Page 55 of Unkindness of Crimson Ravens
Chapter 21
Crimson Lips
My eyes reflected the light from the candles, glowing in the darkness. I could not find it in me to hate the abnormality, instead, I studied my irises in the mirror with curiosity. The shimmering reminded me of a starlit sky: infinite, full of secrets and mysteries.
The warm bath had scared away the exhaustion I was greeted with when I woke. Clean clothing and freshly braided hair made my lungs breathe with ease.
I will be waiting in the common area,Florence had told me before leaving me to the privacy of my room. She still hadn't told me where we would be going: just looked at my ripped to shreds dress, kindly telling me to change.
I studied myself in the mirror. My eyes glowed inhumanly bright, my clean hair shone like fine silk. The amber dress covered the ugly scar on my chest.
For the first time in a while, I did not look frightened.
The common area was all the way down the stairs by the exit to the castle. I held the candle near my heart, taking slow steps down.
The memory of walking in these halls when we’d arrived that night was still raw in my mind. The hushed screams and whispers did not leave me.Let’s take the arrow out first,the voice had said.Then burn the poison out of the wound,the other had agreed.
The suppressed screams had stopped before I had fallen asleep.
The castle was eerily quiet now, as if listening for the whispers and secrets that surrounded this place. The paintings on the walls gloomed in the darkness, glaring pointedly at me.
“Cordelia,” the paintings whispered. “Cordelia.”
The murmurs did not stop, my heart beat faster. I spun around, searching for the origin of the echo. Dozens of candles quietly watched me from afar.
I followed the candles to the very end of the hall. I had yet to explore this part of the Castle, thinking it must’ve been the private rooms of the residents within.
The candles led me through the ajar door. “Cordelia.”
Candles covered every surface of the room, illuminating every hidden corner. A variety of books, paintings, and sculptures chaotically laid upon different tables and shelves, spilling onto the floor. As if a hurricane went through this room, every piece of furniture was occupied by wild disorganization.
I walked past the bookshelf that separated the room into two. Despite the peculiarity of the scene, my pulse had quieted, my breathing steadied.
I turned around the bookshelf.
Relief and fear washed over me at the exact same time, mixed into one bewildering emotion. My legs carried me toward the sound of Francis’ quiet breathing as if my body had a mind of its own.
Francis laid upon a massive wooden bed. Sheets the color of night and shadows were wrinkled underneath him. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
I took a step closer.
“Cordelia,” he mumbled.
I hurried to apologize for the intrusion of his space when I realized he was fast asleep.
I should’ve left. I should’ve left this room, yet I did not. Instead I took another step, then another, and another, until only inches separated us.
My gaze could not escape the capture of this prison, unable to move away from his immaculate features: his messy—covered in blood—hair, his full brows, his soft pink lips.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, moving closer and closer as if my eyes could not handle the distance, could not capture the perfection of his skin in its greatness. I moved closer until my face was right above his.
I breathed in jasmine, smoke, wine, and blood. My blood. My blood was still on his lips.
I should leave.
His lips were so soft.
