Natalie Yacobson "Mutilated. Crypt of the Seven Angels"

В«Look!В» She pulled Brad for aВ sleeve and pointed her hand forward. В«You see him?В»

В«Whom?В».

В«That blond guy inВ vintage clothes. He is goth, probably,В» Claire was not inВ this completely sure. Goth would dressed inВ black. Even antique goths will not fall into aВ blue brocade and white lace and will not paint the hair inВ aВ platinumВ hue.

В«Do you see aВ guy not like others?В»

Brad only shortly shook his head. He did not see. Claire only now understood. No one except for her saw him. But she saw him. And her eyes suddenly expanded from horror, because the beautiful face began toВ be instantly covered with burns and scars. Total instant and from him there was only aВ disheveled mask. Claire even screamed from indescribable horror. Only no one paid attention toВ this. Her cry was killed inВ the total hum ofВ frightened votes and panic. At the beginning she did not even understand what was the matter. Only then she realized how she was lucky that she was not inВ the crowd, but aВ little bit alone. Some overlaps and huge signs at the cinema were collapsed. The number ofВ victims was accurately calculated inВ the morning newspapers. AВ day passed, and they still could not count. Claire with horror recalled aВ thick crowd at dusk, but he knew that this accident would not be limited. The victims will be countless. They should not even think about them. It is worth thinking about the face she noticed inВ the crowd. That night, Clare saw aВ lot ofВ terrible scenes and blood, but for some reason, instead ofВ the crippled and dead people, it was stood before her eyes. As if the stranger was the center and the cause ofВ the entire catastrophe.

Edge ofВ torment

«Do you know what happened yesterday?» Shanna, a childhood’s friend. Claire pretended to hear badly, and quickly put the phone. Morning release of «Times» she also threw into a trash can. She did not want to remember what was yesterday. It was too unpleasant.

Blood Messa. Claire frowned.

Crunching bones, screams, moans… In general chaos no longer can be seen that beautiful face that flashed and remembered her. But the stranger as if he remained invisibly attending a broken misfortune. Claire noticed the imprint of his presence in every wounded person, in every mutual corpse… Or was she just went crazy?

She with Brad was barely toВ get away from the reporters who flew toВ the place ofВ the tragedy. As they just managed so quickly. Even earlier ambulances.

Claire remembered how heavily relied on the shoulder ofВ Brad. He had practically toВ drag her back home. He, as aВ true gentleman stated that it was his most pleasant burden. Still, she did not invite him home toВ herself. OfВ course, he was pretty cute and, oddly enough for guys like this, even courteous. And yet she did not want him toВ spend the night at her. Her bed always remained empty.

As if she was waiting for someone, but not Brad. AВ pre-prepared set ofВ linen inВ white peonies still remained fresh. Pillows are only slightly crumpled. Claire had aВ thought about the stranger from the crowd. What if he was now here? InВ front ofВ him, she would definitely not closed the door. And what happened then?

Claire was afraid ofВ any knife. Even for butter. So aВ set ofВ kitchen knives almost always remained inВ complete integrity. Claire was afraid whenshe was looking at the blade. And on your own veins. How is it easily toВ cut them. InВ literary works, they wrote that such death is the most painless. Probably they joked. such an outcome seemed Claire toВ be the longest and painful. What is it slowly bleeding?

Claire wanted toВ distract herself. ToВ see an interesting movie instead ofВ shocking news reports. Somewhere she had discs with the films ofВ Jane Austin and the В«Pirates ofВ the CaribbeanВ». Or maybe it is worth toВ listen some pleasant music and prepare aВ calming bath with fruit foam and lavender petals.

Claire made aВ choice inВ favor ofВ the bath. She did not like toВ calm the nerves with the morning tea, like most ofВ the British. For many British, it may be strange, but not for her. Claire really did not know where her homeland is. And it was hardly survived at least someone from her relatives who can tell her aboutВ it.

On the table in the living room recent sketches were laid out. Claire quickly looked at them. She just invented illustrations to Tamlin’s fairy tale. Here Janet, the beautiful daughter of the count, picks off a rose from the bush in the Forbidden Forest. Her medieval dress and pearls in the hair are perfectly contrasted with magnificent barbed bushes, from which the angry Queen of Fairies is observed. The girl is waiting at the crossing of the roads in the night, when she can take away his beloved from the fairies. Her hand is already extended forward to Tamlin sitting on horseback. Here is the most memorable drawing, where Janet hugs Tamlin and suddenly notes that he is not a person, and instead of his legs, he has a coronal ugly feet of the tree elf. Many fairy tale options contradicted each other in detail, but Claire, as an artist, caught the essence. She herself was surprised how beautifully her sketches came out, although they were taken only with a pencil.

She was also offered toВ illustrate theВ» The mermaid from ColonsayВ» and В«Tom Tit-TotВ». And another number ofВ fairy tales collected from both folk English and from Scottish and Irish folklores. All ofВ them were rather curious and gave aВ lot ofВ ideas for her artistic fantasy. But Tamlin turned out toВ be closest toВ her, so she so clearly drew every detail, every rose flower on aВ bush, every hair inВ aВ luxurious braid ofВ Janet, every tiny flaw inВ aВ perfect figure ofВ semi-elf. Tamlin was aВ man, but he was aВ captive ofВ the elves. Claire made with the pencil aВ lot ofВ hints on the fact that this young man has stopped for aВ long time yo be aВ human. So he kisses the hand ofВ his lady, and he himself hides ugly claws behind his back. So he hides the webbed fingers under cuffs. Here, from his beautiful mouth, the snake crawls exactly the same as the one that crawls along thebush ofВ roses.

You need toВ think about what colors it is all coloring. Claire threw sheets on the table and went toВ fill the bath. She did not find lavender petals, but she found only half an empty jar with aВ sea salt and aВ fiber-oil bottle. It will come down. The drum smell just calm the nerves.

Claire rummaged inВ the shelf behind the mirror, and suddenly something burned her fingers. As if the jellyfish clutched into the skin and burned her through. The feeling was stuck and terrible. It seems she came across the razor blade. Claire herself did not notice how she was cut. Not average, but somewhere inВ the depths ofВ the soul, she looked like this longВ ago.

The first cut. Accident! The kiss ofВ the cold blade turned out toВ be burning. The wound was burning and bleeding, as if the bloody lips were revealed on the skin. And together with the wound, some forbidden gates were opened. Gate toВ the past. Gate toВ horror and pleasure. Gateway toВ heaven, for some reason strikingly similar toВ the room torture.

Blood dripped on the floor: thick and allay. The drops loose about the tiled plates, smeared on them, excited the interest ofВ some insects crawling inВ deep crements. InВ the head ofВ Claire mixed inВ one kaleidoscope: creatures, thirsty ofВ spilled blood, aВ long and twisted labyrinth ofВ memories, blood color, similar toВ crushed roses. This color was simultaneously dirty and delightful.

Crushed roses! Where did this comparison come from. Roses, spikes, needles. They dug into the skin, and blood poured, as it happened toВ her now. Claire looked at the thick scarlet juice set up and frightened. It suddenly woke up persistent interest toВ her own bleeding wounds, and it struck her. She looked at the opened cut and vaguely saw many agony ofВ many people. How scary, how attractively!

Her hand expires blood like once aВ long time ago. InВ consciousness, stabbing acute needle popped up. She stuck under the skin, and blood ran on aВ white cloth. Scarlet on white! Claire had aВ headache from blood loss and outbreaks inВ memory. Someone was near and squeezed her wounded hand. Like now. Someone grabbed her bleeding hand and raised gently toВ his lips. Someone with aВ disheveled face. Clare saw the burned lips, but she did not have the strength toВ scream. And when they appeared, aВ mutilated face was so close. She could touch him it she wanted. But for some reason it seemed toВ her that it should not be as she seesВ it.

Claire came to herself. There was only a blue tile around it. Walls and floor around were laid out with small square tiles. This is still a bathroom. So why she had a feeling that she was now somewhere else. The mirror without a frame on its wall seemed to have turned into a luxurious thing for a moment. Claire looked at it and saw someone’s outrageous person. It twisted from anger and pain. But it was not her face. The reflections simply lay down on each other. A man watched her from the mirror. Very nice man. Only his eyes flooded with blood. He looked at the blade in her hand, as if warning.

В«Do not dare toВ do it anymore!В»

Claire was surprised byВ the fact that he was completely not frightened. Probably because she was frightened. But the red streams have flowed with thin streams along the elbow. They stained the skin and burned. It turns out, pain from cuts may be such burning. Claire herself would be fainted, if she did not see fear and pain inВ his eyes. InВ the eyes pntently looking at her on the other side ofВ the mirror. It comes out, even the creature living behind the mirror, is able toВ be afraid ofВ something.

Blood drops onВ silk

Venice,В 1570

She was invited to this luxury palace as a modest seamstress. Is it only possible to call a modest girl with delicious golden curls and eyes of the colors of the spring sky. She can wear a white starched cap and a strict apron, has a rough basket for sewing and takes up the door for servants, but you didn’t call her modest and common.

True, Cordelia was warned that it is better toВ always hold on toВ the shade when you go toВ the ownership ofВ the devil. No matter how magnificent and rich was the Palazzo around, and the rumors overlooking these splittings are not at all so seductive as their appearance. Whoever owned all this magnificence, he also owns and bad reputations. Too bad toВ talk about it out loud. And too scary toВ not be alarmed.

Cordelia was alerted only slightly. She did not believe that the owner ofВ all this could drink the blood ofВ young virgins and cut cats under black candles. And it is unlikely that his French roots and aВ recent trip toВ France could have something inВ common with obtaining witchcraft skills, as many claimed. She did not believe inВ magic at all. And even more so inВ rumors about those who are too influential and rich. There are many envious people. Many poor people need an item for gossip. So they compose stories themselves. All this is just slander. Still, at the entrance toВ aВ luxury house, for some reason fear piercedВ her.

She timidly looked around for the silk on the walls, gilded ceilings and crystal chandeliers, and the cold trembling chain covered her body. It sometimes seemed that this dexterous spider was sprawled around her web and now she can neither move nor breathe.

Strange comparison for the seamstress. After all, she must feel herself a spider, weaving a gorgeous fabric.This time her work promises to be very exciting, because it will have to weave the wedding dress. The wedding web should remain durable and inseparable. For life. For all eternity. That is why Cordelia called here. Everyone knew how durable and beautiful are her works. A wedding dress for Angela Guinchioleli should have merged both of these qualities. The aforementioned Signora was not married for the first time, but it was this marriage that she wanted to keep for life. Cordelia specially paid for it to read one of her prayers about the marriage. The young devout seamstress knew how to do it. Everyone saw her on services in the cathedrals so often, that she was considered as a special e; ectrd of Madonna. Everyone believed that her prayers, sung during her work – this is a sign of a good future. Only Cordelia herself would rather call it a spell. She drove a needle and sank quietly:

В«So that the thread does not break, and the fate would fit into it. So that thet will be for ever.В»

Her beautiful soprano was echoed inВ aВ mirror room. White dress on the mannequin was becoming more luxurious and solemn. She did not spare not the gold edge, nor gentle lace, no beads for embroidery. That will be an outfit. Already now it made the impression ofВ something magical.

Cordelia stopped singing, because she heard some kind ofВ knock at the window. Her words broke off on the semi-note when she realized that no one could knock at the window. It is too high above the ground. And indeed, there was only aВ bird. AВ raven black, like night. And it looked at her with such evil eyes, as if it was going toВ burn her with its eyes through.

Cordelia was so afraid that for aВ moment she lost vigilance and pricked her finger with the needle. Blood drops fell on aВ white wedding dress over which she worked.

Luxurious dress. To wear this! Probably the bride is very good. Yes, what to guess there… in such a magnificent outfit, any girl will become a real beauty. It’s all about these silks, weave gold threads, brocade inserts and minor diamonds on the granted upper and lower skirts. Everyone will look at the elegant corset, on delightful sleeves with bulbs, on the golden sewing around the shoulders and elbows. The yards of dear fabric are attracted all attention, and what woman will put them on, everyone is.

В«What if you become this woman?В»

AВ voice or aВ fantasy? Cordelia shuddered and broke away from work. At the fine binding ofВ the window, someone attached. It seems aВ black bird. It was not capable ofВ saying words, but the flakes ofВ her wings scared Cordelia. Together with the fright the finger was pierced byВ pain. The needle, which Cordelia carelessly squeezed inВ her hand, dug her right under the skin. It was terribly painful, and the bird seemed toВ laugh. Flapping with wings, it flew off the window. It seems that it was aВ black raven. Cordelia seen how they nest on the roofs. But never one ofВ them was knock at the window.

Blood ran out ofВ the finger. The injection turned out toВ be much more deeply than she decided at the beginning. It was worth looking for aВ handkerchief or some kind ofВ rag so that nothing would be swollen, but it was too late. Blood droplets fell on aВ wedding dress and diverged on aВ white atlas with brightly aluminum spots. As if bloody flowers were bloomed. Red on white. This is no longer dismissed and not washed away. Cordelia was afraid. What sheВ did.

And at this very moment, someone intercepted her hand. Cordelia strained. Someone’s fingers kept her gently and tightly just over her wrist. And the blood continued to drip out of the wound down on a beautiful white fabric.

В«IВ am glad toВ meet Mademoiselle,В» aВ pleasant velvety voice said.

Cordelia watched and could not take eye. She has never seen such aВ beautiful face. AВ man next toВ her really reminded ofВ an angel. Beautiful, blonde, with pleasant features ofВ the face and gently outlined mouth. The blue eyes slightly shone and, it seemed that you were drowning inВ them, like while flying toВ heaven. And he was luxuriously dressed. Aristocrat, not servant. She wonder how many seamstresses worked the nights after nights over his rolling and short cloak? But Cordelia looked only on his face. How is he beautiful! He must be the owner ofВ the house. Judging byВ the description,В yes.

He looked at her as intently as she was on him. And, despite the sharp pain inВ the finger, this moment seemed toВ her magic.

В«IВ am Donatien,В» she already knew his name.

В«Cordelia.В»

В«How beautiful it sounds!В»

Beautifully, like blood on aВ wedding dress, flashed inВ thoughts from Cordelia, and he suddenly raised her hand toВ his lips and kissed. No one did not do that. Cordelia is not accustomed toВ the fact that they cared for her. She was born not inВ aВ society where exquisite manners were taken, but he looked at her as if she was higher than others, but not lower. As if she was aВ princess here, and not he is the owner ofВ the house.

He as if he did not notice the wound on her finger, although slightly smeared his lips with blood. He was too pale, and the smear ofВ blood on the lips gave his appearance aВ little brightness. Cordelia looked at his reddened lips, and for some reason, aВ comparison with an crushed rose came toВ mind. She suddenly realized that she would like toВ kiss these lips at least just toВ test the taste ofВ blood and fallen pink petals.

Anatomy ofВ pain

Claire woke up, as if from sleep. For aВ few moments, she blinked and confused on the ranks ofВ books on the shelves. Where did she read all this? When? What for? From the story she was drowning with gravestone cold, blood and aroma ofВ cemetery roses. She did not want toВ remember this. The cold statues inВ the crypt, the gondola is on the cold water ofВ the canal. There is aВ kissing couple inВ the gondola, the lady gives her hand toВ aВ man, he cuts her palm with stiletto, and immediately kissed the wound.

All this nonsense inВ the style ofВ Marquis de Sad or Lord Bairon, who became aВ vampire. So why is it disturbing all this? Why strange plots pursue her like hallucinations? After all, no one ordered her drawings toВ such stories. Otherwise, she would certainly remember.

Claire treated the cut with iodine, but it still hurt himself. Blood stained her favorite top. On the skin there was aВ slim scar aВ little higher wrist. Scars it is so ugly. The cut can be sealed with aВ plaster, but the curved white strip on the site ofВ aВ crushed wound will look very unattractive. It seems that Shanna said something about the fact that the scars can be easily removed byВ aВ laser. She herself withdrawn only boring tattoos, but it seems toВ be successful. Claire carefully looked at the ugly strip with torn edges.

How the flesh is vulnerable! How easy toВ disobey it with aВ touch ofВ blades. Even if aВ person is perfect, as aВ statue, inВ contrast toВ the statue, he is so definitely. It is enough just toВ take the blade on the skin, and there will be no trace ofВ beauty.

Perhaps the creature inВ the mirror was right. You should cherish your beauty, as some fragile jewel, which is very easy toВ destroy. When the beauty is, it is not too appreciated, because it is used toВ it, but the threat ofВ what you can lose it, suddenly leads toВ aВ panic. Only inВ this case you realize how it is important toВ you. Beauty face. Beauty body. The beauty ofВ untouched flesh.

AВ disheveled creature inВ the mirror ofВ all this was completely devoid. If it existed at all. Suddenly the burnt and rugged face is just the fruit ofВ aВ rich fantasy ofВ Claire. And what about the pleasant youthful person, which sometimes looked at her from the same mirror. It seemed toВ be the hostage ofВ another ugly creating. It manifes and waited.

Claire suddenly remembered the story about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Can beauty and ugliness be only two sides ofВ the same creation? InВ English literature, yes. But inВ life. Rather, inВ troubled visions.

Claire put into a pink cosmetic bag her brushes and pencils and suddenly noticed the sharp object that flashed among them. Blade! Where is it here? She did not remember that ever in life had something like that. This is a completely sharp knife. Thin sharpened stylet with carved handle. In life, Clare saw something similar for the first time, but in dreams…

She took out the object from the handbag carefully as if it was aВ living snake.

The thing was clearly old as an exhibit or relic, borrowed from aВ museum. Only it is surprisingly well preserved. Stiletto was even newer and cleaner than the goods just received from the store. Claire involuntarily was captivated byВ her reflection inВ the sparkling blade. How beautiful! And how easily the same blade can destroy all the beauty.

Her suddenly pierced aВ strange perverse desire. ToВ cut down! Just take the blade on the skin so that blood performed. It was terribly unpleasant and at the same time incredibly seductive. Again feel the hipping burning inВ the skin. Again toВ see how the blood droplets perform that the dew on the flower. The desire was so passionate that Clair was barely kept.

It seems toВ be burned from the inside. The idea is toВ inflict some kind ofВ wound or injury, has become almost marked.

Claire seemed toВ sleep. Can it be aВ reasonable person toВ come on such thoughts. We must think rationally. InВ the end, she is an adult with refined taste and pleasant manners. So where did this craving for blood come from inВ her, toВ death, toВ violence? And most importantly toВ self-dispersion. Why the thought that herself began toВ seem much more seductive than toВ draw something with aВ brush on canvas.

All this was so unusual. Claire felt like inВ aВ dream. So she brought the blade toВ her own skin slightly lowering the elbow and gently spent them aВ thin line across the hand. The pain immediately defended how the coals were smoldering on the hand, but the feeling still was somehow fascinating. The blade drained aВ thin neat drawing. This could not be repeated on paper or canvas. This art required an extremely live flesh as aВ canvas. Unique art. Claire could not tear the eye from aВ thin wound, immediately pouring scarlet color. This cut was like aВ line ofВ perfection. Absolutely perfect feature on the perfect canvas ofВ its lily skin.

This time the cut did not seem toВ her dropping like greedy lips. It was like aВ straight road, carrying her into the labyrinth ofВ memories. Claire saw bleeding black candles, knives, dead female bodies on the table and someone standing on them, someone inВ aВ coat. She saw her own palms, pricked byВ spiked roses, and folds ofВ her own wedding dress. She heard the question:

В«Why did you come here?В»

And immediately something negligent:

«Well, okay, since you came, stay! Look! It will be your fishery ever…»

And the scalpel inВ his hand sank on the chest ofВ aВ dead woman. Cuffs were painted blood.

Blooded lips kissed Claire, and she felt this kiss. It was sweet, and terrible at the same time.

Claire came toВ her senses only aВ few minutes later. Bloody trickles have already become so thick that they painted the entire hand. Blood ran out on the carpet. Claire took the wound with her fingers, and they immediately painted inВ aВ scarlet color.

What aВ strong pain! It is strange that the pain has come only now. When she applied aВ cut, she did not feel almost nothing. So people do something inВ aВ trance or under the influence ofВ hypnosis. And then there comes aВ painful awakening.

Now the pain pulps inВ her hand, as aВ separate living being, aВ living being, which was suiced toВ you and requires suffering. Claire did not remember where the first-aid kit with bandages and ointments. She grabbed the first towel inВ the bathroom toВ scorch her hand toВ them, but her gaze was supervised inВ the mirror.

Rather, something from the mirror intercepted her view. Something that dwells inВ the mirror. Blood continued toВ flow through her hand, and her fingers frantically clung toВ the marble border. The nails became red from the blood, the pain was stabbed, but the consciousness was burning more.

«Who are you?» She wanted to ask. «What do you want from me? Why do you kill people around me? Why why why…»

So many questions have accumulated from her, just did not make sense toВ pronounce them out loud, because Claire knew that he would not answer any one. If he wanted, he would have answered long ago because he could read inВ her mind, as inВ the opened book. But instead ofВ giving her at least aВ tiny hope that she does not go crazy, he just grinned. Clare saw his sinister grin, heard laughter. And the bloody blade inВ his hand. She saw it. On the other side ofВ the mirror. AВ strange blade. Almost the same as what she found inВ her own bag, only with some emblem on the handle.

Claire caught her breath. She looked into the mirror as intently as aВ creature stared at her. It lived there, inВ the looking glass, or just hiding? She imagined him or is it true? Claire tried toВ find answers herself, but everything was so confused.

The mirror also suddenly twisted the misty haze. And it is cold there is no steam or hot water. Claire pulled out toВ rub the glass and only then remembered that her hand was still inВ the blood. But it was already late toВ stop. On the mirror remained aВ long bloody trail. As if after the murder, when someone was slaughtered near someone, and thick juggling blood spattered glass. Do mirrors remember murders?

Somewhere far inВ the room called the phone. Probably, Shanna again wanted toВ share the last news about the disaster. Or Brad called toВ ask for aВ visit or on aВ date. The call came, as if completely from the other world. From ordinary earthly world. And here inВ front ofВ the mirror inВ the bathroom, as if the whole space was revealed, covered only byВ reflective amalgam. Now Claire saw only her wary reflection, but she knew that aВ whole universe could be revealed for any moment, aВ whole universe, filled with incomprehensible horrors, as inВ the works ofВ Lafcraft.

В«Who are you and what do you want from me?В» She did not utter these words, but the questions hung inВ consciousness, as aВ smoke from the fire. Claire wanted toВ know everything. She needed something toВ remember. Something that happened aВ long time ago and not at all with her. However, events were strangely familiar toВ her. It was necessary only toВ strain the memory. But she could not make an effort herself. It was much easier toВ cut herself. After all, physical pain is very often not as terrible as pain covered deep inВ the subconscious.

Act ofВ irreversibility

Memories like sleeping dragon. They hid somewhere deep into the brain and wrap it with their claws and tentacles. Total instant and they die fire. For aВ whole fiery explosion, only aВ tiny match is enough. AВ subtle hint, carelessly abandoned words or some randomly noticed thing, which suddenly awakened pain inВ memory, again made it active. InВ this moment, the awkward dragon becomes unproduction, he will burn your whole mind and everything will be able toВ reach it throughВ him.

Claire understood it. Whether her goodwill, she would prefer not to remember anything. But the memories came to themselves. They did not belong to her, but scrolled like pictures on the screen. As in a gothic film. Garden with luxurious fragrant roses, under which the corpses were in the ground. Blood in cups on the table. The bodies cut with the knife almost to the unrecognizable state. But Claire knew who were these dead. Once they were her enemies. Now they were mutilated corpses. Always mutilated. Because once the same people mutilated him. Him… Claire looked on the flame of candles. She could not restore the face in her memory. She saw only black candles and blood. Candles for witchcraft. She knew this ritual, but did not remember its sense.

She was sitting at the oak table for aВ feast. The room was absolutely empty, not counting someone who sat on the other side ofВ her. And his face was hiding inВ the shade. Although it is strange where the shadows come from if there are so many candles around. Is he beautiful or ugly? She saw only his hands lying on the table. Rather, only the cuffs around these hands and shine ofВ expensive rings. On her fingers were also expensive rings, which inВ life she never wore, and lush cuffs around the palms, and gentle sleeves with pearl threads. The forehead also pressed the severity ofВ pearls. Pearls were like living creatures taken away from the dead oysters. Certificates ofВ their death. And Claire felt with every cell ofВ the skin, how are they heavy.

And on the exquisite plates inВ front ofВ it really lay dead worms and pieces ofВ flesh. She knew that this flesh was human. She felt as if she had died. And this is not at all due toВ the fact that the corset on the whale mustache stood the chest so that it intercepted the breath. She felt like aВ shadow. Shadow inВ white on aВ disgusting feast. And he waited. He waited for her toВ decide. And she took one ofВ the gilded forks.

It seems she fell into the trance or just thought too much. The phone was ringing without stopping. It was Brad. Claire did not want toВ take the phone at all, but, thinking, still decided that it would be impolite. Since when did she start toВ show politeness towards Brad? Since she realized that she needs toВ have at least some company inВ order not toВ stay alone with ghosts. She was already inВ captivity ofВ some illusions. The presence ofВ aВ living person near could change it. When someone is near, all fears are becoming less, and the dependence on the otherworldly weakens. OfВ course, aВ creative person needs toВ be sometimes alone with her own thoughts toВ create her works. But you need toВ have friends. There were always everywhere many guys and girls who would like toВ make friends with her. It was aВ rare quality worthy inВ order toВ envy it. Claire did not have toВ do anything at all so that people were fond ofВ her.

Probably her amazingly beautiful appearance or mysteriousness attracted them. Or maybe aВ tempting combination ofВ both inВ general. InВ any case, when Claire gave it toВ understand that she did not want toВ communicate too often with someone, these people were very offended at her. She herself knows why she sought toВ solitude. Probably, she was right and it was not worth respecting people, which ofВ all possible qualities attracted only her too bright appearance. Is it possible toВ choose yourself friends inВ appearance?

Together with the question ofВ consciousness immediately the mysterious hoarse voice said:

«You can’t even imagine what treasure you have?»