Page 3 of When Death Called Life Home (When Deities Awaken #1)

Chapter 3

Don’t Drown For A Stranger

ALORA

“ A lora?”

Rosalie’s voice was nothing but a whisper amongst the piercing screams. The concern Alora witnessed before was nothing compared to the alarm on her friend’s face now. Rosalie bore no wince or cringe, nothing to say she heard the screams, too. Alora could barely feel the touch of Rosalie’s hand to her shoulder over the pain in her head.

She’d experienced this briefly before, the high pitched ringing in her ears, but never had it been this bad, or for this long. She’d always hidden it well, never letting on to those around her what was happening. In some ways, it was the exact same as her visions. The white rabbits, the butterflies, the colours. Rosalie was observant enough to notice when Alora would disappear into her own mind, seeing things only she could. Rosalie was kind enough not to tell anyone else. Alora often wondered why, whether Rosalie sometimes experienced the same thing.

“Alora, what’s wrong?” Rosalie’s song-like voice filtered through the noise again. One of her hands tilted Alora’s head up by her chin, her gaze searching Alora’s.

“It feels like my head may explode,” Alora managed to get out through clenched teeth. Rosalie looked as though her own may do the exact same thing just from her confusion.

“What do you mean? Why would it explode?”

Alora’s lips parted, brows furrowing not simply due to pain now. Her gaze shifted from Rosalie and onto the gardens around them. Birds still sat in trees, feathers fluffed and whistles leaving their sharp beaks. If she concentrated hard enough, she could just make them out amongst the other horrific noise in her mind. In another tree across from them, a squirrel stared down and watched the whole situation unfold. No sign of fear on its tiny face.

Rosalie couldn’t hear them, and neither could the other animals. That’s why the woman looked at her as if she’d, once again, lost her mind. Only this time it wasn’t a rabbit, or butterflies, or colours. It was white noise mimicking screams and turned up to the highest volume possible.

“You can’t hear them,” Alora whispered. Rosalie pulled her focus back, sharp nails digging into Alora’s jaw. It somewhat helped clear her brain, allowing her to focus on another kind of pain, pain from a physical wound.

Rosalie’s face shifted as she stared at her, her grip slowly loosening until it dropped and she started shaking her head. A laugh left her full lips, but not one that carried any form of humour. It was filled with disbelief, the playful light in her eyes dimming.

“Seriously, Alora? Now you try to make me believe I am the one going crazy?” She asked.

Alora’s lips parted, but Rosalie already stepped away from her, fingers delicately picking up her skirts to prevent them from collecting any more debris from the garden grounds.

“I have tried to help you for the past two years, but you continue to convince yourself of these visions. And now this? Some excruciating noise that no one else, not even the damn garden-dwelling animals, can hear?” Rosalie’s brows pulled into a deep frown, almost glaring at Alora. “I’m not falling for it, again. I’m returning to the tea party, and Emilia, where I plan to accept the next best suitor.”

“Rosalie, I’m not faking this.” Alora’s voice grew pleading as she stumbled after her friend. “I can hear people screaming. Hundreds, if not thousands of them.”

Rosalie shook her head again. “No, Alora, you just do not wish for us to return to the rest of the living. I won’t pretend like I believe you anymore.”

Alora took another shaky step after her as Rosalie turned away and retraced their steps out of the garden. She cringed as another wave of pressure slammed into the front of her head, pressing hard against her temples.

I won’t pretend like I believe you anymore.

Of course she hadn’t. Alora should have realised someone like Rosalie, from a wealthy, normal family, wouldn’t truly believe her. Even with the sparkle that’d grown bright in her eyes the last two years as Alora told her stories of the world she dreamed of. The bright colours and stunning mountains, of human-like beings who rode animals twice the size of their twin on Earth.

On the days that Emilia was caught up and couldn’t make it to the tea parties, Alora and Rosalie would disappear into these gardens and find the pond with an open sky above it. They’d lay in the small field filled with wildflowers, bask in the sun warming them, and Rosalie would ask questions about the world in Alora’s mind.

Perhaps it was okay when that world had stayed in her mind.

Perhaps the moment it began to spill into her awake life, that’s when it wasn’t okay.

Perhaps Rosalie could handle the thought of it, but not of it being reality.

Alora barely managed to keep her hold on her skirts as she made her way after Rosalie, pushing against the noise in her head, trying to put it in the back of her mind and bring her surroundings to the front. The garden floor was flat and smooth, freshly cut each week until the courting season ended. Even so, her skirts gathered leftover blades of grass the catcher on the mower missed. And still, Alora couldn’t get herself to focus on that detail. It was too big, too bland, too quiet.

She lifted her left hand and pressed it to a tree as she passed, the rough bark scraping against her palm and dulling the screams for a brief moment. Enough so that Alora drew in a painless breath. Her eyes closed, temple and jaw relaxing until the screams once again clawed to the front of her mind and dragged her away from the tree. She loosened a groan, blinking away a sharp slice on the backs of her eyes.

It wasn’t enough, she needed to draw blood.

Alora curled her fingers into one of the ridges lining the bark that covered the tree. She hissed as a small sliver slid between her nail and nail bed, but curled her fist closed completely and yanked a piece of it off. The sharp edges dug into her skin, her closed fist pushing the splinter beneath her nail further and sending a sharp sting of pain up her arm. It drew the pressure from her mind, allowing her to focus enough to keep walking.

Each step rattled her brain, but Alora held every nerve tight, zeroing in on the ones in her hand and the blood escaping through the growing cuts. She kept herself focused on that tiny splinter like a pea beneath a mattress. It wasn’t until she reached the edge of the garden, her bare feet knocking against the heels she’d discarded, that she pulled her attention outward and looked for Rosalie.

There, she stood at the empty table and spoke with a man who quite possibly had the whitest hair Alora had ever seen. Not to mention the pale skin to match, though not pale enough to be sickly. There was a softness to his cheeks, Alora discovered as she drew closer and her grip slackened on the piece of bark, a softness that reminded her of the rabbits within the garden. He was attractive in the same sense, like a cute animal you couldn’t help smiling at. Beneath that, something familiar and powerful pulled at Alora, calling to her. His gaze shifted from Rosalie to her, as if sensing the same pull himself, his dark eyes scanning over her body before one of his eyebrows popped up at her bare feet. Alora couldn’t decipher whether those dark eyes contained irises, or whether they were entirely a pupil.

“And who might this … dishevelled beauty be?” The man asked when Alora got within hearing range. His head tilted as he took her in, the blood she felt sliding between her fingers and onto the grass, the tightly gripped skirts in her other hand, and the pained expression she likely still carried on her face.

Rosalie glanced over her shoulder at Alora, her gaze dropping to her bleeding hand for the briefest moment before looking back at the strange man. “Lady Alora, quite the dreamer .”

Alora frowned at her introduction, not that she cared to be introduced to the man, but for Rosalie to say it like an insult after stating she considered herself one. Alora swallowed down a whimper as another pulse ran over her temple. “Where is Emilia?”

The man’s gaze sharpened, moving back to Rosalie and then the table with three empty chairs pushed out from it. His jaw clenched, eyes shooting towards the large expanse of the garden. “There was a third?”

Something about the tightness in his voice sent a chill down Alora’s spine. Emilia hated the gardens, liked to look at them but never actually ventured within the vast array of flora. This man didn’t know that, though. Alora had never met, nor seen, him here or speaking with the other two women at any stage throughout the courting season. So why did he look towards the gardens as if they had swallowed Emilia whole?

“Yes, but she probably just went inside with Joanna when I went after Lady Alora. She doesn’t enjoy strolling through the gardens,” Rosalie explained. Her hands remained folded in front of her for the entire interaction. Now, however, she stretched a hand towards the mansion. “Perhaps you would like to escort me back to my carriage?”

The man’s gaze shifted back to Rosalie, studying her silently for a second. Alora saw the exact moment he realised what the implications of doing so would mean and quickly grew a lazy smile. A fake, lazy smile, and shook his head. “My apologies, but I have something else that I must deal with. Perhaps another time.”

Something about the way he spoke was different to every one of the other men within the mansion. The ‘proper-ness’ was forced, and held a shifted accent to what Alora had grown used to. He slid a hand into the pocket of his pants, brushing past both of them but pausing near Alora. His eyes met hers, a curiosity searching for something she was unsure of.

“They’ll stop soon enough,” he murmured as he looked towards the garden once more and then continued on his way. The screams faded away at his words, that same chill crawling back up Alora’s spine to the nape of her neck. She found her feet frozen against the flat stones beneath them.

Could he hear them, too? Or did he speak of something entirely different?

Alora tore her gaze from the man and to Rosalie. She barely kept Alora’s gaze before making her way back towards the mansion. Alora should’ve followed her, put distance between herself and the familiar stranger walking into the gardens. She should bid her farewells to the men and return home, but instead she faced the back of his white, messy hair and stumbled after him.

Not at any point did the man look back at her, or make any motion to confirm he knew of her presence remaining. Everything about his purposeful stride said he had something he needed to do, and nothing would distract him. The complete opposite to what Alora was like most of the time, but an almost perfect match for Rosalie. So what was more important than courting her?

As she ducked beneath another low-hanging branch, Alora recognised where the man was headed. Her and Rosalie came this way many times over the last couple years.

The screams in her head grew louder, steadily, the further she walked. Each step in the direction of their secret little pond increased the volume in her mind, and keeping her focus on the stranger no longer helped keep it down. She paused as she reached the edge of the tree-line surrounding the space, cringing hard enough that her eyes almost closed. So hard that she almost missed as the male stepped onto the stones surrounding the pond then dove beneath the flat surface, droplets landing and forming wet circles on the edge.

Alora forced her body forward, stumbling and cursing her clothing for continuing to get in her way. Her foot caught the edge of her skirts and sent her forward onto her knees. She ignored the throbbing from them that now joined her head, abandoning the chunk of bark in her hand and crawling forward to search the water.

There was nothing. No movement, no shadows, no eyes staring back at her.

There was, however, water swirling deep beneath the surface that Alora could only see due to the goldfish caught within the force of it. Deep in her gut she already knew what she was about to do. She already knew that if things went wrong, she’d be called all kinds of hideous names that would not only ruin her own reputation, but also her family’s. No matter that they weren’t blood related. So Alora blamed her nausea and light-headedness for pulling her into the water after the man .

Only, the moment she fell beneath the surface, everything in her mind grew quiet and the tornado she’d seen from above sucked her down and into the eye of it. Right towards a mirror image of the pond surface above her.