Silas’s phone rang, the little screen lighting up with Lenore’s name, alerting him to a new text. 

Lenore (10:27 AM)

I was just wondering if you wanted to get some coffee with me today

Lenore (10:27 AM)

Or not. You can say no.

Silas groaned. Flipped his phone closed and rolled over on his bed. He could see slivers of light creeping in through his curtains, luckily away from his bed. He pushed his hair out of his face and stared at the wall in annoyance.

A gentle creek clued him into the presence of someone in his doorway.

“Yes Marieannette?” he greeted groggily. 

“There are too many voices,” she said gently from her stance in the doorway.

He turned to face her, annoyance fading to worry, “What do you mean? Where?”

Tears sprinkled the edges of her eyes, “I can hear them all, round and round, never ending,” she sobbed.

Silas understood what this was leading to. She was having an “episode” as he liked to call them. She would try to hurt herself and then him and Charlotte. When he asks her after why she would tell him, time and again, “It's been foretold” She’d then go mute for days – almost catatonic, only responding in hums and whispers. 

“Are you scared?” he asked. 

“No.” she responded, slipping to the floor, hugging her knees.

Silas sprung from his bed to catch her before would go limp. He dragged her lightly to his bed, setting her down and crouching in front her, as if in supplication. 

“It’s okay Marie–”

She cut him off with a blood curdling scream, her eyes going foggy and rolling to the back of her head. Her sharp slender fingers digging into Silas’ arms, as if holding on for dear life, or un-life? Silas tried to rip his arms from her but could not, she had gone as still as stone. 

The air in the room filled with a static energy, like lightning flitting from molecule to molecule, sending the hair on Silas’ neck to stand on their ends. Silas looked up at Marie from his position on the floor. 

Deep, dark tears fell from her eyes, lining her thin face in long ribbons of crimson. Silas reached to wipe the blood from around Marieannette’s eyes, smearing it away with his thumbs. It smelled of fear, anger, despair. What is it?, he thought, hoping she could hear him. 

A deep shuddering breath punctuates the silence now surrounding the two. An unearthly glow emanating from within Marieannete cast ghastly shadows about the room. 

She opens her mouth once more. Silas braces for another scream, but instead comes a raspy voice, a voice not belonging to Marieannette, The sound far too dark, to rough to have come from her naturally. 

“Silver lines thine throat with crown adorning 

A room bathed in red, lies in wait – a warning…”

“What?” Silas whispers, tears have welled up in his own eyes. A feeling of dread had washed over him .

“For those who suckle at the hand of devils

Shall no longer, arouse nightly revels…”

The ends of Marieannettes hair look as if they are floating, surrounding her in a halo of golden curls. The ends having become frayed by the static in the air, make it seem to Silas as if she herself could be the Devil.

“Bathed in blood and anguish true

Thine reign on life is coming due 

Be warned of wine, of hate, of truth…”

“Marie…” Silas whispers. Her grip on his arm is as tight as ever. Her nails rip striped in the fabric of his sleeves and he tries to pull himself away from her. Unrelenting in her grasp, he feels stinging on arm where she must have clawed through his skin in his efforts. 

“Hand of fate hath come for you,

Silas.”

The resounding final word is echoed with another scream – a scream so loud that as Marieannette releases him, silas throws his hands over his head in an attempt to protect himself. Blood has smeared across his arms and neck, having leaked from the wounds on his arms as well as his ears. 

When the screaming stops, and Silas pulls himself from the stupor the pain had caused him, he looks up to see Marieannette collapsed and convulsing on the edge of his bed. Red foam filling her mouth and pooling on the sheets. Silas stumbles forward, dragging himself to lean over Marieannette, pushing her hair, once blonde, now stained red from all the blood, away from her face.

Rivulets of crimson tears streak across her face, her still foggy and glass-like.

“Shh, Marie, hush, it's okay..” Silas whispers, hoping that she could understand him. His hands are shaking as he holds her. He's unsure of what to do now. 

Still thrashing about under his gentle hold, Marieannettes’ nails have begun to rip into her own skin causing even more blood to stain her white gown and Silas’s sheets where she lay. 

“CHARLOTTE!” He screams, “ CHARLOTTE HELP!” A full sob wracked his body, he has never seen Marieannette have an episode like this. Never with this much blood, “What if she’s dying?” he worries. 

For as long as he can remember Marie had been there, Haunting over his shoulder like a phantom. Her ghostlike eyes never faltering or turning away when he needed her, and even when he didn’t. He had always assumed that since she had been there before him, she would be there after he was gone. The thought of losing her struck him to his core. It couldn’t happen

“CHARLO–” He screamed only to be cut off by his mother slamming open his door fully. Her dark, ruffled dressing gown swept the floor as she rushed in. 

“What in the hell are screaming for–” She cuts herself off when she spots Marieannette bleeding and shaking on the bed, Silas braced over her.

“What have you done!?” she shouts as she rushes over, “What have you done to her?”

Silas, shaking, moves aside to make room for Charlotte. “I– Nothing– She, She was having an episode and when I looked back.. Back over she was like this and, I don't know what to do!” he stammered out. He had never felt so small, so helpless. Like a child, young and… scared. He had never felt scared like this, distraught. 

“Get me something for her to bite on so she doesn't sever her own tongue!” Charlotte says resolutely as if having dealt with this before. Silas sat frozen as Charlotte gently pride Marieannette’s claws from her own legs, allowing them to rip onto the fabric of the bed and pillows instead. “Now, Silas!” She shouted at him.

Silas shot up and moved toward his dresser, searching for a belt or some other soft thing for her to bare onto. He could hear Charlotte’s hushed whispers as she soothes Marie. He’d never seen Charlotte be this gentle with Marie. He whipped his face as he approached the bed once more, Marieannette’s shaving having slowed significantly. 

“Get something to clean her up with. And fresh glass, she’s going to need to feed once she’s calmed,” Charlotte told him, still comforting Marie. 

When Silas returned to the room, Marie was still. She looked peaceful, dead. 

With a tough swallow, Silas asked, “ Is she…”

“She’ll be fine. Exhausted herself. Help me get her to her room.”

As silas hefted her into his arms, he thought, if you ignored the dark red, coagulated blood that was smudged all over her, she looked like an angel.