Affliction

I awoke of my own accord, feeling heavy, and completely disoriented. Where was I? What had happened? I was not sure, but my immediate sense was that I was far from anyone or anything I knew. In another world, as it were.

One furtive scan of my surroundings affirmed this suspicion, and all too clearly, the conditions preceding my state of unconscious flooded back. The darkness, the smell, I remembered Madame Giry’s departure, the lake, the chilling voice that had come out of nowhere. The face.

At first, I had seen nothing out of the ordinary about the individual who had addressed me. Dressed in the fine clothing of an upstanding gentleman he posed no threat, other than having taken me quite by surprise. But when his visage was disclosed in full, the paradox presented before me was incomprehensible. It took no more than a moment to evaluate the opposing halves of his countenance, one relatively normal, perhaps even handsome by some standards.

But the right side! What unfortunate accident or unhappy genetic birth right had led to such an afflicted condition was entirely beyond me. So distorted were the features that it was easier to explain the lack of a face, rather than give credible description of what was present.

I felt the overwhelming rush of panic rise in my chest at the remembrance, and hastily clambered out of the bed, a gruesome looking thing itself, in the shape of a fierce looking bird. The flickering candlelight made the thing’s eyes appear alive, and it glared at me with a wicked expression. I backed away, my ears attuned to any sounds that might disclose the whereabouts of my host.

“Leaving so soon, mademoiselle?” The same voice that had stopped my heart previously again came from behind me, though I hadn’t the chance to whirl around before he had me firmly by the shoulders. “Don’t turn around!” He hissed in my ear, and I froze. His hands were surprisingly warm against the thin material of my dress, but knowing how close that miserable visage was to my own face made me shudder. Suddenly the dank smell of mildew and aged stone mingled and became together the terrible odor of death, as I stood in the clutches of the corpse himself.

“Please let me go,” I whimpered, fighting hard for resolve, and failing miserably. I was shaking from fear, and there was no doubt my captor was aware of it.

“Let you go?” His voice was unearthly, though I couldn’t decide if it were terrifying or beautiful. Somehow it seemed to be both at the same time. In the few words that he had uttered, I had sensed dual characteristics. Some things were spoken in a lyrical, airy manner, devoid of any threat. But in the same breath, he could shift to a deep, ominous tone that left little doubt what he was capable of. It was a sinister combination, one that could lure in the unsuspecting victim only to destroy the poor soul on the instant.

“Please,” I tried once more. “I have no quarrel with you, sir. Let me go in peace. I will not disturb you again.”

“I am not disturbed by you,” he said quite coolly. “It would seem, however, that you are most affected by me.”

“N-no, sir,” I stammered. His grip on my arms was tightening and he leaned closer against me. My heart pounded madly. Oh, God, I was so frightened!

“No?” He asked incredulously. “Then what would explain your fainting, mademoiselle? Surely it was not merely the surprise I afforded you.” His mouth was close enough to my ear that I felt the slightest brush of his lips. His voice was full of disgust.

Unable to come up with a satisfactory reason, I dissolved into sobs, and only begged, please, again and again. There was no point in furthering the charade, whatever this….this man might be; he was not to be trifled with.

To my surprise, and great relief, he released my arms and stepped away, leaving me to regain my composure. I was amazed at his nonchalance about my prospect of escape, only to then realize that I had no such prospect. Unless I planned to plunge into the freezing depths of the lake, I was trapped. The realization renewed a sense of dread in my gut.

“Are you not here about the position?” He boomed at me, turning on his heel at once and leveling me with an icy glare. His eyes were crystal blue, one beneath a finely arched dark brow, the other peering from a sunken socket, surrounded by heavily scarred flesh and devoid of brow or lashes. His hair stood out, thin and wispy from his head. It had possibly been dark at one point in time, but had grown practically colorless from reasons I dared not entertain. Again I thought I smelled death.

“I-I…yes, well….I was…” I looked at the floor, at my hands, anywhere but at that face.

“You were?” He sounded indignant now. He waited for me to explain myself, but I only ducked my head and stared at my shoes.

“Ah,” he continued as though it was all very clear now, as though I had answered his question after all. “I see. You were here about the position, but things have changed now, have they?” He began to stride toward me, and I felt myself recoil. At the last minute I tried to scramble away, but he reached out and caught my wrist, ensnaring me with an unforgiving grip. “Cannot bear the sight of it, can you?” he hissed.

I didn’t reply, but winced from the tightening hold on my wrist. He shook me harshly, trying to dislodge some sort of answer from my dumbstruck mouth. I remained silent, but for a slight whimper due to the pain. He waited, staring down at my tear-streaked face, willing me with physical force to surrender to his request. He wanted an answer, an acknowledgement. I meant to give him nothing.

“No,” he said at last, as though he had known it all along. “No, not many can.” And with that he released me and walked away.