"speech"
"others"
"others"
Despite running down that particular line of thought for the whole time she spent walking to Madeira's house, she was no nearer to a perfect story to tell the Spiritist when she arrived, which was frustrating to say the least. However, Ennisa had to concentrate a little more on her surroundings as she got nearer so as to be able to follow Rostam's directions, and so she temporarily set aside her rudimentary stories. She took a left fork, then a right, and spent a fair bit of time gazing around the unfamiliar neighbourhood trying to figure out where the house was. She saw one interesting but unrecognisable house after the other, until finally she spotted what could only be the dwelling of the Spiritist.
The house was perched on Zintia Peak in a favourable position. Ennisa drank in the appearance of the building from her discreet position on the street with avid interest. There was a lot to take in. Firstly, the place was not quite as polished as she had started to imagine on the walk over. The garden was overgrown, though not enough to be thicket-like. A winding path led up to the house, which was quite large and couldn't truly be called a house but more a manor, as Rostam had indicated. It was impressively large by Ennisa's admittedly meagre standards. Much larger than her own singular room apartment. She wondered vaguely how many people lived in the house. It couldn't be just Madeira, could it? And ghosts didn't need a room... Were there others in the property? She regretted having not asked Rostam more questions when she had the chance, though she supposed there was nothing stopping her returning to the man.
She frowned and peered at the windows, but could see no movement inside. This was good. She wasn't prepared to face the woman yet. When she knocked on the door, it would be on her own terms, with her story ready and prepared, not slap-dash unprepared as she was last time. Ennisa ran her hands through her hair and turned to look for Emma. The little girl seemed happy to be home, and indeed she had drifted closer to the fence that separated the house from the rest of Zintia Peak as if trying to be closer to the house and, presumably, the people that lived there. Ennisa remembered mention of Raj all of a sudden, and wondered if he was another ghost just like Emma.
It was time to leave. Ennisa had seen the house now and knew how to find it. All she needed now was a viable story to tell the woman. But what did she want, really? She narrowed her eyes and began walking away. Emma followed, reluctantly. What did Madeira really want from her? Was it a story, which she would know was another lie? This seemed unlikely. Did she want the truth of who she was? If so, she would be disappointed. Ennisa was nobody in particular. A trickster without any true aim in life.
What did she want to hear...
Ennisa made her slow, steady way back home with this question looming like a great, unmoving obelisk in her mind. She was glad to be able to fall down onto the bed and rest her feet for a while, although she was almost desperate to close her eyes and fall asleep. Instead, she popped up and opened the window as far as it would go to allow a meagre breeze to waft across her skin. Then she took off as many layers as she could until she felt chilly enough to be uncomfortable. Only then did she slouch on the bed and get her notebook out, which she propped precariously on her knee.
Emma was looking at her antics with a puzzled expression. Ennisa childishly stuck her tongue out at the little girl, and said, "What are you looking at?" But the ghost didn't answer, only settled back in place, ready to play her part of the game.
Ennisa blinked her heavy eyes and began to brainstorm ideas. It seemed best to have such an iron-tight story that the woman would have to trust her. The difficulty was that Ennisa knew she wanted to deceive her, not because she had to, but because she needed to. This was so that she could prove to herself that she could. If she stopped and truly thought about that moment in the tavern, her cheeks still burned with the residual blush of her embarrassment. Madeira had bested her. That stung like a bitch. The only way to overcome it was to come out on top. To win. The trick to doing that still eluded her.
She scribbled, Madeira - weaknesses - Allister and malediction in her uneven handwriting. She stared at those words for perhaps a chime, without a single clear thought entering her brain, before she shook herself from her stupor. Petch it. She drew a straight-ish line down the centre of the page, dividing Madeira to one side, and writing her own, fabricated name on the other. Miss Sky. Who was Miss Sky? Perhaps that was the real question. What was Miss Sky doing in the Scholar's Demise on that night?
She scribbled down a few more ideas, but most of them seemed vapid and as easily readable as a children's book. Madeira would see straight through that. She needed to be better that a sick brother and a make-believe gem. Ennisa chewed her lip in frustration. How to mix truth and lies to become Miss Sky... that was her challenge.
WC : 931
The house was perched on Zintia Peak in a favourable position. Ennisa drank in the appearance of the building from her discreet position on the street with avid interest. There was a lot to take in. Firstly, the place was not quite as polished as she had started to imagine on the walk over. The garden was overgrown, though not enough to be thicket-like. A winding path led up to the house, which was quite large and couldn't truly be called a house but more a manor, as Rostam had indicated. It was impressively large by Ennisa's admittedly meagre standards. Much larger than her own singular room apartment. She wondered vaguely how many people lived in the house. It couldn't be just Madeira, could it? And ghosts didn't need a room... Were there others in the property? She regretted having not asked Rostam more questions when she had the chance, though she supposed there was nothing stopping her returning to the man.
She frowned and peered at the windows, but could see no movement inside. This was good. She wasn't prepared to face the woman yet. When she knocked on the door, it would be on her own terms, with her story ready and prepared, not slap-dash unprepared as she was last time. Ennisa ran her hands through her hair and turned to look for Emma. The little girl seemed happy to be home, and indeed she had drifted closer to the fence that separated the house from the rest of Zintia Peak as if trying to be closer to the house and, presumably, the people that lived there. Ennisa remembered mention of Raj all of a sudden, and wondered if he was another ghost just like Emma.
It was time to leave. Ennisa had seen the house now and knew how to find it. All she needed now was a viable story to tell the woman. But what did she want, really? She narrowed her eyes and began walking away. Emma followed, reluctantly. What did Madeira really want from her? Was it a story, which she would know was another lie? This seemed unlikely. Did she want the truth of who she was? If so, she would be disappointed. Ennisa was nobody in particular. A trickster without any true aim in life.
What did she want to hear...
Ennisa made her slow, steady way back home with this question looming like a great, unmoving obelisk in her mind. She was glad to be able to fall down onto the bed and rest her feet for a while, although she was almost desperate to close her eyes and fall asleep. Instead, she popped up and opened the window as far as it would go to allow a meagre breeze to waft across her skin. Then she took off as many layers as she could until she felt chilly enough to be uncomfortable. Only then did she slouch on the bed and get her notebook out, which she propped precariously on her knee.
Emma was looking at her antics with a puzzled expression. Ennisa childishly stuck her tongue out at the little girl, and said, "What are you looking at?" But the ghost didn't answer, only settled back in place, ready to play her part of the game.
Ennisa blinked her heavy eyes and began to brainstorm ideas. It seemed best to have such an iron-tight story that the woman would have to trust her. The difficulty was that Ennisa knew she wanted to deceive her, not because she had to, but because she needed to. This was so that she could prove to herself that she could. If she stopped and truly thought about that moment in the tavern, her cheeks still burned with the residual blush of her embarrassment. Madeira had bested her. That stung like a bitch. The only way to overcome it was to come out on top. To win. The trick to doing that still eluded her.
She scribbled, Madeira - weaknesses - Allister and malediction in her uneven handwriting. She stared at those words for perhaps a chime, without a single clear thought entering her brain, before she shook herself from her stupor. Petch it. She drew a straight-ish line down the centre of the page, dividing Madeira to one side, and writing her own, fabricated name on the other. Miss Sky. Who was Miss Sky? Perhaps that was the real question. What was Miss Sky doing in the Scholar's Demise on that night?
She scribbled down a few more ideas, but most of them seemed vapid and as easily readable as a children's book. Madeira would see straight through that. She needed to be better that a sick brother and a make-believe gem. Ennisa chewed her lip in frustration. How to mix truth and lies to become Miss Sky... that was her challenge.
WC : 931
