Completed As if nobody's watching [Madeira Craven]

[Penny Noor]

13th of Fall 517AV
Midnight
Garden of no return

‘One should never enter the maze of no return on an empty stomach’ and if life in Alvadas had rules, that would be rule number one. Of course Penny was a wise one and along with her sketchbook, she also tossed a packed supper into her backpack before skipping past her doorstep that late evening. It was perfect. Fresh, crisp air, the moon full, hanging on the canvas of an inky black sky. It was as if the night was made for Penny’s mischievous adventures, for the girl couldn't pass up the opportunity to sneak out after all the candles in all the windows in the city were snuffed out, the children tucked in their beds and the tavern drunkards were very much drunk.

For those who perhaps didn’t know the city, venturing into the Garden of no Return after sundown was a suicide mission. But not to Penny. Armed with brushes, pencils and paper she had made it her personal goal to chronicle every single plant in the garden before the year was up.

There was something truly beautiful about herbs. This one ivy, for example, which she found by one of the gates. A tall climbing vine with flat, heart-shaped leaves. She picked one and stuck it between the pages of her sketchbook so that the outline would peer through the thin paper. An outline she could trace so very carefully as to capture every single groove and kink and bend with the most delicate line she could muster. And then she'd pick out where the major veins on the leaf were and she’s trace those to, shading delicately where they branched off into smaller capillaries and disappeared into the fleshy edges. She then picked another, placing it right next to the previous leaf, caring so that the stem didn’t poke outside the edges of her sketchbook and repeat the process. She must have drawn maybe three or four vine leaves like this, overlapping them and shading with quick, imprecise marks where one illustration’s shadow would lay on another and blacking out any black paper. It would add depth to the intensely detailed illustration. Some leaves were better than others, some she messed up and some looked like truly beautiful line art. But she didn’t mind. She thought the mistakes added character. And every mistake of course was a lesson to be learned after all.

WIthout removing the leaves she then turned to the next blank page and spent a good 5 minutes looking at the vine and how it climbed the wall, how it stuck its little green tendrils into the cobblestones and obscured the trees around it. Her hand would follow the forms and patterns that the vine made, etching what her eyes saw without looking at the page. Of course the final drawing was distorted, elongated strangely in places and condensed in others. A stranger looking at it perhaps couldn't tell what it was even supposed to be. Just a long squiggle. But she knew. The purpose of the exercise wasn’t to create the perfect image but to truly closely study every part of the plant so closely that even her own skill limited her witch how precisely she could draw it. It didn’t matter. It was all a process of learning.

Soon she’d move onto another plant. A patch of exotic flowers of all colours, winding down with the path, deeper into the hedge maze. She insisted on drawing as many of them as she could. The darker ones she’d shade in whilst the later ones she’d leave blank. She used a lighter line to symbolise tonal value in a monochromatic drawing. Again she'd pick a few of the flowers and press them in her sketchbook for reference just incase, by the weak light of the moon she missed some details of the thin petals and fuzzy stems.

If anyone could see her, they’d think her mad. Who in their right mind would pay such close attention to flowers, blades of grass, twigs, branches and leaves? But no one could see Penny as she worked the night away, looking learning and drawing. And every sketch she created, every study of every plant she made as she ventured deeper and deeper into the maze, was not only an expansion of her visual toolkit but also a marker of the way back home. This way she didn’t need to remember what each tree looked like. She’d simply flick back through the pages of her sketchbook and retrace her steps through the illusions and trickeries of the uncanny maze.

It wasn’t the time to head back home yet, although a few times she almost made the choice to do so. A couple time she almost headed for the entrance only to mistake one tree for another and go a completely different way, drawing and sketching and doodling her way along only to find herself at an unfamiliar fountain and figure out that it surely couldn't be her time to return yet if the illusions didn’t will it to be so.

Many would easily be overwhelmed by the beauty of the Garden of no Return. Then again those people perhaps didn’t frequent it as much as Penny did. Perhaps the first time was indeed quite overwhelming with the richness of the foliage and the sheer amount of variety but soon she learned to take it bit by bit. To find something new and beautiful with every visit.

And the fountain was thi’s visit novelty. Tall, far taller than Penny even when she stood up straight. There were embellishments in the stone beyond the water, obscured by its cascading glisten in the moonlight. Penny reached her hand in, winced a little as the impact of water against her skin sent droplets flying into her eyes. But rarely did she manage to touch the engravings as a faint laugh in the distance startled her.

[Penny Noor]

Who was this? Where? She was so certain she was alone but muffled voices reached her ears before her eyes could make sense of any figures in the dim light of the moon. That's just her luck! Was there not a single peaceful corner of the city she could work in without the worry of strangers looking over her shoulder, asking what it is that she’s doing?

Perhaps it was panic or perhaps just instinct but somehow, before quite realising what it was that she was doing, Penny found herself darting into the thicket, disguising herself with so many branches she could no longer quite see the path through the leaves and twigs. And to her horror the figures came closer, now within an earshot, the colour of their shoes barely visible from where she was. Penny narrowed her eyes, trying to peer out whatever she could see of the strangers.

It’s not that she was doing anything illegal by being in the garden after dark. Her reaction was more that of a deer startled by the wiz of a hunter’s arrow past their ear. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she held her breath. Had they seen her? Staying perfectly still, holding her breath she listened in on scraps of the conversation. Thankfully they hadn’t. It was a man and a woman and from how delightfully she giggled and how close she stood to him, Penny could only deduce they were quite smitten with each other although from where she was she couldn’t see their faces. In utter horror instead she staired at something else that caught her attention.

How could she be this stupid to forget to grab her backpack, that now lay by the base of the fountain, threatening to betray her presence. Surely they’ll see it, figure out her whereabouts and confront her in some unpleasant manner, raised voices and all - Penny’s imagination ran away from her.

But it was not to be so either. The two were far more interested in each other than the garden around them. Perhaps this is why they seemed lost, carelessly and merrily like two young wild cats, venturing out their burrow for the first time to find out the world was theirs and theirs alone.

Penny placed her hand over her mouth and squeezed gently, not to stop her breath but to muffle it. Her foot slowly inched to the side and very very slowly her body followed, crouched, veiled by the undergrowth. She weaved herself though it, avoiding the smaller twigs she could that would snap, and bending the bigger ones slowly so that they creaked as little as possible as she crawled past them. She’d only take a step when the man spoke, hoping his deep, booming voice would obscure any sound she’d accidentally make. When the woman, who was far more dainty and ladylike, would speak, penny would stay very very still. And this way, painstakingly she crawled her way inch by inch, step by slow, drown out step, to get as close to the fountain as she could. And once she was there she'd reach her hand out for the backpack and whisk it back into the darkness of the bush with her.

From where she now was alas she could make out the forms of the strangers a little better. They were both perhaps in their 40s, early 50 maybe. Certainly he was judging by all the lines in his face. The reminiscence of every smile and every grimace that ever graced that face of his. A large nose. Clean shaved and wearing a gentleman’s coat and a wide brim hat. Only one of his hands was gloved. The other glove sat in his pocket, peaking, threatening to fall out but he seemed not to care. Hastily, Penny pulled out her notebook and pencil to draw him, paying extra attention to get the proportion of his face correctly, the outline of his square shin, the way his sideburns curled slightly beneath his hat. She captured his profile in one drawing, in another she so quickly sketched him from the side, smiling and the way his bottom teeth glimmered in full moonlight as he told dirty jokes. She must have done a full page of small, thumbnail drawings of his face with different expressions, abandoning each drawing when he changed position or topic of his stories to which she paid far less attention than how his thin lips moved when he was telling them.

Penny did the same with the woman who had her back to her, mostly, but she drew what little glimpses she could capture. She was pretty. Honey coloured hair peaking out from under her hood. A waist belt cinching in her elegant figure. And the way she moved her hands as she articulated sweet nothings to the man. Penny drew as those hands touched his clothing, wound around his arm, filling in his silhouette and the features that would make the drawings undoubtedly him. Every single line on the perfect was meticulously crafted to the best of her ability; which wasn't perfect. Not by a long stretch, but certainly it was satisfactory. She captured the gesture and the flow of the fingers interlocking with the thumbs. But Penny’s last sketch was to be her best. As the two lovers kissed Penny captured their likeness, and with much luck, or perhaps just coss she had so much practice this evening, almost perfectly in an illustration. After all what more perfect a moment was there to capture?

“We should head back. It’s getting so very dark and cold and if my husband wakes up and I’m not there he’ll be furious.” the lady pleaded, still giggling, perhaps she was a little intoxicated. “Though, believe me my love I don’t wish to leave your side.”

So this liaison was one of nefarious nature, Penny smirked to herself.

“He won’t wake up. My goodness, you should never return to him. Your place is by my side.” he replied, holding her hand at his chest as she blushed. In spite of his insistence however, the couple started towards the archway that lead back into the maze of hedges. Their back now turned to the young artist who not only bore witness to their sneaky deceit but now had physical proof of it. Though she never had any intention of letting anyone see it. It was inspiration.

That was when out of the corner of her eye Penny noticed one last figure that made her heart sink to her feet. At first it seemed like her wits abandoned her and she gasped.

“What was that!? Did you hear that?” the lady shrieked, hearing the gasp that betrayed Penny's whereabouts.

“It’s nothing. Most likely a bird or a fox, or another one of this hellish place's illusions. Come, settle down.” He assured her but to no avail.

“It sounded like a ghost! Please let's leave already.”

And with those words they hurried past the hedges and out of sight. Although the lady was very much wrong as, to the best of her knowledge, Penny was far from dead. But she wasn’t wrong entirely, for there was a fourth figure watching, standing very very still. At first penny couldn't quite believe her eyes. It was the wife of a councilman, the council man whom she caught kissing married women in the moonlight. But the problem was, that the wife had passed away from a sudden terrible onset of illness but a fortnight ago. Penny was now looking at a dead woman. And the dead woman was looking back at her.

[Madeira Dusk]

The ghost stood there for a long moment, looking down at the black haired woman. Her gaze was steady but her soulmist betrayed her anguish, the trailing edges were whipping in a storm around her. She was a handsome woman with long steel grey hair and wide blue eyes. A long nightdress pressed against the soft body of a woman a decade past her prime. She was staring at Penny with a vacant look like she wasn’t really sure what she was seeing.

Suddenly from beyond the archway the illicit couple just passed under came a muffled yell. Then a man and a woman started arguing, and began steadily getting louder. There was the shuffling of many feet and the the sound of something being dragged across the dewy grass.

"-told you!-" a woman's voice echoed over the glade, her voice scratchy and thunderous, muffled by the walls of hedges

"-little more than a child!-" a man replied, outraged.

"-it's dangerous!-"

"-insolent!-"

"-told you!-"

The woman with honey blonde hair ran backward into the clearing, hands hoovering over her torso as if to hide herself, her lips moving soundlessly. But the voices behind the arch were still arguing, and getting clearer as they moved closer.

"-stay inside!" the woman continued. "You're house was given every warding possible and you're sneaking out like a horny teenager!"

"I will not be spoken too like that!"

Now the man was stumbling backward into the clearing, hotly pursued by a wreck of a woman; a sallow-skinned ill looking teenager with brambles in her high necked dress and twigs in her unraveling blonde hair. Leaning hard on a black cane she was dragging a useless leg under a long skirt and shouldering a battered leather rucksack.

"We have half the Cravens and an army of ghosts out looking for you! Do you not understand the danger you are in?!"

"My wife haunts the house! I'm safe out here! And as my beloved is deceased I may see whomever I please!"

"That's not how ghosts work!"

The ghost finally looked up from the black-haired girl. It seemed to take a lot of effort for her to fix that wide smile on her face. Her eyes were blank and vapid as she looked towards the arguing trio.

"Roger!" she called in a cheerful voice, as if they had just ran into each other on the street. But there was something behind it, something just a little bit off. "Roger, my love, who's your... Who's your friend?"

All three of them turned at the voice. The older blonde woman gave a shriek and fell into the hedge behind her. The youngest wobbled on her cane, shocked and suddenly looking very, very tired. Her eyes found the woman crouched at the edge of the fountain; a pretty thing with delicate, feminine features and eyes wide with a fear she was rapidly mirroring. Roger froze, his face white and legs trembling.

"Olivia?..."

"Of course she's not a lover." the ghost spoke distractedly, giving a high, false laugh. "You love your wife. Don't you love your wife, Roger?" Her wide eyes were rolling madly, showing white all the way around her blown pupils. "I came back for you. I love you so much I came back for you."

Suddenly her eyes found the black haired woman again, her mad smile still carved on her face.

"Maybe... Maybe it's not enough? Do you need more? I can be more for you, Roger."

"Wait!" Madeira stepped forward, but it was too late. The ghost seemed to dissolve and pass through the girl's chest. Olivia ripped through her body, levering her soul aside and winding her way through her limbs. Madeira watched as the girl spasmed for a tick, then fell still. Feeling sick, she watched as the girl then opened her eyes and picked her way carefully to her feet. A sketchbook tumbled out of her lap and fell open on the grass. She opened her mouth and spoke, and her voice was tight and insane. She stumbled forward drunkenly, her arms out as if to embrace him.

"See? See?! See what I'd do for you? I can be anything you want! Anything at all! You like them young, don't you Roger? Say you love me, Roger."

Word count: 714

[Penny Noor]

Just as she thought it was safe to come out, disregarding of course the minor inconvenience of a dead woman staring at her as if she was a novelty, the usually peaceful garden erupted in a cacophony of yelling, screaming and arguing. And to Penny’s horror, not only did the two lovers return but accompanied by yet more. What a mess, what a mess. Another blonde woman, this one far younger than the other made her weary way into the clearing, hollering lectures at the man as if he’d been her servant. And penny watched it all from her less than ideal position with a twig digging annoyingly into her shoulder and leaves tickling her nose.

"-stay inside!" the woman continued. "You're house was given every warding possible and you're sneaking out like a horny teenager! We have half the Cravens and an army of ghosts out looking for you! Do you not understand the danger you are in?!"

So it was confirmed. Of course penny was certain beyond reasonable doubt of whom he was and what he was doing but it didn’t hurt to confirm one’s certainties. Who the other woman was? Of that she had no idea.

The ghost, Olivia, hadn’t let herself be forgotten in all this debacle however. And the moment she spoke, chills ran down Penny’s spine like a tidal wave. She wasn’t only terrified of the ghost; her heart also broke for her. How awful must it have been to watch your husband in the arms of another. Even though Penny had little interest in romantic pursuits, she was fairly certain that is she was the one this happened to, she’d kill the man or worse.

But barely had she the chance to ponder these concepts of love and betrayal, her eyes found Olivia’s. But now not only the spirit was looking at her. So was everyone else. Her disguise had been blown completely and now she sat on the soil, blushing bright red with embarrassment and the cold chills on her nose. Her eyes wide open, frozen in such a mess of emotions her young body could barely handle it. Some part of her wanted to get up, dust herself off and make up some nonsense to calm the whole situation. The larger part however was nailed in her place by that transfixing, terrifying smile on Olivia’s ghostly visage.

"Maybe... Maybe it's not enough? Do you need more? I can be more for you, Roger."

Not in a milion hers had penny the capacity of guessing what the spirit meant by this. Not in a million years could she have foreseen the next unfolding of events that left her standing beside herself and literally watching her own body rise to her feet and speak with her own voice.

"See? See?! See what I'd do for you? I can be anything you want! Anything at all! You like them young, don't you Roger? Say you love me, Roger." her words were not her own.

Intense anguish suddenly tore through Penny’s heart and if souls could weep, she would be doing so. First the feelings Olivia must have felt in her final hour. Fear. Unrelenting, unrelenting fear. Anxiousness over what was to become of her husband and her child. The intense longing to hold them both just one more time and the overwhelming grief of the happenings but only a season ago. Then the betrayal and the denial that came with it. Feeling hopefulness that she could indeed remedy the situation like she always remedied everything; bruised knees, hungry tummies and her husband’s bad moods after work. And perhaps Olivia could feel her host’s fear too, but if so then she paid it no attention. She had bigger fish to fry.

Roger had none of it of course. He couldn't recognise his wife as truly his in a young girl’s body. And any suspicion over the girl too had slipped him. He hadn’t even noticed the sketchbook splayed open on the floor, it’s pages flicking in the wind from drawings of plants, to himself and back again. He was far too busy being horrified at the unfolding of events. “What is this trickery!” he screamed several times higher than a man’s voice would naturally fall. “What are you doing to this poor girl?”

Olivia wouldn’t listen. There was no pacifying a grieving wife who passed to the other side before her time. She walked closer to him, flinging her arms up as it to embrace him but he backed away.

“We could be together again, Roger. We could be a family… if you didn’t bring that harlet into your life” for a moment the woman’s wailing out of Penny’s lips turned to fiery anger and then back to the soft, sweet morbid cooing with which she hoped to lure him back. “I will forgive you, but do return home my love. Return to our home.”

Perhaps it was due to inexperience or a seemingly keen, empathetic bond between the spirit and her host but Penny was unable of stopping the ordeal. She didn’t even attempt. She’d surrendered her body, given into the body snatching. What was she, a young girl who wanted nothing to do with this twisted political love triangle, to do about it? But more importantly how could she ever start thinking about a way out when feeling such paralysing sadness.

[Madeira Dusk]

This was more than the older woman could take. As the black-haired girl wobbled closer, a biting, crazed smile on her lips, the woman fought her way out of the hedge she had fallen into and ran. Her breathy, panicked whimpers fell behind her as she passed through an arch on the far end of the glade and disappeared. Nobody stopped her.

Roger was backing away from the approaching girl, rocking back on his heels like he was seconds away from tearing away from the scene like his lover.

“What is this trickery! What are you doing to this poor girl?!” He screamed, his voice high and tight and as far from his deep crooning as it was possible to be.

”Dont.” Madeira hissed between her teeth, sensing his impending meltdown. Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Play along.”

He looked around at the Craven, and it couldn’t be more obvious that this was not what he was prepared to do. Madeira shook her head slightly, her pale, bloodshot eyes burning holes into him. Play along, she mouthed. She had seen scenes like this before. Olivia would hurt Roger or the girl if she felt like she was losing him. Desperation was a powerful thing.

So Roger stood there, stiff and unmoving, his face turned away, as the possessed girl ran into his arms.

Madeira had already bowed awkwardly, throwing her pack from her shoulders. Inside there was a length of dark green beads, a jar of sticky black dough, a glowing jar of fresh swirling soulmist, and three heavy iron nails. Breathing heavy as the movement sent a wave of fire down her stiff back, Madeira pulled the the soulmist out of it’s depths and unscrewed the lid. Two elaborate silver rings glittered on her fingers, each used to summon a different ghost. She eyed the ring set with a black agate stone, as she considered calling Jomi. No, she decided. The angry Kelvic badger would probably be more hinderance than help.

Dipping her hand into the jar, she scooped out a handful of her own etherial soulmist. Smearing the substance on her face and tongue, she felt the coolness set into her skin and shivered in the crisp Fall night.

She hadn’t been paying attention to the scene, trusting that the man would do as he was told in the wake of his disastrous disregard of the simple instructions her family had left him. But she looked up now, and with effort she rallied her concentration. The woman who had just left flared into her mind. She brought the image of her pretty face and honey blonde hair forward, and threw it before her like a shield. She forced her mind into uncomfortable shapes as she constructed the Lie, making sure nothing of the skinny teenage girl was left for the ghost to see.

And when she was done, nothing of her appearance would have change for the two humans, but to Olivia she had become her husbands beautiful middle-aged lover.

“Get away from him!” Madeira’s voice was broken and scratchy from her recovering illness, but to Olivia it was the bell tones of the woman who has whispered sweet nothings in her husbands ear. “You had your chance, he belongs to me know!”, she shrieked, trying to rile the ghost. There was nothing she could do while the ghost was possessing the girl. Everything that could hurt the ghost would kill the vessel. But if she could get it to attack her, get her to pull away from her host and try to hurt her…

Word Count: 600

[Penny Noor]

“You had your chance, he belongs to me know!”

So the weary looking woman was in love with him too? How many secret lovers did this man have? He wasn’t the ugliest pea in the pod, but he was by far nothing THAT special. Penny just couldn't fathom it. What did all these women see in him and was she blind for not seeing the same? Furthermore, her opinion of him dropped significantly. How could a widower be this much of a womaniser so soon after the passing of his wife? Accusations grew in her mind. Did he cheat on Olivia before her death? Could he have been responsible for it somehow? Did he quietly get rid of his jilted lover to replace her for a younger, sturdier kind? Olivia wasn’t by far ugly. In fact, in spite of the whole death problem, Penny thought her quite gorgeous even in spite of the signs of age in her spiritual visage. She wondered if the ghost could feel her accusatory emotions like she could feel her anguish.

Of course Penny had no idea of the lie or what it was so it took her quite some time to catch onto the true nature of the ordeal. She knew of spiritists of course. She heard all about the Craven house from idle street gossip. Who hasn’t?

“Your’s…!” Olivia shrieked at the top of Penny’s lungs so loud that it strained her vocal chords. “Tell her you love me more Roger! Tell her!”

Her spidery fingers unclenched from the man’s coat and reached for the spiritist’s throat instead. Her eyes madenned. “How dare you walk into my house! Lay claim to my husband! You despicable wretch, curse you! Curse you!”

Penny’s possessed body couldn't keep up with Olivia’s anger. It didn’t move fast enough. It wasn’t strong enough to do all the things the engraved wreath has envisioned she could do to the woman she believed to be her husband’s mistress. She slipped out of Penny’s body, letting the vessel fall limp at Roger’s feet, whilst she unleashed her torment on the spiritist.

The next thing Penny knew was being pulled off the ground by the man and steadied in his strong arms. Her fist clenched, covering her mouth as to not vomit. Her large eyes open wider than ever before to watch the Craven and Olivia’s battle. Alas her head became free from the overwhelming emotions that weren’t her own, a feeling of dread set in. She felt violated. The feeling of losing control of herself completely must have been the worst thing Penny felt thus far. The very worst.

“Miss, are you ok? Can you stand?” Roger asked. His voice shaking too.

Penny swallowed her fear and nodded. She didn’t want him touching any part of her. Not even to be near her.

[Madeira Dusk]

Perhaps, if she were well, if her reactions were not weighted down with the plague, Madeira could have stopped the attacking ghost. But somehow, even as the ghost sank it's materialized hands deep into the spiritist’s chest, she doubted she could have gotten out of the way in time. Olivia had launched herself out of the possessed girl, left her vessel to crumple at Roger's feet, and had her hands out as if looking to strangle her husband's temptress. Madeira had barely pulled back her sleeve, revealing a glint of silver in the moonlight, when the ghost’s materialized soulmist touched her soul.

Madeira's body seized and her eyes rolled back into stillness. The Lie broke, and she wobbled dangerously before her bad leg crumbled under her. She slid to the ground, still clutching her cane and gasping for breath.

Above her, Olivia had paused. She was looking down at the wheezing blonde with confusion set in the lines of her face. Madeira couldn’t imagine what a ghost would see when a Lie broke. But she wasn’t about to let this momentary distraction pass. She pushed back her right sleeve the rest of the way, revealing a little silver and ebony
bracer crossbow in the tick it took her to hold her fist out into the swirling mass of soulmist. With her hand quickly going numb in the etherial cold, she groped for the trigger and fired from inside the ghost.

The tip of the arrow buried itself in the soft soil, but the sound was drowned out by a terrible scream. Olivia's face was twisted not with anger or madness, but with pain and something close to terror. She tried to back away as Madeira got shakily to her feet, but was held in place by the souldart.

She screamed for Roger as the Spiritist gave her cane a twist, and pulled a thin silver sword out of the hollow centre. The arrow in the ground shifted as she tried to tear herself away. Madeira spoke softly, her raspy voice slipping under Olivia's shrieking panic.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I really am. This isn't permanent. It’ll be ok. I just- I just need you to hold still, ok?"

Unable to hold the sword any higher than waist hight with her tired arms, she swung the imbued blade through the ghost. It met no more resistance than a dense mist, and no physical damage showed, but the ghost recoiled as if struck.

"No no no no! Roger! Roger! Help me!"

Madeira sliced into her again, now using both hands to keep the sword up. Olivia's form flickered, and her body became less opaque. She hit her again, and again. Every time it seemed to drag a little more out of the ghost, until she was a voiceless phantom, then a shimmering haze, then nothing at all.

At the end Madeira was standing there quite alone, sweating profusely and holding a naked sword. With a graceless grunt she sat back down on the grass, and struggled to sheath the weapon back into her cane. She didn't look up until Roger's voice rose gently out of the deafening quiet.

"Is it over? Is she... Is she gone?"

"She's still here you moron, you just can't see her." with a rattle and a snap, the spiritist slid the blade back into the cane and closed it. Leaning forward she plucked the arrow out of the ground. "I just put a bandaid over a festering wound, and it won't last long. Go home. There will be Cravens there to tell you how bad you messed up and what to do about it."

He didn't need telling twice. With a final, incredulous look at the dark haired girl, he fled the scene. With a whip of his coattails, he passed under the arch he had entered through not fifteen chimes ago. Within moments the sound of his polished shoes faded and vanished.

Now it was just the two young women left. Madeira glanced at the newcomer, who she hadn't even heard speak with her own words yet, in a strangely embarrassed way. Admittedly, she was more focused on the key players than she was with the very unlucky girl who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she took a moment now to look her over. The woman was a pretty, glass-doll creature with bad posture and the most delicate hands Madeira had ever seen. Her eyes were the liquid amber of a strong glass of cognac, and probably just as intoxicating. There was a sickly tinge of green in her cheeks and a shakiness to her limbs, and Madeira was reminded forcefully of her very first possession.

"Well, that was exciting." the spiritist smiled ruefully at the dark haired girl. "My name is Madeira. Are you ok?"

word count: 808

[Penny Noor]

Penny watched as the events unfolded before her more conscious of her own helplessness to stop them. At first she thought the Craven was done for, seeing how Olivia lunged at her with more anger than she'd ever seen manifest in anyone. But soon her sympathies switched sides and as the dart penetrated Olivia’s soul a cacophonic shriek came from Penny before she even realised it was her speaking.

“No!” she cried in horror.

Her protests were in vain. Soon enough the spirit was struck down before her like a murderous villain, disappearing into nothingness. The idea she was still here was foreign to her. And for all the ills that ghost managed to perpetrate upon her in such a short period of time as that for which they had been acquainted inside one body, Penny couldn't help but ache for her. Her heart bled for her. A second death seemed a steep price to pay for her crime, especially seeing as Penny was still alive, and though fatigued and aching and shaken, she was mostly unharmed.

"Well, that was exciting. My name is Madeira. Are you ok?" she spiritist spoke alas as Roger had fled the scene and the air of the Garden fell still around them. Eerily still.

The young artist looked at her with dread. Perhaps in a different set of circumstance she wouldn't have been quite as disturbed by the blonde’s visage. Her blue eyes that stood out as a stark contrast of the red rings that surrounded them. The frail frame which Penny hadn’t been quite sure how it managed to keep such a perfect posture.

“Fun…?” Penny echoed, trying as hard as she could to regain control over her faculties but traitorously her whole body was shaking. “I’m fine! Uh… you didn’t have to do that. She was hurting. Imagine yourself in her place. Suppose it was your husband shacking up with some other woman whilst your corpse hadn’t gone cold in it’s grave yet. You’d have done well to throw him to the wolves instead of her… how could you…”

The memory of Olivia’s screams was etched itself into her brain, churning her stomach. She grasped the side of the fountain, leaning herself against it in a feeble attempt to stop the shaking. “I’m….” she shallowed hard, feeling her stomach in her throat. “I’m Penny…” but it was to no avail. Alas, before she managed to complete her introduction acid scraped the roof of her mouth and made it way out of her lips and into the fountain, taking her half digested dinner with it. It stung, making her eyes water, making her cough. She threw up for only a moment but it was enough to make her feel ten feet smaller and more pathetic.

[Madeira Dusk]

Madeira was staring at Penny from her position on the ground with that pale, unblinking gaze that made so many people uncomfortable. Even when Penny pulled herself over the lip of the fountain and retched spectacularly in the basin, and it would have been politer to look away, Madeira was studying her with a crease between her shining brow.

"Did you emphasizing with Mrs Olivia Morgan, Penny?" she finally spoke, her voice edged with scrutiny. "That's amazing. It typically takes practise to make a good medium. Some people have a natural talent for that kind of connection with a possessing ghost, but it's rare."

She tried to get to her feet, but a spasm ripped down her good leg. She gave up with a gasp and laid back in the dewy grass instead. Penny had given up her vomiting, it seemed. The only noise was the friendly babble of the fountain and the rustling of the trees.

"I did have to do that." she spoke again, her voice hard and eyes closed. "Roger is an idiot and a lout. But you have a very cheap view of life if you think that's enough to 'throw him to the wolves'. She could have killed him." And she could have worn you like the prettiest dress as she tried to 'reconnect' with her husband, she almost said. But as Penny was still dry heaving, she considered it best not to mention it.

“She will be alright. Olivia will recover in a few bells and continue to haunt her husband. Until one of my cousins can exorcise her properly.” there was a gentleness to her voice, a sympathy for the woman that was so passionately pleading for her possessor. But underneath it was almost dismissive. Olivia was nothing special. Her screams did not haunt the Spiritist. She did what was best; she neutralized the ghost, and that was that.

As she watched the woman tremble against the fountain, she wondered if Penny felt too much, or if she felt too little. Which one of them was broken?

With much gritting of teeth and a white-knuckle grip on her cane, Madeira eventually managed to get to her feet. The ground wobbled dangerously beneath her, and she was forced to close her eyes and hold her breath until the dizziness passed.

"What were you doing out here, anyway? It's so late..." she made her careful way over to the the open book that she saw fall out of Penny’s lap. The sketchbook was flipping between two pages in the gentle breeze. One was a page of sketches of plants and flowers she recognized from the maze. The other was spread with charcoal drawings of two people who, though novicely rendered, were instantly recognizable- and caught in an intimate kiss.

Madeira paused, looked up, and raised a pale, judgmental eyebrow at Penny.

word count: 476

[Penny Noor]

All the things Madeira said about the strange empathy she felt and mediums and spiritual connection… all of it went right over her head. Even though Penny did indeed feel some kind of connection between her and the ghost, well, she chucked it up to her sensitive nature, nothing more. Surely she was no medium. Before today she’d not even seen a ghost, only heard of them from her father’s many stories of haunted ships and markets and treasures - most of which she was certain were made up anyway. Of course she was no novice to the concept of ghosts but she just didn’t expect to see one in such a situation. And weren’t they usually supposed to stay in one place? Haunt a building or an object? Or is that just what her father had told her to keep her from having nightmares as a child?

"Roger is an idiot and a lout. But you have a very cheap view of life if you think that's enough to 'throw him to the wolves'. She could have killed him."

“I…!” Penny yelled out in protest but soon did bite her tongue. She’d not even thought about it. Not a moment did she consider what would come of him but of course the spiritist was right. She was oh so very right indeed. And Penny was ashamed of herself for not having come to the same conclusion. As her eyes met Madeira’s her own spoke silently of apologies for her inconsideration, callousness and rudeness.


“She will be alright. Olivia will recover in a few bells and continue to haunt her husband. Until one of my cousins can exorcise her properly.”

Penny breathed a sigh of relief knowing that the ghost wasn’t truly destroyed. Of course the idea of an exorcism wasn’t something she knew about but thought best not to ask for before she had the chance of getting back to herself, Madeira’s attention found it’s sneaky way towards the sketchbook and by some cruel twist of nature the drawings of Roger and that blonde woman weren’t lost between many many pages of work.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she cried although truly now the revealing of her sketches was the least messed up thing that happened to her and by that virtue the least embarrassing. “I hadn’t known they would come and when they did I hid. I won’t speak a word… after all those drawings could be of anyone so no one would believe me anyway. I come here to draw the herbs after work hours not to spy people out and if you need proof of such then flick through the rest of the pages.”

And if Madeira was to do so the closest thing she would find to actual human beings would be shaded silhouettes of top hats in a featureless crowd. The rest were drawings and sketches of cats, plants and buildings with the occasional squiffy caricature of a statue here and there. Truly Penny had little to hide and she’d hope that Madeira thought the same.