An ache burned to a spark in Emily's chest. Her heart yearned, melting in Rachel's embrace. For a moment, the voice that screamed for release went silent. The scent of amber, orange blossom, and bergamot lingered in Emily's nostrils from Rachel's perfume. Sweat glistened on her neck beneath the stage lights.
Echoes of the crowd's cheers pulsed in her eardrums. Rachel's warm brown eyes gazed into Emily's green irises. She felt exposed, seen in a way she didn't have the vocabulary to describe. Her pale skin hummed like a tuning fork, muddled with recollection. She then faced the crowd, soaking in their admiration with a brief smile. Emily couldn't shake the feeling that she had done this before.
̶R̶a̶c̶h̶e̶l̶'̶s̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶ ̶c̶a̶r̶r̶i̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶m̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶c̶o̶l̶l̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.̶ ̶A̶ ̶s̶t̶r̶a̶n̶g̶e̶ ̶e̶c̶h̶o̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶e̶d̶.̶ ̶
Emily did not reply; her mind still lingering on Rachel's soft lips like an addict. Her head turned towards the crowd. A warm smile stretched across her face. She waved towards the crowd only because she noticed Rachel waving and bowing.
"Another warm round of applause to our two chosen!" Sarah said as she put down her violin. "That was a performance that would make the ENGINE blush."
"Thank you for picking us. I am a huge fan of yours, by the way," Rachel explained.
The opera lights turned on.
"Is that so?" Sarah asked, the audience funneling towards the exit when she bowed.
"My family had me practice some of your original scores. I can almost play your violin sonata from beginning to end."
Sarah tapped a manicured nail on her chin. "That is a tough piece even for me," she said. "What house are you from, my dear?"
"I am from House Lianza."
Sarah's eyes widened. "From Augustine, correct?"
Rachel nodded.
"Explains why you can play my sonata and your waltzing skills," Sarah said, then glanced over at Emily. "What about you, shy one? What house are you from?"
Emily blinked, then turned her head toward Sarah. "Who, me? Oh, I am just an orphan."
"˙ǝnssı̣ ǝɯɐs 'ou ˙˙˙dןǝɥ uɐɔ ǝɥs ǝqʎɐW"
Sarah chuckled, then noticed the small insignia on Emily's outfit.
"Don't make such jokes while wearing a garment woven by Ashley herself," Sarah replied, pointing at the identical insignia on her pink baroque dress.
Emily looked at the insignia and shrugged.
"You seriously don't know who made the clothes you are wearing?"
"Not really. She gave me these clothes because she didn't like what I was wearing."
"She also said she had never fenced before," Rachel said, crossing her arms.
"Beginner's luck," Emily muttered.
"And she plays the cello," Elijah said, walking onto the stage and lighting a cigarette.
"What are you doing here, sourpuss?"
Sarah smirked, her amber eyes undressing him. "Fancy meeting you here, old friend."
Elijah didn't say a word, refusing to meet Sarah's gaze.
"Who is he?" Rachel asked.
"Oh, that's sourpuss. He's the guy who got me the hotel room," Emily explained.
Elijah exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke.
"Can I speak to you outside?" Elijah whispered, pointing a finger to the exit.
"Sure, I guess."
"You really ain't going to speak to me?" Sarah asked, folding her arms under her breasts.
Elijah flicked cigarette ash onto the stage, then walked towards the exit.
"Rude."
Emily's head turned towards Rachel. "Talk later?"
"Of course," Rachel said, smiling at Emily as she left the opera house.
"She likes me … my first kiss. Best day ever," Emily whispered. A frown formed on her face when she got outside. Her eyes drifted towards the ENGINE, hovering in the sky. She rubbed the mask on her face, then hung her head. "Oh, that's right…I am going to die soon. She is going to die too. I have to stop this."
A cool night breeze swept across Emily's face as she wiped the hair out of her face. Citizens gossiped around the opera house and on the sidewalks. Mulberry, plum, and orange clouds drifted around the ENGINE hovering over Leonore. Emily watched its churning gears. It appeared to be doing nothing. Its cosmic observance bewildered her; she could not grasp its purpose. The ENGINE, ironically, might view her romantic waltz just as odd.
She noticed Elijah leaning next to a light post, digging in his pockets for his cigarettes. Emily gazed back at the opera house, then looked up at the ENGINE one last time before walking over towards him. Elijah lit a cigarette, eyes fixated on the doors of the opera house. His eyes narrowed, watching a couple leave the building.
"What was all that about?" Emily asked.
"Wanted to get you away from Sarah. She is trouble," Elijah explained while he smoked.
"How do you know?"
Elijah scratched his salt-and-pepper beard, then put his hands in his pockets. "I got a history with her. That's all you need to know."
"Ohhh, did y'all?"
"So anyway, let's get you a room," Elijah grumbled, ignoring Emily's question as he walked down the road.
Emily jogged to catch up with him. "Hey! But you already got me a room?"
"Can't stay there anymore. Sarah decided to crash there."
"How do you know?"
"I checked the guest list."
"Kinda weird you would do that?"
"Not in my line of work."
"What do you do?"
Elijah did not respond.
Emily squeezed through the crowded streets. Prime Day festival banners fluttered in the wind on light posts as streetlights lit up. Artists sold acrylic and oil paintings of the chosen at merchant stands. Statues of previous PRIMES glowed underneath the city's night lights. Tailors sewed garments for a premium, while entrepreneurs haggled with citizens for their coin. Automobiles cruised down cobblestone roads, parking at Victorian and Renaissance-style buildings.
Elijah stopped at a towering white and gold-trimmed hotel building that had several flights of stairs that led to the main entrance doors. Emily followed him into the building. Sophisticated music that sounded similar to Sarah's violin performance played on the intercom. Nobles and chosen conversed as they walked across marble-tiled floors. Surreal and landscape paintings hung on the hotel's stone walls with metal accents. Warm white light glowed from wall sconces, and a massive silver chandelier hung from the roof.
"Welcome to Le Bristol, Leonore, chosen. How can I assist you tonight?" The receptionist asked as Elijah and Emily approached the reservation desk.
"Got any rooms left?" Elijah asked, leaning on the desk.
"Unfortunately, all the rooms have been booked."
"Damn."
"However, we do have one room that was booked, but the guest never arrived."
"Do you think I can get that room for her?"
"One moment," the receptionist replied. He grabbed a pen and scribbled on a reservation note. He then grabbed a pair of keys from a key lock box. "Name?"
"Emily.... Emily of Leonore?" Emily replied as she looked up at Elijah, then back down at the receptionist as he wrote her name on a piece of paper.
"Here you go, Emily of Leonore," the receptionist said, handing the room key to her. "You can find your room on the second floor."
"Thanks," Emily replied, then looked at the number twenty-one engraved on the room key.
"Enjoy your stay, chosen. We serve breakfast at eight in the morning. Free for all chosen, of course."
"For real?"
"Of course, it's tradition, and it's all you can eat."
"You guys make waffles!?"
"We do, actually."
"You ain't ever going to get rid of her now," Elijah chuckled.
"You calling me fat!?"
"Not physically."
Emily scoffed, then walked away from the receptionist's desk. She waited for Elijah to catch up with her before ascending the stairs to the second floor. "You didn't have to do any of this."
"If I hadn't, you would have just slept outside," Elijah replied.
"Probably," Emily replied as they walked down the second-floor hallway.
She looked up at the room numbers, stopping at her designated room.
"I will come back in the morning," Elijah explained.
"Okay."
"Try to get some sleep."
"I will try," Emily replied, then hugged Elijah.
"What was that for?" Elijah asked, surprised by Emily's sudden sign of affection.
Emily shrugged, then unlocked the door with her key. "I don't know. I guess I like you."
"You guess?"
"Don't make this awkward, sourpuss."
"Just like you with that blonde-haired girl you were dancing with?"
Emily's cheeks flushed, unable to keep a straight face. Her mind rushed back to the opera house, and for a moment she could smell Rachel's perfume once more. A smile crept onto her face as she daydreamed about her. The feelings bubbling in her felt eldritch in both sensation and meaning.
"Somebody is crushing hard," Elijah chuckled.
"Shut the fuck up," Emily grumbled, then slammed the door in Elijah's face.
"Blah."
"ⱠØØ₭ ₳₮ ɎØɄ, ₣₳ⱠⱠł₦₲ ł₦ ⱠØVɆ ₳₦Đ ₴Ⱨł₮. Ⱨ₳Ⱨ₳Ⱨ₳Ⱨ₳Ⱨ₳Ⱨ₳Ⱨ₳!"
Emily's eyes widened as the voice crept back into her mind like a parasite. She shut her eyes, clutching the side of her head. "Please shut up!" She growled, then walked towards the window, staring up at the ENGINE in the sky. "Get the fuck out of my head!"
"ɎØɄ ₮Ⱨł₦₭ ₮ⱧɆ Ɇ₦₲ł₦Ɇ ł₴ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ₩łⱠⱠ ₵Ⱨ₳₦₲Ɇ ɎØɄ?"
"Shut up!" Emily yelled, then sat down on the side of the bed. "I just want to sleep. Leave me in peace; I won't listen to you. This mask won't change me."
"ɎØɄ ₮Ⱨł₦₭ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ₥₳₴₭ ł₴ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ₵Ⱨ₳₦₲ɆĐ ɎØɄ? ł'VɆ ฿ɆɆ₦ ⱧɆⱤɆ ₴ł₦₵Ɇ ɎØɄⱤ ₣łⱤ₴₮ ฿ⱤɆ₳₮Ⱨ!"
Emily shook her head and laughed. Her skin tingled, and the bed started to crack under her weight. The flowers on the nightstand wilted. She tugged at her hair as if it would remove the invading voice in her mind. The room shook as the paintings on the walls fell to the ground. The television on the entertainment center flickered on, changing channels before dissolving into static. An eerie mulberry aura radiated from her body, causing the pillows on the bed to blink in and out of existence. The hands on the clock hanging on the wall spun in random directions. Her eyes flickered an eerie mulberry color.
"Shut up!"
"H̿A̧̙̪Ḥ͟_A͈̲̔H̀A̼H̫ͪ͐A̴̠͑H͍̣͌ÃHH̗AA̫͟H͕Ȁ̤H̥̯͞HA̷̹̲A̸͚͒H̹A!"
"Shut up!"
"E̸̚l̍d̷̿ͥi̊rt͓́̚ch."
"Shut up!"
"E̸̚l̍d̷̿ͥi̊rt͓́̚ch."
"Please shut up!"
"H̢̤̤̃ͪĄ̴̸̡̡̟͖̪͚̺͔̲̫̙͇̦̮͖̯̞̺̪͇̦̖̓͐̓̓ͭ̈́ͥ͗̔͐̒̿ͧͩ̍̾ͣͫ͢͜͞H̶̢̧̘̫̜̞͔ͣ͆̽͜H̛͓̜̥̣͔̺͕͙͇͈ͨ̐ͭ͐ͫ͗̾̓̅̅̒̎̒̊͘͢͜Ã̸̸̧̼̳͚̜̞̬̹̮͈̩̋ͯ̀̀̍ͪ̆̏̏ͪ̊̽̉ͦͪ̚̚͜͜͢͡͝ͅHͥA̷̸̎ͫḨ̶͇̼͎͇̗̘̭̞̗̳̦͖̙͔͑̆͆ͬ̉̍ͫͨ̒̇̏͂̒͐ͧ̚͠A̧̧̩̺̮ͭ̔̀ͣ̆̈́̽͘̚͟ͅH̵̥̬͔͉̝͖̞̦̝͕̙͔̞̻̝͖̦̜̎͛ͧ̈ͩ̎̑͒ͬ̇̽͑ͧ͌̃ͫ͘͞Ă͎̙͈̜ͦͮ̽͆͞͞H̸̴̨̛̛̜̻̺̬̫̲̲͙͉̩̦͖̜̳̊ͣ̅ͤͦ̃̉̈́ͥ͋͒ͪ̆͒͒̃̉̑̒ͧ͜Ạ̴̷̢̝̬̗̘͉̼̬͇͔͔̳ͧ̽ͬ̒̓̔ͬ͑̑̀̍́̌̎͒̍̑Ḩ̸̸̡̢̟̰̣̹̪̣̪͇̗͉̤̳̤͔̈̉ͤ̋̃̈ͦ̒̉͋ͦ̿̂̀ͤ̑͐͊ͯ͗̔̿͋̕̕͠͠͝A̴̦ͧ̓̿̍͘H̶̵̨̖̲̦̠̮̅̀̐̆͐̇̑͛͞͞Á̷̛̳̝͍̗̦͚̳͂̒̃̑̔H̸̸̡͙͙̝̪̮̦̲͍͇̦̝̩̭̲̫̳̭̊ͣͩͥ̀̓ͤ́̄͆̈́ͧͬ͑̉̓̚͢͜͡͞͡Â̡̧̧̨ͮ̾ͭͫ̑͂͆̈́́͘ͅḨ̷̷̡̟͍̖̯̘̣̭͎̞̈̄̑̌̒ͥͨͤ͊̓ͣͪ̔̉͛̾̚͞͞ͅA̷ͅA̸̷̢̢͙̟̲̪̦̪̻͐̓̊ͣ̂͌̅̂̀ͤ͋̃ͨ͊͘͟͡_̱̟HḨ̶̶̶̟̹͍̬̼͓̺̯͓̝̤ͣ́̈̋̈́͐ͤ̂̿ͭ̄̓̂ͦ̑͊͠A̶͉͖̥̘̣̦̬̅̿ͦͮ̿̈̃̂̑̓̕....ℇ⎾⟄☈⟟⍑⍧ℍ!"