13 Spring 510 AV
Around the 15th Bell
Around the 15th Bell
Marion stared at her forearm, memorizing every detail. The alabaster skin, blemish-free. The pale, peach-fuzz hair. The way her slender muscle tapered to her wrist, and the way the bones curved there delicately. The tendons that flared from that point and sprawled across her hand, the dimples her knuckles made there as she stretched her fingers outward.
For some time that was all she did. It had become routine to her over the days, keeping herself company. And it was peaceful. Her mind was quiet when she was alone, when she didn't have to worry about what she should or should not say, what she should or should not do.
Her eyes scanned over her arm. Her arm. It was hers. This was what her arm looked like. But... it did not have to be. It could be anything she imagined it to be. She could be anything she imagined herself to be. That was the power of morphing, that odd discipline her father had brought her into -- only after convincing her mother that it was harmless. But it wasn't, was it? No, it certainly was not. And that appealed to Marion on a level she did not yet understand.
She was a careful girl, and she knew her parents took pride in that fact. She did as she was told. She didn't push her luck. She was thoughtful. But what they failed to understand was that there was a point when a child became too thoughtful, too obedient, too careful. Marion had a habit of getting inside her own head too much, and she could feel that it wasn't healthy. Her peers picked up on it, singling it out as a weakness, and when they got it in their heads that there was something off about her, they would stop at nothing to make sure she knew just how different she was.
So she would sit here, along the side of the street, enjoying the company of her own self despite the fact that, deep down, she wanted anything else but to be alone.
"Mary!"
Her head shot up in the direction the call had come from, and her body seemed to withdraw into itself automatically. Shoulders tensed and she pulled her arm (which had been resting across her cross-legged lap) towards her torso. The voice was familiar, a boy's, though she hadn't been around the speaker enough to be able to immediately tell who it was. Despite that, she had no problem spotting him, especially since he was standing with a group of five other teens and kids as well. After locking eyes with her, they approached, and Marion's heart beat more frantically with every step.
No, no, no. This was her time of peace, her time to relax. But the street she sat along was a main road today, and perhaps she should have taken that into account before she'd settled here. Even so, there was a steady, if light, stream of traffic that the group would have to make their way through to get to her. If she were quick enough, perhaps she could break into a run, escape into the crowd, and avoid whatever new humiliating fate these kids had in store for her. But they stopped roughly twenty feet away and the boy -- a gangling, dark-haired fellow whose name eluded her -- waved her over impatiently. "C'mon Mary! We're gonna go check out the House."
She hesitated, teeth scraping her lip as her pale eyes flitted from one face to the next, but she couldn't see the malicious glint that had become some familiar. Did they... were they actually inviting her to join them? Her lips parted in a mixture of surprise and awe, but she'd maintained eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time and had to shift her gaze downward before pulling herself to her feet.
"My name's not Mary." She'd fully intended for them to hear the words, but they left her lips no louder than a whisper. "What?"
Blonde locks bounced as she shook her head dismissively. Nothing.
________________________________________. . . . .
Marion had no idea how she'd wound up here.
The group sat in a row across the way from the House of Broken Mirrors, their backs pressed against the cool stone of some shop or another, the road beneath them turning to grass for the bell as they rested upon it. Marion couldn't believe her luck. They'd lat her tag along without a second word, without jeers or backhanded insults. In fact, they'd let her alone for much of the time, allowing her to be content with listening to the various conversations they sparked up and the laughter that often followed. It was nice.
But now they examined the House seriously. Marion, despite her natural curiosity, knew next to nothing about the place other than the fact that everyone was scared of it. But that didn't seem to be a problem; between the seven of them, the group had plenty of knowledge on the thing.
"My brother said once you go in, you never come out," offered one girl after a chime of unsettled silence as they all tried to peer into the darkened doorway of the place. This spurred a few snorts from the boys.
"Ionu's balls," cursed one. Marion remembered his name as something simple, like Jack. "I've seen plenty o' people come out it."
"Oh yeah? Like who?" shot back another boy, incredulous.
"Like, uh... Gerald! I seen Gerald come out."
"So you saw it with your own eyes, huh? You watched 'im?"
"No, but he says he did it."
"Well shyke man, any fogey can say anythin'!"
The conversation dissolved into an argument about who was stupider than whom before settling down once again. Someone told a joke about someone else's mom and the kids laughed, even Marion, before the silence of unwilling anticipation fell upon them. The silence stretched on for a few chimes before some brave soul broke it: "Someone should go in."
This was followed with a few protests of "Not me!" which would be followed up be protests of "No I ain't chicken!" Marion kept quiet, a peacefully amused grin finding its way to her lips.
Then something terrible happened.
Someone remembered she was there.
"Hey, I say Mary should do it." That wiped the smile from her face. Her eyes grew wide. Who had said that? Who?
"Who's Mary? Oh, I totally forgot about her."
" 'Ey, that's a good idea!"
No.
"Yeah, go in Mary!"
No no no.
"I don't think t-that's a... a good id-dea," she objected after taking a moment to find her voice. But they were having none of it. They were looking for a scapegoat so that they wouldn't have to face the fact that they were all too scared to go in themselves. "Hey, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for us. So it only makes sense that you're the one that does it!" Marion didn't follow that line of reasoning, but she didn't have a chance to dwell on it too long.
Half of the kids were standing now. Someone was grabbing her wrists and pulling her to her feet, before she had time to process what was happening. Even after she'd come to her senses, her attempts at escape were fruitless and she tugged her arms weakly. "L-let me go!" Step by step, she was urged forward. The black hole of the door loomed before her, growing larger. Instinctively, Marion knew that she never wanted to know what lied beyond its threshold. She dug her heels into the grass street, praying to whatever god would listen that she would cease her steady and unwanted advance. The hands at her wrists gripped harder, and then there was someone pushing at her back as well. Around her, she could hear the kids shouting what she guessed were supposed to be encouragements, though they felt like anything but that.
"No, I don't want to!"
For some time that was all she did. It had become routine to her over the days, keeping herself company. And it was peaceful. Her mind was quiet when she was alone, when she didn't have to worry about what she should or should not say, what she should or should not do.
Her eyes scanned over her arm. Her arm. It was hers. This was what her arm looked like. But... it did not have to be. It could be anything she imagined it to be. She could be anything she imagined herself to be. That was the power of morphing, that odd discipline her father had brought her into -- only after convincing her mother that it was harmless. But it wasn't, was it? No, it certainly was not. And that appealed to Marion on a level she did not yet understand.
She was a careful girl, and she knew her parents took pride in that fact. She did as she was told. She didn't push her luck. She was thoughtful. But what they failed to understand was that there was a point when a child became too thoughtful, too obedient, too careful. Marion had a habit of getting inside her own head too much, and she could feel that it wasn't healthy. Her peers picked up on it, singling it out as a weakness, and when they got it in their heads that there was something off about her, they would stop at nothing to make sure she knew just how different she was.
So she would sit here, along the side of the street, enjoying the company of her own self despite the fact that, deep down, she wanted anything else but to be alone.
"Mary!"
Her head shot up in the direction the call had come from, and her body seemed to withdraw into itself automatically. Shoulders tensed and she pulled her arm (which had been resting across her cross-legged lap) towards her torso. The voice was familiar, a boy's, though she hadn't been around the speaker enough to be able to immediately tell who it was. Despite that, she had no problem spotting him, especially since he was standing with a group of five other teens and kids as well. After locking eyes with her, they approached, and Marion's heart beat more frantically with every step.
No, no, no. This was her time of peace, her time to relax. But the street she sat along was a main road today, and perhaps she should have taken that into account before she'd settled here. Even so, there was a steady, if light, stream of traffic that the group would have to make their way through to get to her. If she were quick enough, perhaps she could break into a run, escape into the crowd, and avoid whatever new humiliating fate these kids had in store for her. But they stopped roughly twenty feet away and the boy -- a gangling, dark-haired fellow whose name eluded her -- waved her over impatiently. "C'mon Mary! We're gonna go check out the House."
She hesitated, teeth scraping her lip as her pale eyes flitted from one face to the next, but she couldn't see the malicious glint that had become some familiar. Did they... were they actually inviting her to join them? Her lips parted in a mixture of surprise and awe, but she'd maintained eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time and had to shift her gaze downward before pulling herself to her feet.
"My name's not Mary." She'd fully intended for them to hear the words, but they left her lips no louder than a whisper. "What?"
Blonde locks bounced as she shook her head dismissively. Nothing.
________________________________________. . . . .
Marion had no idea how she'd wound up here.
The group sat in a row across the way from the House of Broken Mirrors, their backs pressed against the cool stone of some shop or another, the road beneath them turning to grass for the bell as they rested upon it. Marion couldn't believe her luck. They'd lat her tag along without a second word, without jeers or backhanded insults. In fact, they'd let her alone for much of the time, allowing her to be content with listening to the various conversations they sparked up and the laughter that often followed. It was nice.
But now they examined the House seriously. Marion, despite her natural curiosity, knew next to nothing about the place other than the fact that everyone was scared of it. But that didn't seem to be a problem; between the seven of them, the group had plenty of knowledge on the thing.
"My brother said once you go in, you never come out," offered one girl after a chime of unsettled silence as they all tried to peer into the darkened doorway of the place. This spurred a few snorts from the boys.
"Ionu's balls," cursed one. Marion remembered his name as something simple, like Jack. "I've seen plenty o' people come out it."
"Oh yeah? Like who?" shot back another boy, incredulous.
"Like, uh... Gerald! I seen Gerald come out."
"So you saw it with your own eyes, huh? You watched 'im?"
"No, but he says he did it."
"Well shyke man, any fogey can say anythin'!"
The conversation dissolved into an argument about who was stupider than whom before settling down once again. Someone told a joke about someone else's mom and the kids laughed, even Marion, before the silence of unwilling anticipation fell upon them. The silence stretched on for a few chimes before some brave soul broke it: "Someone should go in."
This was followed with a few protests of "Not me!" which would be followed up be protests of "No I ain't chicken!" Marion kept quiet, a peacefully amused grin finding its way to her lips.
Then something terrible happened.
Someone remembered she was there.
"Hey, I say Mary should do it." That wiped the smile from her face. Her eyes grew wide. Who had said that? Who?
"Who's Mary? Oh, I totally forgot about her."
" 'Ey, that's a good idea!"
No.
"Yeah, go in Mary!"
No no no.
"I don't think t-that's a... a good id-dea," she objected after taking a moment to find her voice. But they were having none of it. They were looking for a scapegoat so that they wouldn't have to face the fact that they were all too scared to go in themselves. "Hey, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for us. So it only makes sense that you're the one that does it!" Marion didn't follow that line of reasoning, but she didn't have a chance to dwell on it too long.
Half of the kids were standing now. Someone was grabbing her wrists and pulling her to her feet, before she had time to process what was happening. Even after she'd come to her senses, her attempts at escape were fruitless and she tugged her arms weakly. "L-let me go!" Step by step, she was urged forward. The black hole of the door loomed before her, growing larger. Instinctively, Marion knew that she never wanted to know what lied beyond its threshold. She dug her heels into the grass street, praying to whatever god would listen that she would cease her steady and unwanted advance. The hands at her wrists gripped harder, and then there was someone pushing at her back as well. Around her, she could hear the kids shouting what she guessed were supposed to be encouragements, though they felt like anything but that.
"No, I don't want to!"
