Alyss - The Masquerade 3

"How long will she be asleep for, Ring?"

"I don't know. I wish I did, but only time will tell. Until then, we can only wait."

A pause, "She looks cold."

"Maybe she is."

Another pause, "Ring, what happened to her?"

"Well," the man, apparently named Ring, sighed, "I think she would prefer it if I weren't to tell."

"Is it bad?"

"Yes. It was."

Again, another pause. Maybe he was bad at conversations. I couldn't be sure. Maybe these voices were all in my head, anyway. I couldn't see their faces. What could I see? Nothing. The darkness. A slightly pinkish hue in a sea of black, small speckled dots. I supposed my eyes were closed.

So tired. The voices were fading.

"She hasn't moved at all since she got here. Is that normal?" a concerned voice. I had gotten familiar with these two voices. There were two of them. Both were male.

"It's completely fine," this man's name was Ring. It was easy to differentiate the two voices because Ring's voice had a reverberating bass masked over something I assumed was a mild hoarse throat. Or maybe he just had a croaky voice.

A sigh, "I just wish she would wake up," I never knew the name of this man. But his voice contrasted vastly compared to Ring's. It was always soft, but never a whisper. I could not call it a high voice, but maybe it was not as low as most men, but that did not make it bad. No, although I had never seen his face it seemed to suit. It was... yes, a pretty voice.

"Well, she's not going to talk to you. She doesn't speak English."

"Only French?"

"Yes, and she can't read nor write either. I believe it is a disorder, however, for I know people have attempted to teach her. It will be difficult to teach her English but I want you to help me."

"Me?"

"I somehow think we might need your mind with her."

The funny thing was I had no idea what these two men were saying. I had managed to figure out their dialects. Ring had an English accent, that was sure, but the other man? I guessed Irish but I always got confused between the different British countries. English was the easiest because it was most common.

I wanted to know the name though. Ring... and who? What was his name? Who was the owner of the soft voice?

"I must ask a favour of you, and it's a rather big favour."

"About her?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I've been monitoring her for a while now and her heartbeat hasn't even skipped a beat. It has been eight months now and it still beats. I am sure that she will wake soon, but I want you to keep an eye on her. She seems fragile."

"Physically or emotionally?"

"I would say both."

"Ring, do you think she will have something special as well? Like me?"

"Like your ability to create things that aren't really there? I don't think so. However, I do think she will have something different. Her heart has already shown that."

"I want her to wake up."

A very long pause, "Me too."

~-~- THREE MONTHS LATER~-~-

I sat upright in a second as my eyes wrenched open, ear-piercing screams filling the room. Where was I?! What had happened?!

Arms. Around me. Who? I glanced quickly at the owner of the arms and saw a grey-looking man with sunken eyes and a gaunt face. He didn't look pleasant but his voice was enough. It was familiar, somewhat, "Shh, it's okay, there's no need to scream, you're safe, you're safe..."

My cheeks felt wet. I was shaking. I know, I know, I'm safe, but I couldn't help it. I didn't even know what I was doing. Why was I screaming? I tried to focus but my brain was clouded. I glanced at the man again and grabbed him, although I had no idea why. I clutched both of his shoulders as tightly as I could, maybe for support. It felt more comfortable though as my head was resting against his chest and I felt the fabric of his shirt slowly become damp. Why was everything becoming wet?!

I didn't know how long I was holding him for. But when I finally loosened my grip he stood up quickly, slightly bewildered, a little concerned but mostly shocked. Before he could walk too far away I grabbed his hand. No, don't go.

As I grabbed his hand he swore, but it was a language I was not familiar with, and pulled his hand out of my grip, glancing down at his hand like I had burnt it. Did I do something...?

His gaze rested on mine for a few brief seconds before he tore his eyes away, "Quinn."

It was the only word I heard and I had no idea what it meant, but I looked behind the man and saw a man in his mid-twenties with jet-black hair, one lock falling across jade eyes. His eyes locked with mine and he smiled, gently.

That's when I screamed again.

But this time, it was a proper scream, for I knew what I was screaming about. Zigzagged across his mouth were tiny black stitches that seemed to constrain his mouth. The stitches ran along his mouth and up both sides of his mouth. Was he okay? Could he talk?

Arms around me again. I turned my head but it was not the gaunt man that was holding me this time. It was the man with the stitches. Was his name Quinn?

It was not too long before my cries eased but I was still shaking. I was afraid. Where was I? And who were these people?

The gaunt man spoke, but in the language I did not understand. I listened closely and guessed it was English, for the man had a thick English accent. I glanced at the man with the stitches again to see if he would reply – or rather, could reply.

He did. He spoke normally and clearly with a familiar Irish accent that I had sworn I had heard before.

"Alyss."

I glanced up. That was my name. The tall grey man knew my name?

"Alyss, I want you to stay calm. Can you do that, please?"

I nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, let's start this off slowly. My name is the Ringmaster, but you may call me Ring if you wish. This here," he gestured to the Irish man, "Is Quinn. He will look after you for most of the time. And you, Alyss, need to remember something."

I bit on my lip and with as much breath as I could, I finally spoke, "What do I need to remember, Monsieur?" my voice was weak, soft. How long had I been here?

"The last memory you had before you woke up here. The last living memory, that is."

"L-living...?" I trailed off, blinking. I frowned and thought. What was I supposed to remember? How I got here? Okay, well... I remember... the voices and how they contrasted, and one was Irish whilst the other was English, one was named Ring but I could not remember...

They were the men in my dream? So I had not been dreaming at all? I quickly glanced to Quinn, hoping he would notice. Yes. He was it. The one with the pretty voice. I didn't know his name though. His name was Quinn. That was pretty.

I frowned and thought more. But before the dreams. Before the dreams, Alyss. Who are you? I'm French. I live in Nantes and I serve Lord Beaumont as a maid. My boyfriend's name is Antony and my best friend is called Marie. And there was a masquerade we were recently preparing for. I had to practice my opera for most of the day because I was performing. And the Lord, yes, he asked me to accompany him.

And oh God. He proposed, I refused, and he...

My eyes were stinging as I felt my cheeks become wet again. I looked up, salty tears slowly trickling down my face, "I remember."

"Yes," he sighed, "That was eleven months ago."

"Eleven months? Have I been asleep?"

"You could call it sleeping."

I blinked a few times and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, looking around. The room was rather plain, with cream-coloured walls and light grey carpet. I was sitting down on a small single bed, but the sheets were plain white and slightly coarse. Cheap, you could say. There was a lacking of furniture in the room, however. Really, to be accurate, it was a rather empty room besides the one desk and the one bed. "Monsieur, is this a hospital?"

"No," he replied softly, "You're dead."

Dead. The word came out as blunt and harsh, but I knew he was trying to be kind about it. But the word itself was harsh; how could it not sound blunt? My stomach dropped as he said it and I knew it was true, but I failed to understand how it was. I know, I remember, so I was dead, but if I were dead, why am I here?

"I... How is that –,"

"Possible? Who knows? But you really are dead, or, to be more accurate, undead, and you have to accept that."

"A-accept?!" the tears were starting again, "I wake up in this place, I have no idea where I am, I don't know who you two are except for the fact that you look like freaks and I just want to be home and back with my mother and I wish none of this had ever happened and – and, and –,"

My stomach suddenly felt tight, like someone had twisted it. I coughed and suddenly I was choking. My hands, my arms, the bed, the floor, covered in blood. W-was that me? But I couldn't stop, and it was burning my throat. I wanted to scream but my airway was clogged with all the blood. I felt so...

Numb.

All the coughing stopped. There was no more pain. I felt so light, but so dizzy, yet so relaxed.

I looked up and there was Quinn with his eyes closed, concentrating heavily on... on what? I was so confused. His eyes opened and he smiled, then I felt his thumb slowly wipe the blood off my lips. I couldn't help but return the smile, although my attempt was most likely pathetic.

Curiously, I reached up and with one finger, touched the stitches delicately. As I touched him he gave the slightest jerk but let me, so I continued to feel the thread. Surprisingly, it was as soft as silk and only made slight bumps, otherwise it would feel completely smooth. I let my other fingers join and the muscles on his face twitched slightly to make a small smile.

I cocked my head to the side questioningly, and he shook his head gently. It didn't hurt. It was strange that I was like this. I didn't know him, and he didn't know me, we couldn't speak each other's language, but we could still understand each other.

Suddenly a cough interrupted the both of us. My cheeks burnt with embarrassment and I took my hand away as I avoided Ring's stare. He muttered something in English to Quinn. As he did that Quinn stood up, made a comment with a smirk on his face and left. From his chuckles I guessed he was making a joke – hopefully not about that.

"So Alyss, we need to discuss a few things."

I nodded slowly.

"First off, I will have to go through a few tests with you. This blood of yours isn't natural. The undead don't have blood so we're going to have to make sure that you're completely healthy. The second thing is that your heart is still beating. I will have to check that as well."

"Sounds reasonable," I mumbled, "A-anything else?"

"Yes. Your hands."

I blinked and frowned, glancing down at my hands that were still bloody, "What of them?"

"When you touched my hand, you did something. When you touched Quinn, the same thing happened. He jerked, didn't he?"

I bit my lip, "Cold hands?"

"A bit more than that," he frowned, digging his hands into one of the pockets in his grey coat. After a bit of rummaging he pulled out a small dagger. I blinked, staring at him. What was he going to do...? And what he did do was insane. He rolled up his sleeve and then with one quick look at his wrist, slashed it. I screamed in fright, expecting blood to start pouring out from his veins.

Oh wait. He doesn't bleed. The undead don't bleed... I guess this all is true and I'm not... crazy. But then again, a man just cut his own wrist open in front of me, so I think calling me crazy is a bit of an understatement.

He bit on his lip as his muscles tensed from the pain, "Put your hand on my wrist."

"What?!"

"Do it."

I didn't want to but he didn't look like the type of person you argued with. I obliged and placed my hand cautiously on his wrist where he had cut himself. I held it there, waiting for him to say I could take my hand away.

"Get your hand off."

I did as he instructed and he brought his wrist up to his face, frowning. However, it was only a matter of seconds until his face turned into that of... well, I couldn't say happiness, because he did not look like the one for even being close to happy. No, more like intrigued.

"Looks like you are special, Alyss."

"How so, Monsieur?"

He turned his wrist around for me to see what I had done. I gasped, seeing the wrist just as it was before he had cut it. I could...

"Heal. You can heal people," a small smile tugged on the corner of his lips but that was all he could muster, "And that's why it felt strange. You were briefly renewing everything that might not be a hundred percent perfect."

"Is... do the undead have magic?"

"No," he chuckled softly, although his smile did not widen any further, "None of it is magic. There is always an explanation behind everything. Some people, such as you, do have some kind of special ability, but it is not magic. For example, Quinn has a particular ability of the mind, putting things in your head, making people imagine things, even some form of telepathy. But then again, he is part-demon."

"D-demon?!"

He raised an eyebrow with a mildly amused expression on his face, "We have much to learn."

"But... Monsieur," I sighed and glanced down at my hands which I had placed in my lap. At this I finally noticed what I was wearing. It was a roughly seamed dress, but seemed to have a few modifications. For one, it lacked the frame in the skirt, and I knew I wasn't wearing a corset otherwise my breathing would be restricted...

I couldn't breathe.

I just realised how easy it was to actually wear corsets since now I wasn't tackling restricted lungs all the time.

"Monsieur, where did you get this dress from?"

"Oh I..." he bit his lip, "I just quickly made it... I was in too much of a rush to measure you, then get a dress tailored for you, so I quickly did it myself. It's a bit rough, but it will only be temporary. Larra is the only other woman here, and her build is much too different to yours."

I blinked, "You dressed me?"

He seemed to be very fidgety at this, "It was better than your old ripped dress... for the first couple of weeks you only wearing one of Quinn's old shirts, anyway..."

I blushed at this and looked at my hands again. I let my gaze crawl up my arms and I noticed a few faint red jagged lines on my skin. I shuddered, my heart giving a loud thump when I recalled the memory of how I obtained these scars.

"Alyss."

I glanced up to him, blinking back tears.

He bit on his lip then thrust his hands into his pockets again, searching for something. Finally, he found what he was looking for and took out yet another knife. This one was held in a leather sheath. He drew it out and then handed it to me.

I took it, trying to work out why it looked so familiar. A silver hilt decorated with rubies was carved beautifully with a strange swirled pattern, and the blade was shining and sharp. I realised, and I let out a small squeak.

"The Lord threw out the evidence as well as you, when he dumped you in a gulley. I didn't know if you would want it or not."

I nodded slowly, unable to speak. It was the very blade that had cut gashes into my stomach and arms, the very blade that had murdered me, yet I seemed to have a strange connection with it. Like... I understood how it worked.

One cannot heal if one has not been hurt.

I stared at my hands again. If I had the ability to heal, then maybe I myself was immune to pain, to injuries. I considered telling Monsieur Ringmaster this, but I held back. Maybe not yet, until my assumptions were correct.

After all, there was so much to learn.