Page 95 of Deliria

I am a force of nature, unstoppable and wild.

I burst into the corridor, like a demon let out of the box and nothing they do can put me back in it.

I race through the house leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. Vases, portraits, nothing is left untouched as I unleash myself like a phantom.

Even if they do kill me, even if they do manage to lock me back up and subdue me again, my wrath will still be here. My tempest will still remain on these walls, etched into the very history of the Forster Mansion.

My screams echo off the stone. My hands destroy whatever they come across. I am no longer human in this moment; I am no longer mortal. I’m a god, a creature of vengeance.

And then as quickly as my fury is unleashed, it is stolen.

That sharp pain that’s been slowly twisting in my belly makes me double me over.

I fall to my knees, my strength faltering.

Blood—my blood—it’s pooling on the floor, soaking into the wood as though this cursed place demanded a sacrifice for my actions.

I stare at it, horror rooting me to the spot.

This can’t be happening. Not now. It’s not possible. It’s not…

Hurried footsteps echo through the horrific silence that seems to swirl around me.

I lift my gaze and see Rafe, standing, staring back at me. He looks like an angel. An apparition come to save my soul. Only, I’m too damned for that now. I’m too fucked in the head, and too tainted to ever have a chance of redemption.

His shock mirrors my own and for a moment, we are frozen, two souls caught in the tempest of our shared tragedy.

And then, that pain cuts through me again. It splits me in two. Cleaves me in half. It twists and it cuts and I buckle under the pressure, vaguely aware of the floor rushing up to meet me, before Rafe’s arms are holding me as he carries me away.

Rafferty

“Get the fuck out of my way!”

The two servants exchange glances like they’re actually considering fighting me and before I can give them another moment to contemplate it, I push past with Scarlett curled up in my arms. I should feel lucky that more staff haven’t come along to try to contain her, but if they had I would have fought every single one of them.

I can feel her blood trickling down my arm, I can feel the dampness seeping through my clothes.

I don’t need to ask what it is. I don’t need to speak the words.

It’s abundantly clear what this is. What she’s experiencing.

I carry her through the house, no longer giving a fuck about subterfuge or secrets because we’re so far beyond that.

But when I get to my wing, I make sure to bolt the doors anyway. For all I know they’ll come stab me in my sleep and what good will I be to Scarlett then?

She whimpers, tensing up, and I know she’s feeling another wave of pain.

“It’s alright.” I say, even though that’s a lie.

It’s so far from fucking alright.

She’s shaking like a leaf; her eyes are wide with fear and pain. I can feel the heat of her feverish body through my shirt, and I know something is seriously wrong.

I sit her down gently on the edge of the bathtub, and she looks up at me with those pleading, broken eyes.

“Rafe,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from crying.

I’d heard her. Heard her screams, heard the chaos and the destruction. It’d been like a beacon, a calling song, and I’d raced through the house until I found her.

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