”

“Is it *that* simple?”

“Not as simple as it is short live. It turns a body lame for a length of seven hours. The mortal knows what goes on about them but they cannot speak or move or signal their condition. It is quite amusing to say the least.”

“A torture rather than a murder,” I deduced.

She was correct in that it was short live. I knew a spell-several in fact--which could make a human lame for the rest of his life span. This either caused a slow excruciating starvation or suffocation from a premature burial. It was an entertaining torture, one of my personal favorites. But a mere seven hours was not nearly long enough to satisfy my thirst for the suffrage of human souls anymore.

“How simple is it to induce?” I inquired out of curiosity since there could have been several ways to induce such a torture.

“As simple as a kiss,” Liza replied slyly.

“A kiss, you say? Care to test it on a young pathetic soul say Friday night?”

“Did you have someone in mind?”

“Do you recall that insolent ne’er-do-well who accompanied that Robert Michael in the street? The one to whom I blew my cursed kiss?”

“George Michael?”

“The same.”

“But he is your victim. Your toy.”

“He is no challenge and death is not the answer. I taunt to find a toy to play with, not to find my next victim. They choose to be victims. He is yours. If I may add, why don’t you prepare him before hand? Make sure that there will be no distractions.”

Liza was a second-class temptress with first-class training. I had found if one plants the seed before the tempting, he shall be easier to prune and eventually pluck, so to speak. It was a safety precaution. A prime example of the affects without this preliminary task was our own dear mother. She was a shoddy temptress, too anxious to wait and prejudice in her youth. Her choice for her pleasure was not only taken, he was taken many times over at once. As he fell victim to her practice, his other lovers rebelled. So what, mother thought, only humans.

That was her falling.

One was a witch more powerful and much more persevering and prevailing-one of few on the earth. She challenged mother to a Witches’ duel where the loser is inflicted upon them the curse of the victor’s choice. To make this long and heartless story short, mother lost the battle and was cursed with the loss of her first four children-the four before Annalisa-and the deaths to all the others after. This is why I had to keep silent about my own immortality. My siblings may become ruthless. Perhaps it was a side effect of my own presence in her womb at the time. Mother was the only of us who knows.

“Miriam, may I ask you a question?”

“By all means, dear.”

“You will not be there to help, correct?”

“Not unless you want me there.” I did not wish to put Liza in predicaments if she has doubts.

“No, I do not,” Liza replied with hesitation.

“I will if you desire,” I spoke with malignancy.

“And you will not be cross if I call for your help?”

“Not at all, I promise.”

“Thank you Mir.”

“You are always welcome, dear.”

 

| Preceding Part | Rebecca!!'s Solo Works | Proceding Part |