Nyx Nyghtingale
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Daughter of Damnation Ch. 1
🕑 Added 2025-06-13 17:00:08 +0000 UTC2000
Thick storm clouds swirled in the skies over Chicago, roiling and crashing into each other as they fought for dominance. The stage of their battle had been heralded only minutes earlier by the arrival of a thick layer of fog, one that choked visibility to a mere handful of feet. Torrential downpour and aggressive winds did nothing to disperse the fog, which repeatedly flashed as powerful bolts of lightning crashed to Earth with all the fury of the heavens.
Yesterday’s forecast had cheerfully predicted calm, clear skies all week.
Car horns beeped and blared, enraged by the throngs of people running through crosswalks without warning in an attempt to escape the surprise storm. They wore running outfits, swimsuits, hot pants and sports bras, yet not a single one of them had thought to bring a jacket or an umbrella. Panicked beachgoers carried towels, coolers, and backpacks, besuited politicians used briefcases to shield themselves, and medical professionals pulled stiff white coats above their heads as they retreated from their lunch breaks.
Above them, wave after wave of rain battered the windows of the skyscrapers, each one subtly swaying in the heavy winds as if floating aimlessly at sea. Steel creaked as it shifted in the wind, hanging lights flickered with each crash of lightning, and several unlucky apartment blocks had lost power altogether.
Despite the weather, the heart of downtown Chicago was alive and well, which happened to include one office building at the corner of Wacker and Clark. Sitting just off the Chicago River, it would have enjoyed a spectacular view had the air not been thick with impenetrable fog and rain. Regal, granite columns framed countless windows that surrounded the building, while the elegant marble atrium that welcomed visitors was slick with rainwater as bystanders took shelter from the storm. The crowd murmured and complained as they traded small talk, all equally surprised at the speed at which the storm had appeared.
Dozens of companies called this building home, and they paid little mind to the ever-unpredictable Chicago weather; the hundreds of office drones that fueled their bottom lines had arrived long before the weather turned. They buzzed to and fro as they buried their heads in books and ledgers, unconcerned with anything that didn’t serve their attempts to earn their paychecks.
With one exception.
Nestled in a corner on the thirteenth floor, with only a few small offices to their name, sat a humble law firm. The exact name of the business hardly mattered; its most significant employee, despite being the founder of the firm, had insisted it not be named after her. She had declined the corner office, rejected every acquisition offer, and never spent so much as a single penny on advertising. Connections with the right people, in the right places, ensured she always had her pick of criminal defendants.
Three different stacks of tattered, manila folders sat atop her elegant, mahogany desk, with another stack sitting on the floor to her left. At first glance, the stacks on her desk appeared to have been arranged by height; the tallest to her left, with each subsequent pile smaller than the last. This was purely by coincidence, and she hoped to be finished sorting files by the end of the day.
Pulling a folder from the stack on the floor, she began studying the file.
Matthew Lyon, 49. Arrested for possession of marijuana. They claim he had intent to sell, but with that amount, I doubt it. School teacher, wealthy neighborhood… it’s a shock he was even arrested in the first place. He’ll be fine.
Moving the folder to the first stack on her desk, she grabbed the next case.
Daniel Rourke, 56. Corporate embezzlement, conspiracy to defraud the federal government. Works for a credit agency, spent five years falsifying documents to cover his tracks, allegedly intended to manipulate government documents as well. If the charges stick, he’ll probably only serve a few years. Plus, in his circle, he’s probably got some powerful friends willing to back him up. However, it does look like he’s divorced. Cops got called to his place a few years back over a supposed conflict, but nothing came of it. Eh, maybe.
Another addition to the middle stack.
Elle Payne, 32. Vandalism. Sabotaged construction equipment allocated for the construction of a new oil pipeline. Hell yeah, girl, keep it up.
With a slight chuckle, Elle’s folder joined the first stack.
Adam Holmes, 38. Two counts of first-degree murder and illegal weapons trafficking. Suspected ties to a white nationalist group, manifesto found in his house indicates a desire to operate on a larger scale. That’s a life sentence if I’ve ever seen one.
The right-most pile, which previously only held a single folder, finally got an addition.
Two cases certainly wasn't ideal, but constituted the minimum amount she'd need to survive. There were still plenty of cases left to examine, and with the storm raging outside, she wasn’t in any rush to leave her office.
Moments after she grabbed the next folder, before she'd started reading it, the door to her office opened.
“Miss Lamour? I’m headed down to the café to get myself lunch, would you like me to grab you anything?” the secretary asked, her voice sparkling with hope.
“I’m afraid not, Shannon. This stack of files isn’t going to review itself, and I’d like to stay on top of my work. Although…” Evelyn stood up, quickly walking to her purse to rummage through it. Producing her wallet, she fished out a credit card and handed it to the girl. “Feel free to put your food on the company card. My treat.”
As Shannon reached out for the card, their fingers brushed against each other. The sweet smell of arousal filled the office, and Shannon quickly averted her eyes downward. Then downward again, after she’d caught herself staring at Evelyn’s chest. “Y-yes, Miss Lamour! Thank you!”
Once the door closed behind the legal assistant, Evelyn smirked to herself and turned around.
Poor girl. If she doesn’t come out soon, she’s going to give herself an aneurysm. This outfit isn’t even all that revealing, either…
Before returning to her desk, Evelyn paused in front of the large, decorative mirror that nearly covered an entire wall in her office. She wore simple black heels underneath a black, two-piece suit. A burgundy button-up sat underneath her blazer, and she’d made a point to fasten all the buttons, leaving none of her cleavage exposed; she wasn’t with clients, after all, and it would be counter-productive to seduce her coworkers.
Evelyn had tied her thick, wavy brown hair into a ponytail, leaving it casually draped over one shoulder. Depending on her clients, she sometimes gave herself streaks of gray, and she often liked how the contrast made her look. She had dark skin the color of rich sienna, and wrinkles near the edges of her eyes made her appear somewhere between forty and fifty, at least by human standards. Her irises were a powerfully vibrant shade of amber, though as striking as they were, casual onlookers tended to be drawn to her soft, full lips, often curled into a kind, welcoming smile.
Assuming they could be bothered to look at her face, of course.
Her full-bodied figure had trouble hiding its allure even under the baggiest of clothes, and Evelyn certainly never bothered hiding her figure. At least, not her humanoid figure. She hadn’t revealed her true form to anyone in close to sixty years, and she had no intention of breaking that streak now.
Sitting back at her desk, Evelyn finally opened the most recent case file and began flipping through its pages. This particular client had a lengthy criminal record, and took longer to review. While she read, her enhanced senses made her acutely aware of the gentle swaying of the skyscraper, as well as the storm that continued raging outside. Strangely, it seemed to be getting worse with each passing minute, which seemed at odds with how long it had already been going.
A deafening thunderclap reverberated through the building, shaking it to its foundation. Evelyn set down her case file, acutely aware of the myriad lightning bolts that arced through the sky. Another clap of thunder, somehow even louder, shook her office and knocked her case piles to the ground. A massive bolt of lightning collided with a lightning rod on a nearby building, filling Evelyn with a bone-deep sense of unease. This lightning strike had been different than all the others; it had been filled with a sense of righteous fury that she hadn’t witnessed in centuries.
Evelyn literally jumped from her chair, surrounded herself in a wave of hellfire, then landed on the roof of the building. The same flurry of embers that had transported her had also swapped her heels for thick combat boots, and they landed on the slanted roof with a heavy thud.
Incessant waves of rain buffeted her from all sides. The wind was far more powerful than it had any right to be; had she been human, she would have been swept off her feet within seconds. She widened her stance, scanning the sky above for hints about the source of this phenomenon. Countless bolts of lightning continued jumping between clouds, towards conductors atop buildings, with some releasing their fury on the nearby Great Lake. One bolt of lightning in particular found its way to Evelyn, as if aware of her identity and trying to smite her very existence.
The lightning did nothing to Evelyn, nor to her outfit, which existed only as an extension of her sense of self. It did, however, smell faintly of Enochian, which confirmed her suspicions that this was no ordinary storm.
Flashes of light illuminated the overcast skies. Thick storm clouds thrashed and raged as they raced through the atmosphere, their presence obscuring much more than just the sun. While the humans below would see nothing but a slightly unusual storm, Evelyn now saw it for what it was. The myriad bolts of lightning weren’t from this plane, they were charged with the very power of the heavens and sought to bridge the gap between the two planes of existence.
Movement in the clouds drew Evelyn’s attention. She focused her eyesight, looked past the mundanity of the storm, and saw a shape forming in the sky. There was nothing more to say about this shape other than that it existed, which was already an event of impossible significance. The longer she watched, the more it began to resemble a humanoid figure, if one that desperately sought to avoid being imprisoned in one. She knew what to look for now, and watched carefully as sparks of divinity crackled around this being.
In all her millennia of existence, Evelyn had never seen anything quite like this.
The figure fought valiantly to avoid becoming rooted in the present, yet Evelyn knew the battle was hopeless. Despite witnessing the exact moment of the struggle, the effects of this figure’s failure were already rippling through time, scattering unimaginable storms across the city in hours past and hours yet to come. With one final bolt of lightning, the bridge between realities severed. The condensed energy enveloped the figure, casting it from the skies to the Earth below.
Evelyn followed the arc of lightning closely. This one had far too much purpose to be distracted by lightning rods and ultimately collided with the partially finished frame of a skyscraper several blocks down. The construction site buckled for a moment, and Evelyn feared it might collapse, but a few seconds of waiting proved the building’s stability.
There’s no time to waste. Something this big must have tripped dozens of different alarms; the biggest question is who might arrive first. No reason it can’t be me, right?
Another flurry of hellfire transported Evelyn back to her office, while also drying her clothes to prevent a mess, and she grabbed a nearby pad of paper to write a note for Shannon. Without bothering to explain any details, she simply said she was taking the rest of the day off, and that the secretary was welcome to do the same.
She locked her office, leapt into the air again, then teleported to the skies above the crash site. The intense pressure of the storm surrounded her once again, and she allowed herself several moments of free fall to inspect the building underneath her. The lightning had burrowed several floors into the top of the skyscraper, leaving only a burning hole in its wake. The heavy rain drenched all risk of the building catching fire, so Evelyn turned her focus to finding a point of entry. Examining the intensity of the blast, she made an educated guess, then prepared to fly.
Projecting an illusory bubble, she masked her presence completely as she summoned her true form. Ancient, powerful wings nearly twice as long as she was sprouted from her back, catching the wind and starting their own struggle against the storm. Thick, imposing horns appeared from her forehead, their presence allowing her to map the intricate chaos of the storm. She suddenly understood every errant temperature change, every fluctuation in air pressure, and her wings adjusted accordingly. Her tail, lithe and agile despite its size, acted as a rudder while she angled herself towards a gap in the construction. Within seconds, she’d found her mark; her wings retracted for a moment, allowing her to squeeze into a small gap between floors, then she expanded them one last time to stop her descent. She hovered for a brief moment, confirmed that the floor was stable, then landed.
She quickly dismissed her demonic features, assuming they would only be a hindrance at this point. Inside the deserted, partially finished skyscraper, the world was strangely quiet. She still saw the storm raging outside, but its effects on the building seemed muted. The floor underneath her shifted, but its movements were erratic and out of sync with the weather. A flash of lightning illuminated the city, but its light failed to extend into this building; in fact, she didn’t see the light or hear the thunder until nearly a minute later. A second clap of thunder followed immediately after, but the lightning bolt that caused it failed to appear for another thirty seconds.
Around her, stiff wooden frames held up pieces of drywall that loosely outlined the intended office plan. Large swathes of the floor were still barren, save for the healthy layer of sawdust, and Evelyn began walking forward. From her current vantage point, she was able to see nearly the entire floor, which meant the newly arrived guest had to be further in, likely hidden behind the large frame that marked the position of the planned elevator.
Her steps echoed through the empty building, but even that echo proved inconsistent. At times the echo ran, at times it stood completely still, but the noise never seemed to match up with her actual movement.
Walking towards the center, the far half of the building started to come into view. It held much more drywall and framing than the half she’d landed in, but more importantly, it was also glowing. Thick, radiant light nearly as bright as the sun illuminated the walls, forcing Evelyn to adapt her eyes. She greatly reduced their ability to perceive light, continuing to adjust them as she walked closer.
Heavy, panicked gasps began to echo off the walls, followed by a frantic shuffling noise. The light nearly obscuring Evelyn’s vision shifted as well, adopting an iridescent hue as it traveled from wall to wall, as if unsure which wavelength it favored most. It bent and refracted in on itself, shimmering and warping in spite of all known laws of physics. The multifaceted light began to swirl and condense, choosing a point roughly a dozen feet in front of Evelyn as its focus. A vaguely humanoid shape appeared in the light, albeit one with several large additions to its back. The light surrounding it continued to coalesce, binding itself to the figure as it continued gasping in pain. Immense Enochian power suffused the area, causing Evelyn’s form to sizzle, yet she held her ground.
In fact, she even took a step closer.
“S-S-S-S-S-S-Stay back, Demon-n-n-n-n-n-n!”
The vague suggestion of a figure began to split and refract, dozens of iterations all fighting for expression at once. As they spoke, they did so with unnatural precision and clarity, yet it was still difficult to understand them. It was not their words, but time itself that stuttered around the figure as it attempted to rationalize this being’s existence.
Evelyn held up her hands, retreating slightly as she watched the figure convulse. The remnants continued their attempt to coalesce, hinting at the truth of this being. She knew in her heart this wasn’t its true form; what she saw now were merely the scattered afterimages of its essence as it refracted through the prism that was time itself. Someone, or something, had decided to take each individual refraction and force them together, the way one might grab a rainbow and force it to revert to its original form.
Even ignoring the radiant energy that bombarded the area, the sheer act of witnessing this event felt like a transgression against existence itself.
The process took several hours, or possibly finished before it had even started; Evelyn knew that both were likely true at the same time. When it finished, the being in front of her had taken on a masculine, humanoid form. Their features were impossibly symmetrical; their body so perfectly proportioned it might as well have been carved from marble. While not incredibly muscular, their physique was lithe and agile, with a perfectly smooth jawline. Long blonde hair cascaded over their rippling shoulders, so immaculately lustrous that looking away proved difficult. Sharp beams of light periodically attempted to burst from their back, hinting at features that might be able to form with enough effort, but nothing appeared.
As the process continued, sparks of unnatural fire periodically appeared in the energy binding this being to reality. Sparks that Evelyn was intimately familiar with, yet never thought she would see in this context again.
They landed on all fours, gasping in pain as they began adapting to their mortal vessel. A second later, they looked towards Evelyn, their radiant blue eyes narrowed in disgust. They placed a foot on the ground, then tried to stand as their form momentarily scattered into several bright refractions again. Once they regained their composure, they finished standing up and spoke.
“One step closer and we shall rend you from existence!” they shouted.
Their voice commanded reverence, but thankfully Evelyn had centuries of practice in defying such orders. She was much more concerned with the small bundle of cloth in his arms they seemed desperate to protect.
The figure stumbled again, and against Evelyn’s better judgement, her body instinctually tried to reach out for support. Even though she stopped herself, the brief hint of movement alerted the figure and they held up a hand.
Powerful Enochian magic began forming at their fingertips. Evelyn knew all too well how powerful this being might be; they were, after all, one of the few things in existence that presented a tangible threat to her. When they spoke, it took every ounce of strength she had to stand her ground.
“WE ARE THE ARCHANGEL ZADKIEL, HERALD OF MERCY, AND WE JUDGE THINE EXISTENCE AN AFFRONT TO THE LORD.”
Concentrated Enochian energy pooled in front of Zadkiel; magic so potent it threatened not to harm Evelyn, but to rewrite reality so that she’d never existed at all.
She stood her ground, willing to bet her existence on this suspicion.
The angelic magic swirled into a fine point before angling towards Evelyn. Tendrils of existence cascaded around the Archangel Zadkiel, their eyes filled with purpose as they prepared to strike. Moments before releasing, however, the energy vanished.
Sharp, jagged chains appeared on his body, binding and choking him back to the ground. The chains themselves, even more than the presence of an Archangel, were impossible; their links were borne of both Hellfire and Creation, a juxtaposition that would no doubt cast Heaven and Hell into disarray should their presence ever be discovered.
Just as their magic had done moments earlier, Zadkiel's form began to fade. They collapsed to one side, tears streaking down their face and onto the bundle of cloth before.
“We are… sorry…” Zadkiel whispered, seemingly to themselves.
The immaculate, blinding light Zadkiel had been generating slowly dimmed as they faded from consciousness. They slumped onto their side, their arms going limp as their head rolled to the ground. In their last moment of strength, they set the bundle of cloth down, resting it in the crook of their arm.
Evelyn reverted her eyes to their natural state, the light no longer a threat to her, and began to step closer. The implications of what she’d just witnessed were immense, and she struggled to think straight as she wondered what to do next.
Those thoughts were interrupted, however, when the bundle of cloth in Zadkiel’s arms began to cry. Soft, delicate gasps of discomfort echoed around Evelyn, who froze as she watched the tiny figure flail against the blankets around it. A corner fell to the ground, gently cascading over Zadkiel’s arm, as Evelyn stared down at the innocent being swaddled in the Archangel’s care.
They were holding a baby.
—
1938
Thick storm clouds swirled in the skies over Chicago, roiling and crashing into each other as they fought for dominance. The stage of their battle had been heralded only minutes earlier by the arrival of a massive cold front, one that threatened a snowstorm of incredible proportions. Despite the storm’s recent appearance, thick snowdrifts had already gathered atop the myriad streets and curbs across the city.
Much of the populace had already retired for the night. Tall streetlights frosted over; barren shop windows struggled to hold back the stiff winter winds that swept through the streets. Those fortunate enough to own cars would wake in the morning to find them nearly completely buried in snow.
Towards the east end of the city, on the shores of Lake Michigan, the barren fields of Grant Park had long ago been emptied of guests. Its statues safeguarded only endless hills of snow, its museums and art institutions entertained only shadows. Nearby, a silent train yard hosted its nightly conclave of deserted boxcars, the steel tracks sleeping under a thick blanket of snow. The waters of the nearby lake, which normally offered a calming soundtrack of waves cresting against the shore, had completely frozen over.
The eerie silence of the city made it impossible to miss the dull, reverberating tremor that had started swelling far beneath the streets. At first it might have been mistaken for a lumbering train, or perhaps an echo from a distant storm cloud, but the tremor continued to grow. Earth and concrete began to violently shake, shattering windows and knocking street lamps to the ground. Automobiles bounced back and forth, crashing into each other as metal buckled and crunched from the collisions. Even the massive sheet of ice that covered the nearby lake began to crack and separate, the pieces beginning to drift away from the shore in the turbulent waters.
In an open field, halfway between the deserted train station and the lake, the air itself began to sizzle and crackle with unnatural energy. Thin bolts of lightning sprang up from the ground, meeting several feet above the air before showering the area in a deluge of sparks and embers. Fire erupted in the area, scorching away the nearby snow. It swirled into a tight sphere, gathering brighter and brighter until, with one final explosive burst, it vanished entirely.
The earth continued to shake, the distant crashing of cars and breaking of windows forming the very first sounds heard by the creature that had fallen from the crackling explosion. She gasped in pain as she landed, lightning and flames skipping across her naked body as she dug her hands into the ground for support.
Ancient, powerful wings nearly twice as long as she was fell limply to the ground, as bloodied and shredded as the creature they belonged to. Thick, imposing horns jutted from her forehead, their presence alerting her to the frigid temperatures of the area. The creature’s tail, lithe and agile despite its size, speared the ground in an attempt to help the creature stand. Sinister amber eyes scoured the landscape from beneath a curtain of fading hellfire.
“You fucking BITCH!!” the creature shouted, crawling to its feet. ”NO ONE CASTS ME OUT!!”
Fresh blood continued to pool at the creature’s feet, searing the grass she stood upon as she raised a hand. The pain was more than tolerable; in fact, it would have been enjoyable in any other context, which made it easy to ignore as she focused on her destination. Sickly purple hellfire gathered at her fingertips, eager to reach into the fabric of reality and create a path back to Hell.
As the flames began piercing the veil, moments before the path had been secured, the energy vanished. Sharp, jagged chains appeared on the creature’s body, binding and choking her back to the ground. The chains themselves were even more insulting than the creature’s presence here, and as the creature seized in pain, she felt just how impossible they should have been. Their links were borne of both Hellfire and Creation, a juxtaposition that would no doubt cast Heaven and Hell into disarray should their presence ever be discovered.
Help from above? Traitorous bitch. Fine, you win this fucking round, but I’ll be back.
With her powers sealed behind those abhorrent chains, she knew it was time to adapt. She fought through the unimaginable pain one last time, forcing her body to change and mold into one far more befitting one of the native creatures. Her wings vanished, as did her horns and her tail, and her chitinous form receded until she resembled a simple, dark-skinned woman in a plain white dress. Rather than hide the blood, she wore it proudly; no doubt it would earn her sympathy from whichever poor sap she happened across first.
Looking around, she saw the terrible damage that her arrival had inflicted upon the area. Being discovered here wouldn’t bode well, so she set her sights on the nearby city. Her initial plan was to fake just how severe her injuries were, but she quickly found this wouldn’t be necessary. The damage she’d sustained in that final attack had nearly been enough to kill her.
She stumbled and gasped for breath as she crossed the street, fallen streetlamps lighting her way. Blood dripped down her body, staining the dress and leaving a conspicuous trail in the snow. Each step took more effort than the last, and an unfamiliar feeling crept into her form. Despite her nature, despite the rage that burned bright inside her, the cold began to sap away her energy.
Falling to her knees, she coughed up more blood, watching it stain the snow underneath her. Thankfully, as her vision started to fade, she looked up to see someone walking in the distance.
“Help! Please, Sir, I need help!” she called out, imitating the accent of the area as best she could.
The human, upon hearing her performative cry, ran close in a panic. He fell to his knees beside her, gasping in shock before speaking. “My god, were you injured in the earthquake? Here, take my arm, I’ll help you someplace safe. We have a doctor there, he can take a look at your injuries.”
This man’s accent didn’t seem to match where she’d landed, but she hardly cared. She made sure to change her own voice to mimic his, ensuring even more sympathy. “Oh, thank you!”
Clinging to the man’s arm, she finally got a good look at him. His darkened skin appeared quite similar to her own, if perhaps a shade or two lighter, and his jet-black hair had been slicked back. He had thick eyebrows, powerfully kind brown eyes, and a strong, defined jawline. He grunted with effort as he placed her arm around his shoulder, and the two slowly rose to their feet.
“What’s your name, ma’am?” asked.
“I’m Evelyn, kind sir. Evelyn—”
Shit, humans expect surnames.
Looking around, she found a large poster that appeared to be advertising a motion picture of some kind. Reading the name of one of the actresses, she finished her thought.
“—Lamour. My name is Evelyn Lamour,” she said, putting on the kindest smile she could fake.
“Thank goodness I found you, Ms. Lamour. My name is Vicente Calderón, but you can call me Vince.”
Evelyn began walking forward, nearly buckling in surprise as the weight of her injuries caught up to her. “Vince?”
“It sounds a bit more American, not that it does much good,” he said with a smile. He wrapped a hand around her waist, holding tight as he shifted more of the burden of walking to himself. As much as she hated the gesture, she knew she likely wouldn’t be walking without his assistance.
As they walked, Evelyn got a better look at Vince’s outfit. His brown, three-piece suit was incredibly threadbare, as were his shoes and tie. His undershirt, while supposed to be thinner by design, had so many wrinkles it might have well been pioneering a new pattern. Taking in all this information, Evelyn looked back towards his face; whereas previously she’d only been able to notice the strong jawline and his soft eyes, she now noticed the slightly sunken cheeks that betrayed a lack of proper nutrition.
“You live around here, I take it?” Evelyn asked, still unsure how much of her weakness was an act for this stranger’s sake.
“As do many others. I won’t lie, I can’t promise any amount of luxury, but I can put a roof over your head and get you some medical attention. That’s better than freezing to death in Grant Park.”
They continued for several blocks along the edge of the field, eventually passing the train station, and Evelyn did her best to familiarize herself with her surroundings. Her injuries, however, had other ideas, and she repeatedly found herself nearly blacking out as she fought to stay standing. Every few minutes, Vince would whisper words of encouragement under his breath, and soon they’d arrived at their destination.
In a barren field near the railroad station, nestled near a corner of the park and spilling out into a nearby street, stood a collection of buildings that looked more like children’s playthings. No two structures were the same, though they were all uniformly made from haphazard collections of plywood, sheet metal, and tattered cloth tarps. Small groups of men and women, dressed just as poorly as Vince, huddled together for warmth around discarded oil drums with small flames that struggled to stay alight in the face of the snowstorm.
Another man ran close, his tattered fedora clinging tightly to his head as he spoke. “Vince! What happened?”
Vince shook his head. “No time, we need to get to Doc’s. Can you help me?”
The man nodded, moving to Evelyn’s other side. He pulled her other arm over his shoulder, nearly lifting her completely off the ground as they ferried her further into their settlement.
You’ll pay for this, Nyssa. I deserve more than being manhandled by have-nothings like this.
Evelyn’s vision started to fade. She tried to continue walking, insulted by having been reduced to this, yet blackouts soon began plaguing her. Each time she closed her eyes, they reopened to a new scene.
Blink.
Being carried down dirt paths, in between disgusting shacks while people stared in horror. One ran closer, mumbling something Evelyn didn’t catch.
Blink.
She was lying down, with a new man hunched over her. Sweat pooled underneath his thick, mangy hair, and he dabbed it away with an equally tattered handkerchief. Thick, rough hands lightly tapped her cheeks. “You stay with us, young lady, y’hear?”
“Keep your hands off me!” Evelyn snapped, her indignation over the poor treatment briefly overpowering her instinct to play the helpless victim.
The coarse fingers returned, briefly lingering on her forehead. “My god, she’s burning up.”
Blink.
The ragged mutt had left her side and now spoke with another in the shadow of an angular doorway. “I don’t have the space here, and there’s nothing else to be done. With Rose out, can you—”
“Absolutely. Give me a hand?”
Blink.
More hands, this time carrying her like she was nothing but a corpse.
Vermin! You should be treating me like royalty!
Efforts to break free and stand of her own strength failed. She wasn’t entirely sure if they’d held her still, or if her body had simply failed on its own.
Blink.
She was lying down again. The harsh, winter winds shook the thin walls of whatever shack she’d been dumped in. The man who’d found her removed his mangled brown jacket, bundled it up, and slid it underneath her head. “It’s alright, Evelyn, you just need to make it through the night. Doc said he’s never seen a fever this bad, but you’re a trooper, aren’t you?”
“It’s… not a fever…” Evelyn muttered under her breath. “I… run warm…”
Vince laughed. “With all due respect, no one runs that warm. I’m shocked you can even speak, but that just proves how strong you are, right? Here, drink this, it will help.”
A spoon rose to her lips, and warm liquid slid into her mouth. It was either the worst water she’d ever tasted, or the worst soup. Either way, the warmth from the liquid lingered on her tongue for longer than she expected. When she swallowed, the warmth traveled with it, and her tense muscles relaxed for but a moment.
“There, see? Come on, just a little bit more. You’ve got this.”
Another spoonful, followed by a third, then a fourth.
Blink.
Someone pulled a thin, tattered blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders. A second one followed suit, both working in tandem to nearly resemble something halfway comfortable. Soft hands pulled a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The figure walked away, closing a makeshift door at the front of the shack before laying down himself.
Under the blankets, with makeshift walls holding back the weather, Evelyn slowly stopped shivering. She muttered a curse under her breath, swearing vengeance for being trapped in such an insultingly weak form.
Before she could plan her retaliation, her eyes closed again, and she fell asleep.
Comments
AFanofRoses
Ooo, a story about Evelyn! I can't wait to see where this goes!
