Foolish Kings

Ellyora lay in bed and stared at the beams on the ceiling. The Swiger from the pool swam through her mind and clung stubbornly to her thoughts. When she closed her eyes she could see his large golden ones looking curiously into her face. Soon. That’s what he had come to say. She hoped it was soon, she had missed Alora from the very day she left.
 Her thoughts were shattered with a soft cry from Willary. His room was next to hers, and she was accustomed to singing him back to sleep when he woke up in the middle of the night.
 So she got up, and quickly realized that she hadn’t changed out of her jeans earlier.
 Oh well,
 She walked out her door and into the door on the immediate left. She stepped into the small room; its walls were oak as the other rooms in the house but these floors were plush with red carpet. The room was furnished only with a small table, a cloth dresser, and a crib in the far corner.
 Willary was standing against the rail and crying his little green eyes out. She walked over to him, and picked him up out of the crib. He was little for his age because their mother was pretty short.
 “Hey, Will, calm down,” She said to the little boy.
 He laid his head on her shoulder, and she covered him with a light woolen blanket from his crib. Ellyora paced over to the dresser, picked the little music box off the dresser, and wound up the little golden handle on the bottom.
 Willary sighed, and his breathing slowed. The small box played an old violin and piano duet, an unusual piece without a name but Willary didn’t care. Ellyora hummed the tune, and stroked her little brother’s thin hair.   
 Almost a half-an-hour had ticked by, and Ellyora’s mind tapped back into reality. Willary was sleeping on her with his hand in his tiny mouth. She gently laid him down in his crib, and covered his small body with the blanket.
 Ellyora wound the music box again, left the room, and crawled back into bed.

 Cold terror gripped Ellyora’s core. It scraped her nerves raw like nails on a chalkboard, and it whispered in her ears everything she never wanted to hear. But it didn’t just grip her; it latched on with tearing claws, and sank its teeth into her soft heart.
 But she couldn’t wake up, she couldn’t shake it, and she couldn’t drown out the voice with her screaming. The stab in her chest grew white-hot, and lit a fire of pain through her body. Fresh, raw terror sank in when any hint of relief presented itself.
 But suddenly, everything stilled for just a few seconds: The terror and intensity didn’t die but the voice and the screaming did.
Ellyora opened her eyes, and found herself in a dark room; eight-by-eight, no windows, dark grey walls, and black fog lapping up to her thighs.
Tears streamed down her pale face, and sweat coated her body like fresh paint. Terror seeped through the walls, and stalked her. As soon as she was standing in that room she fell to the floor. The stab was bleeding black blood, and it burnt her hands and chest like hot tar. She was curled in a tight ball in the black mist.
“I see you.”
The voice that had been blasting out her ears long ago echoed off the walls, and she cried and bled harder. Her heart was pounding, pumping more and more black slime over her hands.
“I see you.”
She choked on a sob as the fear pressed further. Fresh tears poured from her eyes as she cried harder than she ever had.
“I…see…you.”
She started to cry and scream louder. That voice had taunted her like that before. It had a year and a half ago, right before it had stabbed her.
“I see you, Ellyora; I see your unclaimed heart,”
Unclaimed heart? He had never said that before.
She shook violently on the cold ground.
“She is claimed by none other than me!” a man’s voice boomed around the room, though no one was there to voice it.
The devilish voice returned to retort the man’s, “This has no concern of yours, Laythe Alban!”
“She is mine! I loved her first, and she is the Girl who Loved Back. She. Is. Mine!” this Laythe Alban replied with authority, sparking a fighting spirit in Ellyora.
“Yes, I am claimed!” Ellyora shouted.
“Then where is your Hope Now?” the devilish fiend asked, the man apparently gone.
Hope Now, that’s a title that she had given God, her daddy. Hope Now, it seemed to fit him, she had named him that following her save from death.
“I see you.”
“Shut up,” she retorted quietly.
That seemed to surprise the voice. But only for a moment.
“I see you.”
A beat passed.
“I see you.”
“Shut up,”
“I see you!”
“Shut up!”
The voice got upset this time, and nearly lost it’s grip on her; she took the chance, and stood strongly. She stumbled as the voice tried to grab her again, but she continued to defy it.
“I am claimed! I was claimed centuries ago when a man busted you with a big tree!”
“No!”
“Yes! He died on that tree for me, and then rose again on the third day! I am claimed!”
“No! I…will claim you… better than… he… does…” it’s voice skipped and stuttered.
“Nope, he claims me just fine.” She said it calmly as she squared her shoulders and stood straight, blood ceasing and dissolving into thin air.