Surely not wrong.
Never wrong.
Digging deeper with the blade.
Two women were on the floor. One howling, one bleeding.
The sounds – she gurgled, guttered and died,
She rolled her eyes,
Muttered lies,
And murmured about butterflies.
Sister Aubrie was having a lovely time.
The kindly man had blessed her wine.
The Quin woman was friendly, though she called her Sister Grey.
And the Chandelier was God, who was always nice to have at a party.
A flash of light, a popping noise, and the Ballroom was darkness.
The Salvager lady bustled in, clutching a flashlight and shone it at God.
Seeing the Chandelier-Deity illuminated in the torchlight filled Aubrey with a glorious feeling of triumph. She could almost hear God speak – “It is empty, it has broken. We must find a new one, fill the hole, bring the light.”
Aubrey wailed in jubilant satisfaction and screamed at the hapless cleaning lady “Did you hear him? Did you? Nobody should be empty, find them and cut out the darkness!”
Salvager Sally had had enough of these rich, pious nutters.
First that Nun went crazy at her when she was checking the light bulb in the chandelier and trying to make pleasant conversation, and now she found herself kneeling by this wrinkled old sod in a wheelchair.
“I only regret I have not my holy water to cleanse your spirit and holy blade to cut the deamons from you. I must find Sister Aubrey immediately, there are deamons about.” The old man muttered.
Maybe there was something to be said for this man and his faith. There was something wrong with Sister Aubrey, and who was to say there weren’t deamons in the house.
Sally resolved to postpone fixing the thermostat, and leave the party guests to their frolicking. First she went to let the Duchess know the bulb in the chandelier was blown.
Yet as she was scolded and shamed by Duchess Quin Tessance for interrupting her with he guests, Sally had, unbidden, a horrid thought of hurting her mistress.
Just go to bed. Everyone has thoughts like that sometimes.
The more Charles listened to the nun the more his concerns grew.
In his 85 years of living solely for the glory of God, speaking to him hourly, never had God returned the favour.
This nun heard voices, plainly, her conviction left no other alternative.
But God? No… deamons…
He would have struck the darkness from her then and there, as they talked quietly in the Lounge, but it was possible she could still be saved. And if he was to make it to that accursed chandelier, he would need her help.
“The butterflies…”
She had been muttering about insects since they had come through from the conservatory. Not a good sign.
“Sister… SISTER”
Her eyes snapped up at him.
“I need you to help me back through the passageway. Take me to the deam… take me to God.”
“You are not a butterfly. You are a cocoon. Cocoons need help to fly”
“Yes. This cocoon’s wheelchair is a real pain in the wings. Just push me, woman.”
ENOUGH.
She can screw in the bulb. And screw herself while she’s at it thought Salvager Sally, savagely.
Standing in the hall, Sally was ready to storm out into the night.
Years of service, years waiting for recognition, even respect. Tonight had been the last straw. Finally having fixed the thermostat, Sally had been on her way to the Ballroom to fix the bulb, deciding in the end not to head for bed, when she had run into the Duchess. Scornful as always, cruel and careless. Standing in the half light under the lightless chandelier, Sally had snapped. She pushed the light-bulb in her mistress’s hands, and stormed off.
Now, in the hall, ready to leave the mansion for ever, Sally grabbed the newly fixed thermostat, and snapped it in two.
She stared at the jagged, pointed end. Sharp.
Through the passageway, the nun had ben fairly lucid. She still mentioned God, and light, and those bloody butterflies, but she had pushed and carried the old Crusader through well enough.
They stood before the doors of the ballroom.
“Sister… God has spoken to you, as you say. It should be you to speak to him again. Open the door.”
She obliged.
It was cold and dark in the Ballroom. From his chair, he could see little ahead of the nun. Until she screamed.
“God’s cocoon is broken! The dark butterfly, it’s happening!” The nun collapsed on the floor, scrabbling for the white, sharp, jagged gemstone in the pendant around her neck…
In the centre of the ballroom, now visible behind her, the chandelier’s silhouette was there… but a tall dark figure was… spilling from it. It appeared that all that was left to emerge was the end of one of the deamon’s arms. Everything else was there, a tall thin body static in the half-light, just the silhouette’s arm still a part of the chandelier.
His holy blade was not with him.
He lacked his holy water.
All that was left him was his last, hidden stiletto. A sharpened point in the stopper of a false bottle. Deamons, witches, even Satan’s own spawn – none of them bother to look in an old man’s water bottle.
Duchess Quin Tessence’s breathing was heavy. Blood dribbled from her lips and onto her beautiful ball gown.
In the doorway, she saw that silly little maid. Sally. Surely she would help her?
The Salvager just grimanced, nodded to herself and turned around quietly to leave.
The nun… clutching her opened pendant, the Sister cradled a small, dead, golden Butterfly that had fallen from the compartment. “You weren’t God OR a butterfly.” Whispered the Sister, quietly.
“Nor were you a deamon.” Spoke another voice.
His eyes were wide, but voice, steady. And his hand still gripped the blade.
“One mistake does not out-do a lifetime of fighting the forces of evil. God forgive me, I must lie. Or who will save the nun from the deamons clearly living in her soul – this was their doing… they tricked me. But you… why were you in this accursed room so late?”
Quin said nothing. She was already gone. As her body relaxed, a small, glass light bulb slipped from her palm.
