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scrivenerofchaos · 1 year ago

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Shadows of Faith: 2/3

Carmilla’s Early Days

SUMMARY: In "Shadows of Faith: The Corruption of Sweet Carmilla," we follow the story of Carmilla, a devout young woman who anticipates a traditional marriage arranged by her parents. However, as her wedding day approaches, Carmilla's nightmares grow increasingly vivid and disturbing. She finds herself consumed by hunger in her dreams and haunted by the sensation of being watched. Amidst the chaos of her nightmares, a seductive voice calls out to her, whispering her name, "Carmilla." This voice belongs to Desdemona who reveals to Carmilla that she will eventually lose her faith, at which point she will be ripe for the taking.

The day Carmilla was born was one of the happiest days of Genevieve’s life. Her deepest desires seemed fulfilled - first having a beloved son to satisfy her husband’s wishes, and then a precious daughter for her to dote on while her boys were away. With Benjamin to carry the family name and Carmilla to shower with affection, Genevieve felt her family was complete.

Yet, tragedy struck in the form of a relentless fever. At the tender age of five, Carmilla found herself confined to her bed, her tiny frame wracked with shivers and drenched in sweat. Genevieve sent for a small army of doctors, all failed her, the fever persisted. Months of this hopelessness. Until one day, just as suddenly as the illness struck, the fever left. A small prayer half answered. Just the same, Carmilla remained in her bed, too weak to join her family for meals or engage in the joys of childhood.

Gregory spent every waking moment in the church of Easis if he wasn’t in his office working. He sought solace and divine intervention in the church.

Benjamin, undeterred by the risk of contagion, dared to visit his little sister and keep her company when he wasn’t away at university or by his father’s side in the church.

Genevieve, a woman of little faith and was quiet about it, she went on walks to clear her head. She found her peace in solitary walks. The fresh air and nature always helped her mind open for the ideas to flow to her.

In this case her mind came up blank. When it came to matters of her child’s health she felt so helpless. No amount of money, power or prestige would bring her daughter back.

On a fateful day, while wandering the city streets in a haze of worry, Genevieve’s gaze fell upon a dress displayed in a tailor’s boutique window. The dress was a brilliant yellow that would have looked glorious against the dark canvas of her daughter’s skin. She imagined her little one healthy, running around in circles, getting the dress dirty or torn. She yearned for the days of chastising her for gleefully splashing in puddles. She whipped tears from her sad eyes.

Curiously, she noticed a mischievous pair of blue eyes staring at her from behind the little dress. The eyes belonged to a little girl who giggled and joyfully bounded towards her mother who was engrossed in plotting corrections on a gaudy gown. A wonderful idea came to Gen.

Emily and Carmilla quickly formed a deep bond, their laughter echoing through the halls as they shared stories, sang songs, and played. Emily didn’t ask about Carmilla’s sickness. She was happy to have another friend. Gen was grateful for the innocence and grace of children. Gregory and Benji would come home and give thanks to their god for bringing Emily to them for the sake of Carmilla. Emily’s presence brought a glimmer of hope to Carmilla’s shadowed world, her innocence a balm to Geneieve’s trouble soul.

Peace was fleeting, at the age of seven, Carmilla’s nights were haunted by gasping breaths and night terrors that left her trembling in fear. Insomnia became her constant companion, stealing precious moments of rest from her weary form. She’d nod off in the middle of conversations. Sometimes, she’d wake up, drenched in sweat, mistakenly thinking the fever returned. The night became a dreadful thing. She dreaded closing her eyes for too long. In desperation, Greg and Benji redoubled their prayers and offerings. They’d stay overnight at the church, being away for days at a time, their devotion to Easis unwavering.

Meanwhile, Genevieve couldn’t bear to be away from Carmilla for long, especially during the night. She stole her peace during the day, while Emily kept Carmilla company. Her mind struggled to focus as she too was deprived of sleep.

As she walked in a haze, she found herself drawn to a mysterious part of the city she had never noticed before. People who appeared as though they hadn’t bathed in weeks, lie on the ground. Some gathered around a burning barrel for warmth, they told each other stories as they shared a drink hidden in a brown paper bag. Gen felt completely out of place with how overdressed she was amongst them. She almost felt embarrassed then threatened when she saw a group of shady looking men with ill-intentions in their eyes begin making their way towards her.

“I have what you seek,” a voice called out to her. A hag approached her from the shadows of her tent made of assorted blankets, “a charm for peaceful sleep.”

Gen, ever skeptical of faith and majicks, wondered how this old lady could have possibly known about her family’s troubles. With no time to second guess she sought refuge in the hag’s tent.

The tent was larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. There was a blazing hearth that lit and warmed the tent. Bookshelves lined the clothed walls. The books looked as though they were from ancient times as they looked almost petrified, in stone tablets. A desk black-wooden desk riddled with mountains of papers. The language on the papers was unknown to Gen even of her education. There seemed to be a staircase that led downstairs.

“I know things because I am meant to,” answered the Hag, before Gen had the chance to form the question on her tongue.

Gen thought that maybe it was in her face that gave it all away. Her eyes felt weary, those eyes of hers must have looked it.

“My child - ,” Gen’s struggled to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks at the thought of completing the sentence. As if putting words to the pain and suffering will condemn her daughter forever.

The hag nodded sympathetically as she rummaged through her things before turning to her to present the charm with both hands with a bowed head.

The charm, a crude looking thing. Hardly looked magical save for the gem. The hands that made it were not of a weathered professional. Though it glimmered gently in the light of a small fire. A gem the color of moonlight was the most perfect out of the metal bits that held it in place, “Here it is, the answer to your pain and suffering.”

“What do you want in exchange for this?” She asked.

“Lucky for you, I only desire coin.” The hag answered.

Against her better judgment, Gen paid for the charm and hurried back home before the hag roped her into more scams.

While Carmilla and Emily were distracted, she snuck the charm underneath one of the many pillows on her bed. She hoped that this inexpensive trinket would do something, anything.

That night, Carmilla slept through the night peacefully. When she awoke, it was like she was a completely different person. Carmilla felt strong enough to get out of bed, eat with her family. Another night of sleep uninterrupted, she was able to picnic with Emily in the sun. Gen, more than pleased, would take the charm and put it under her daughter’s pillow each night before bed.

She made it a habit of coming into her room with a comforting beverage of rose milk and honey, or a book for her and Emily to read. She would fain interest in the story while leaving the charm behind, unnoticed. Years would pass of this. Another small prayer answered and peace returned to the Everhart home.

Five years of this peace would reign before Gregory requested that his wife accompany him on a business trip.

Carmilla, now the age of twelve. She had grown confident as her health and sanity returned to her. She’d write as if she would never be able to write again. Still, Gen fretted leaving her by herself. Gen despised the fact she had more faith in a cheap charm than she did in anything else.

“She will not be alone, my love,” Gregory assured his wife, “She has the servants at her beck and call…and Emily to entertain.”

“Yes, mother, I am fine and have been for some time now. The dark days are behind us,” Carmilla was eager to run the house by herself and pretend she was the Lady of the house long married.

“Thanks be to Easis,” Gregory and daughter sang the praises in harmony.

Gen couldn’t talk her way out of this as the family was confident through faith that all was in the past. Gen persisted as she always had. She knew she would find a way.

As the servants gathered their luggage, Gen instructed one of the discrete and trustworthy servants to take the charm and assume her duty.

“We will be back soon,” She hugged and kissed her daughter’s forehead, “it’s a short trip.”

Her words, betrayed by the winds of uncertainty and chaos. The cool night transformed into an unforgiving tundra of ice and snow. This tumultuous weather delayed Greg and Gen’s journey for several weeks. Gen’s stomach turned with dread at the conditions that awaited them once they returned home.

Those fears were confirmed when they saw the look on their servant’s faces.

“I couldn’t get to her every day, m’lady,” the servant confessed, “Emily and her have grown too close.” Gen shook her head, she didn’t want to hear excuses.

“Everyday? She’s had some sleep then,” She couldn’t control her fear showing up as frustration and displeasure towards those only trying to help.

All her fury melted into fright as she watched her daughter with haunted eyes aimlessly wander the halls while muttering nonsense. These were clear signs of sleep deprivation. Gen guided her troubled little love to bed, with charm in hand. Carmilla weakly shook her head in protest. Gen pleased that she was still acutely aware of the goings on.

“It’s alright, mommy is here,” she rubbed her daughter’s head as she planted the charm under her head. Carmilla fought as she did, couldn’t keep her eye open.

That night of her parent’s return, she slept peacefully as she had for so many years before. She faced the day with a head unburdened by a vague and elusive terror. She was clear as she ever could be and astute.

Carmilla finds herself unable to contain her suspicions. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, she seeks out her mother to confront her about the truth she has uncovered.

As she enters her mother’s art studio, Carmilla’s gaze meets Genevieve’s, her eyes betraying a tumultuous storm of emotions. Genevieve, sensing the gravity of the moment, looks up from her canvas, concerned etched on her face.

“Carmilla, darling, what’s wrong?” Genvieve’s voice carries a note of apprehension as she rises from her stool, her maternal instincts kicking in.

Carmilla takes a deep breath, steeling herself for confrontation ahead. “Mother, we need to talk,” she began, her voice quivering with suppressed emotion.

Gen’s brows furrow in concern as she moves closer to her daughter, reaching out to gently touch her arm. “Of course, my dear. What is it? You seem upset. Did you not sleep well?” she says, her tone gentle and soothing

Carmilla pulls away, her resolve firm as she meets her mother’s gaze head-on. “I know about the charm, Mother,” she says, her voice betraying a mixture of hurt and anger.

Genevive’s eyes widen in surprise, momentarily taken aback by her daughter’s revelation. “The charm? What do you mean, Carmilla?” she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Carmilla’s frustration boils over, her words tumbling out in a rush as she struggles to articulate her feelings. “Do not play me as a fool, mother. I know you’ve been sneaking that charm under my pillow every night,” she accuses, her voice rising with each word.

Gen’s expression shifts, a flicker of guilt crossing her features before she quickly comprises herself. “Carmilla, I…I only wanted to help you sleep. I thought it would ease your nightmares and it has,” she offers, her voice tinged with regret.

But Carmilla unappeased, her anger burning bright in her auburn eyes, she shakes her head in disbelief, “Help me sleep? You lied to me, mother, You made me believe it was your prayers that healed me, but it was just a charm from a lowly hag,” she retorts, her voice trembling with betrayal.

Gen’s eyes filled with remorse as she took a step closer to her daughter, reaching out to touch her arm once more, “Carmilla, please…I only wanted what was best for you. I never meant to deceive you,” she pleads, her voice filled with genuine remorse.

Carmilla pulls away again, her heart heavy with disillusionment, as she meets her mother’s gaze one last time. “I trusted you, mother. You not only betrayed my trust but the faith.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper as she turns and walks away, leaving Genevieve alone with her regrets.

With each passing day, Carmilla’s inner turmoil grew. Her mind consumed by questions and doubts that lingered like shadows in the corners of her thoughts. She fervently prayed for guidance, seeking solace in meditation, yet the answers remained elusive, slipping through her grasp like mist in the morning sun.

The charm, once a source of unknown comfort and respite from her nightmares, now weighed heavily on her conscience. How could something so seemingly benign, a mere trinket from a hag, hold such power over her well-being? And why did it seem to defy the influence of Easis, the deity her devout father and brother worshiped with unwavering faith.

Her desire for clarity warred with her sense of duty to her faith. She longed for her mother’s comforting embrace, yet the memory of her betrayal stoked the flames of resentment within her heart. How could she trust someone who had deceived her so?

In a desperate bid to reconcile her beliefs with her reality, Carmilla resolved to conduct an experience. Placing the charm at varying distances from her sleeping quarters. One night she placed the charm in the hallway, the next night, it was a room across the main stairwell. She sought to gauge its influence on her dreams and her sense of peace. With each night that passed, she observed the results with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. The charm in her closet brought peaceful slumber, its presence a faint whisper of comfort in the darkness. Yet, when moved further away, its effects waned, leaving her vulnerable to the haunting specters of her nightmares.

In the end, Carmilla chose to keep the charm close, tucked away in the depths of her closet. Though its origins remain shrouded in mystery, its role in her life was clear. It was a reminder of her fragility, her humanity, and the complexities of faith that bound her to a world where shadows danced in the flickering light of her convictions.

Author's Note:

Writing for my mental health is doing me wonders. When life gets too hard I think about my characters and how'd they handle things. I think this is what art and the process of creation is all about.

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scrivenerofchaos · 1 year ago

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Shadows of Faith 1/3

SUMMARY - In "Shadows of Faith: The Corruption of Sweet Carmilla," we follow the story of Carmilla, a devout young woman who anticipates a traditional marriage arranged by her parents. However, as her wedding day approaches, Carmilla's nightmares grow increasingly vivid and disturbing. She finds herself consumed by hunger in her dreams and haunted by the sensation of being watched. Amidst the chaos of her nightmares, a seductive voice calls out to her, whispering her name, "Carmilla." This voice belongs to Desdemona who reveals to Carmilla that she will eventually lose her faith, at which point she will be ripe for the taking.

Carmilla’s Nightmare

Carmilla relished in her morning walk around the Everhart family grounds. A grand estate, purposefully decorated for each season and occasion from Gregory, her father’s library to Genevieve, her mother’s painting studio to the classroom where she and her brother, Benjamin, were taught etiquette and culture of the world. Carmilla followed the well-trodden grassy path created from years of her foremothers footsteps. The sun warmed her deep skin, likened to the soil of Mother Earth. She glided her bare feet across the blades of grass and dirt to be cooled before taking another tentative step forward. Her house was a home filled with memories she’d cherish forever.

She wondered how she could feel at home on her fiancé, Irvine’s land. He was, “a fine young man,” according to her father. A stranger to her. She couldn’t help her thoughts turning to dreadful things. All the musing made her head spin. A sinking feeling formed in her stomach. These were not the butterflies she read about in her romance novels. It was a more familiar feeling. She was hungry.

She sat at the dining table. It stretched the length of the room. There were no decorations centered, there was nothing on the table at all - no plates, cutlery or crystal. She didn’t think it was odd, that her family were not in attendance. But the servants were nowhere to be found as well. The entire estate seemed devoid of people. She was alone and suddenly became aware of it.

Everything was still and quiet. Not even her old home made a sound, not a creak or settling noise. Carmilla struggled to remember how she got here, sitting at the empty grand table alone. Her memory faded, her skin still felt the warmed by the sun. She remembered that she was outside once. Why couldn’t she remember that?

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her. Nothing else mattered, she was starving. She made a move to leave the table, when she smelled the most delicious meal. A feast materialized before her, tempting her senses with its tantalizing aroma. She wanted nothing more than to take the food in her hands and bring it to her lips. In confusion, she hesitated, a fleeting thought came crossed her mind, how’d this get here?

The gnawing hunger roared in her gut. Without hesitation she took bite after bite, hardly chewing, hardly breathing as she gulped each morsel down, each tastier than the last. She felt she would never get full. The more she ate the greater the pain grew in her stomach. She was so hungry, the food intoxicating, she could hardly get a hold of herself.

A voice, velvety and commanding, pierced the silence, calling out her name, “Carmilla.” The voice was strong enough to break whatever curse compelled her to eat without sense. She pulled herself away from the plate.

There at the opposite end of the table, a dark figure sat, still and quiet yet their presence filled the room. The air was dense, heavy. Carmilla struggled to breathe. She couldn’t see the stranger’s face as it was shrouded in darkness, she felt the tingle of eyes watching her.

Carmilla swallowed the last morsel, before attempting to speak. She felt the urge to ask the dark visitor a question yet she didn’t know what. She whipped her face with a crisp white napkin made of cloth. As she returned the napkin on the table, a bright red stain caught her eye. She froze in confusion at the sight of it - it was blood.

In shock, she put her hand to her face and felt the congealed blood cling between her fingers, sticking them together, they formed ribbons as she pulled her fingers apart. She looked down at her plate as if that would grant her answers. That it did, in horror.

As she struggled to comprehend the gore before her, the stranger’s voice, resonating, a haunting melody like chimes in the wind, “Carmilla.”

The room smelled of fresh cut flowers. She felt a powerful urge to shift her focus on the stranger at the end of the table. Yet, She couldn’t break her gaze from the carnage before her on the silver platter.

She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. She shook her head in disbelief. “No, no, no,” Carmilla shook her head, covering her bloodied face with her soiled hands.

A familiar warmth enveloped her, “Carmilla,” sang her mother.

Her mother’s voice, a sweet escape from the hellish nightmare. She sat beside her daughter, eager to start the day, holding fresh clothes and water in hand for her, “my darling, Carmilla.”

Carmilla jerked awake, startled but grateful to be free of the deep sleep. The sun’s raze flooded her bed chambers. A look of relief washed over her beautiful sweaty face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Bad dreams again, my sweetling?” Her mother inquired, concern evident in her voice.

“Yes, but”, her mind losing the grip of the dream that felt more like a fading memory, “I can’t seem to remember it at all.”

”Ah, what a blessing then. We can focus on more important matters.” She set her daughter’s day clothes on the bed and poured a pitcher of warm water in the washing bowl. She gleefully continued, “We have wedding dresses to try on. They’ve just arrived this morning.”

Carmilla sat up slowly, the lingering fear of her dream made her feel sluggish. She felt the familiar feeling in her abdomen. She lifted her covers to reveal fresh blood staining her bed linen and sleep gown. Her mother, unshaken by the sight, did not hesitate to ring the bell for the servants’ assistance.

”Do not fret. We’ll get you freshened up.” Her mother assured her with confidence.

“I guess I won’t be trying on any dresses today?” Carmilla asked, disappointed.

”We can still peruse the selection,” she held her daughter’s hand, “You just rest. The first day of bleeding is always the worst. I will have the servants bring you your favorite.”

Her mother made a gesture to the servants without speaking a word. They moved in an organized fashion. They prepared a copper tub for bathing and fresh clothes for bleeding days.

She was served a plate of duck bacon, buttered toast with apple-cinnamon jam, freshly cut fruits and berries with black tea. Gazing at her food she felt a hint of nervousness but couldn’t remember why.

Her mother distracted her from her anxious thoughts, ”When you feel better, we can take a stroll around the grounds if you desire. Exercise is good for you, especially on your Moon-day.”

She recalled the serenity of walking, then the dreadful feeling returned as if anticipating the other shoe to drop. The emotion soon passed, fainter now and weaker, she focused on other matters.

She forced a weak smile, ”I’d like that very much.”

In the dressing hall, several rows of pearly white wedding garb displayed before them, waiting to be chosen by Carmilla. She and her mother studied the dresses intently before moving to the next. A servant follows them closely, writing down their comments about each garment.

”Number…34,” Carmilla paused, making sure the servant wrote it down before continuing.

”I love the lace trim on the bodice,” her mother commented, the servant feverishly writing.

”It’s a bit tight here,” Carmilla criticized.

“We’ll send it to the tailor, of course,” her mother reassured, she couldn’t find a bad word to say about any dress, she loved them all.

The mention of a tailor and Carmilla’s mind reeled with thoughts. Each trousseau felt like clouds beneath Carmilla’s fingers. This was everything she dreamed of since she was thirteen years old. She had libraries full of diaries, vision journals and scrapbooks packed with artist’s illustrations, poems from classic writers, and her own prayers detailing her perfect life to come; her perfect wedding, her perfect husband and perfect children. Choosing the perfect dress with her mother completes one task from the list of to-do’s.

Carmilla decided to do a combination of her mother’s wedding dress and something new. Her mother’s wedding dress, passed down for five generations, didn’t quite fit her body type. She had wider hips and a deeper bosom than her mother. The sense of style had changed over the years, Carmilla desired to make a dress of her own.

The dress would be tailored by none other than the bride-to-be’s best friend, Emily. She was more than an expert tailor, she knew every curve of Carmilla’s body as they were once interested in heavy petting on the long and lonely nights.

Emily’s affections couldn’t be returned by Carmilla. It was unclear if it was the pressures of tradition and religion, economic status, or the fact that Carmilla couldn’t see herself happily wed to someone who couldn’t give her children.

Her mother would say, “Have your fun with the girl now. When the time comes to make the family and your God proud, you must get married to someone who can provide for you as you provide them with future children.”

Emily is a tradeswoman. Carmilla is an Everhart. The Everharts amassed a great fortune from once being tradespeople several centuries ago. Now the family is a thriving business. Taking their special friendship seriously would be going backwards down the poverty line.

When Carmilla envisioned her perfect wedding, it was her betrothed that flooded her mind’s eye, not Emily. Her husband-to-be, is Irvine Quartermaine. A man her father approved of. He was of good stock, wealthy, and he’s a devout follower of Easis, like the Everhart’s. A perfect match for sweet Carmilla.

And yet, she desired nothing more than to be held by Emily again. She couldn’t shake the forgotten nightmare, she had grown accustomed to Emily’s support. The ill-faded dream slipping from her mind like smoke in the air. She couldn’t tell if the sinking feeling in her gut was from her cycle or the ill night visions. No, this aching was deeper, the pain lingered in the body, like the dull soreness of fatigued muscles.

She remembered the sleepovers of her younger days. Carmilla grew up sickly and bedridden most days. Emily would keep her company during those challenging times. They’d hold hands as Emily fed her because she was too weak to lift the spoon. When Carmilla woke up screaming, Emily would be there, holding her in her arms. She wondered if Irvine was as kind and gentle. He had to be, she dashed the thought of doubt, if he follows Easis’ teachings he has to be a good man. But what if he isn’t? Her stomach turned at the thought of her dreams being dashed. She closed her eyes and hurriedly plucked a pale bridal gown from the rack.

Her mother smiled happily before confusion appeared on her face, “This one, love?”

She nodded her head before muttering, “I don’t feel well,” and hurried out the room.

The day yielded to the night. Carmilla drank chamomile tea to soothe her nerves. The uneasiness of the day melted into the rhythm of night. Cicadas sang and the cool breeze rustled the tree leaves. She looked at her bed intently before making her way to the walk-in closet. She borrowed through a forest of hanging clothes to reach a wooden box. She knelt before it as if praying. She opened the box to reveal an aged charm. This trinket was handmade. She gently took the charm into her hands and hugged it to her chest.

“It was only one bad dream,” her mother’s solemn voice came from behind her.

“I haven’t lost faith like you,” she walked past her mother to her bed.

Author's Notes: My inspiration - "Write about the love you've always wanted," My sibling told me.

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