shelley_winters

The corridors are empty and silent.

The curtains, like ghosts, flutter in the moonlight.

Their is something by the door of Shelley's room. A pool of red spread across the floor, and the body of a woman lying beside it.

In the moonlight, a knife could be seen buried in the wreckage of her throat. There was a small trail, upon inspection. The blood was spattered where her hands lay like a puddle where a child had been playing. The blood was still fresh under her nails from when she had tried to crawl away, still unwilling to die.

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Shelley freezes where she is, staring.

She's dead.

The woman's dead, but she takes an automatic step forward, anyway, years of training to check for breathing, for a pulse, call an ambulance...

But there is no ambulance, and that woman is dead, she knows it. There's one sensible thing she could do here and after standing stock still for a time that feels impossibly long, she shakes herself into looking about for a comm unit.

There's one inside her room.

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There was no failure.

She would be found.

The knife glistened in the moonlight as the curtains were violently thrust aside.

Where was she?

A glance to the bathroom before silently sliding through the door.

She would be found.

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She should go inside. Key for Vashti. And as much as she dislikes the idea, Elan, too.

But the woman is dead, and that pool is made of blood. She's too far away, but her subconscious conjures up the smell and she shudders, stomach churning.

Shelley backs into the small library on the other side of the hall, face white but set, making for the discreet unit on the other wall.

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As the door to the library slides shut, there is another sound.

It is the sound of the door to Shelley's room, opening.

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Shelley hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder, then keys for a priority line.

"One of the maids is dead," she says, as soon as the answering chime sounds, not waiting to see who it is.

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medea-players.livejournal.com

The screen flickered for a moment before Vashti's face appeared wearing a concerned look. Something must be very wrong for Shelley to be using a priority channel or even using the comm system.

"Oh?"

Maids died all the time. That was not unusual. What was unusual was Shelley knowing about it, or someone attempting someone when the house was on high alert. That meant...

"Lady Shelley, I want full details immediately. After you seal the door. Do it now."

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Shelley blinks, pales, and goes.

A slightly fumbled sequence into the keypad by the door means she has to re-enter the code, biting her lip edgily. She wishes, rather distractedly, that they had bolts, too. She knows that technically the electronic locks are stronger, but she is very aware that if somebody knows the right code...

She goes back to the comm.

"She's outside my room. I didn't go in, she'd been stabbed." One hand goes involuntarily to her neck. "V-very dead."

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medea-players.livejournal.com

Vashti nodded calmly.

"I will alert Lord Ishamael immediately. No maid, especially a dead one has any business by your room. I want you to input the following code into the door: A-3-1-9-C-0-0-Y-4-6. That is the Seal Room code. No intruder should be able to override it. Do it now."

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Shelley scurries again, repeating the code hastily to herself before carefully inputting it.

A-3-1-9-C-0-0-4-6

"...Okay. I think that's it."

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Vashti spoke over the communication system again.

"Lord Ishamael has been made aware of the situation and we are taking steps to investigate. Please stay there, Lady Shelley. Call if you have need."

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Shelley nods silently, forgetting that it likely isn't helpful.

She turns the comm off, and goes to pick up a book, anxious and upset. It looks like she'll be stuck here for a while, as they hunt for whoever did it.

She hates this place so much.

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The soft, metallic sound of the door sliding open.

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Shelley looks up, disbelieving. She locked it, it was locked. Very cautiously she peers around the back of the armchair that obscures her position from the door.

And nobody's even there. Or-

She can't quite focus on the figure, but-

(What?)

The door is open. One hand goes almost automatically to pull the chain out of her dress, lifting the ter'angreal into her hand as a precaution in case...

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Footsteps make sound.

The door closing makes sound.

The smile makes no sound.

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Shelley frowns, eyes darting to the door and back to the lack of-

And she scrambles backwards, out of the chair, fingers pressing desperately at the stone, because if she can't see that means a Channeller, and she won't be taken again, she won't.

Helpmehelpmehelpme!

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The shadow stretched along the floor.

The sound of a dry whisper, like a wind among broken glass, a voice from a far room, dying with a dying fall.

...There you are...

The glint of empty eyes, like dying stars.

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Elan, help!

Shelley stumbles against the footstool, but pulls herself upwards, eyes frantically darting around the room, unable to take proper notice of the silent, half-dead figures.

She keeps backing away until she hits a figure behind her, and lets go of the necklace in shock as arms wrap around her tightly.

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"Fear not, Lady Shelley."

The shadows stretching along the floor quivered, and then disappeared.

A moment later, the sound of bodies hitting the ground, before a soothing voice spoke.

"You are safe."

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Shelley takes a deep breath, not looking back at him, small body tense. Then lets it out slowly.

Just like he tried to teach her.

"...Who were they? And- I couldn't see them. What are they?"

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His arms remained around her, supporting her gently. He explained calmly.

"They are the Grey Men. They are difficult to detect because they have no souls. We have never quite been able to figure out why."

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Faintly.

"...Oh. Right."

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Glancing down at the bodies, Ishamael stepped around Shelley, but kept an arm around her shoulders.

"There will be more, I suspect. Graendal always was thorough. Let us find Vashti and leave the house."

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Shelley swallows.

She doesn't really want to go anywhere other than home, but the idea of seeing more is not a pleasant one.

"Where are we going?"

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Ishamael thought for a moment before answering quietly.

"I have a small residence in the mountains, I think we can visit. There is snow in the mountains this time of year."

Releasing her shoulder, he stepped forward to look down the hall.

"We will need to be very careful as we go. Even I cannot see them all that effectively."

Silently and without really looking at her, he offered a hand out to her.

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Still peering warily at the floor, eyes wide, Shelley slips a cold hand into his.

She doesn't want to die.

But more, she doesn't want to face that almost-person again, and feel her gaze and notice slip away even as they raise a knife...

She shivers.

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