HOME | DD

Description
Erm.. well. Not sure if I like how this turned out. I was actually debating whether or not I should put it up at all.
I have a backstory to go along with this (which you don't have to read if you don't want to):

“Amethyst, awaken. Amethyst?”
A hand ran through my hair, and cool fingertips brushed against my forehead.
“Huh?” I tried to unclose my eyes, but my eyelids were still heavy with sleep.
“Amethyst, I… I think something is wrong.”
I forced my lids apart, and for a moment my vision was obscured by lashes. A figure – my sister – was seated at the foot of my bed, gingerly holding on to one of my hands. The curtains of my four-poster were not drawn shut, and the bright blue moonlight filled the room to the brim.
I sat up and took her hand in both of mine.
“Sara, what has happened?”
“I don’t know!” she cried, “But Amethyst, something is terribly wrong! All night sleep would not claim me, and I kept hearing worrisome sounds. The swishing of a cloak, the crackle of twigs being trodden on, the agitated rustle of the night wind. For many an hour now I have been a bundle of nerves!”
Ever since we were very young children, Sara has had uncanny clairsentient ability. When I was eight, and she was just six, our Mother became pregnant. We were both very happy at the prospect of having a baby sister or brother, but a few hours before the birth Sara suddenly started crying. She was crying like I’ve never heard a child cry in my life, and she wrestled with the maidservant to let her into Mother’s chamber, but the maidservant restrained her. I tired to hush her, and she calmed a little, but still tears streamed down her round cheeks, which had then lost all of their beautiful rosy color. I remember she had tried to talk, but only small and inarticulate sounds escaped her.
When Mother went into labor, she went through great pains and sufferings. She has had numerous hemorrhages, and although Sara and I were at that time too young to fully comprehend the severity of the situation, we understood that our beloved Mother might leave us. But somehow, miraculously, she was pulled back to life – snatched from the very claws of death. That evening she birthed twins, a boy and a girl. Everyone was relieved, our Father ecstatic, and although tired and horribly weak, our Mother shone with beauty and pride. But Sara was still uneasy – there was a strange inexplicable sorrow in her dark eyes. Mother noticed, and offered that Sara should name one of the babies. A smile had momentarily flickered across her lips, and she had christened our baby sister Aurora. Then Mother had asked if I would like to name our new brother, and with great delight I began the speculation of names, finally calling him Elliot. Our Mother looked at the two tiny bundles placed at her breast with such passionate joy and love that I too wished to be the subject of her gaze.
“Aurora and Elliot. Such beautiful names,” said she.
She then kissed both Sara and me, and the maidservant took us to our beds. That night, as Sara later told me, she hadn’t slept a minute. Next afternoon, Aurora had died.

So strong and powerful was Sara’s sense of intuition that I trusted her immediately. I rose from my bed, and hugged her tightly. Then peeked out the window.
“The night looks much too calm and tranquil for disarray,” said I. “See the stars? Look at how brightly they shine to-night, Sara! And the moon! This night it is nearly full. What trouble do you fear could be a-coming?”
“I do not fear, Amethyst, I know. I know that unspeakable horrors are to befall us.”
I turned around to face her. There were worry lines in her usually smooth forehead, and her mouth was stern. For the first time I noticed what had earlier escaped my attention: Sara was fully dressed in a gown and her hair was pulled back neatly. Quickly she understood the subject of my examination and said to me quietly, “I think it’s best if you were also dressed. Here, I’ll help you.”
She pulled my nightdress over my head and handed me a gown from the chiffonier. As she did so, I could feel her anxiety – it grew so rapidly that within minutes it became almost palpable, and I myself began to feel very strange and uneasy.
“Should we perhaps wake Father?” I suggested.
“What shall I tell him?” replied she with another question.
“The same thing you’ve told me.”
“Amethyst, I cannot. Don’t you know Father? He thinks me paranoid and superstitious. He would not believe me.”
A disturbance suddenly sounded downstairs, and Sara and I both jumped. And just as suddenly, a horrible, piercing scream rang through the house. We stared at each other, too dumbstruck to process what had just happened. More shouts followed within the next minutes, but still I stood as if rooted to the spot. Blood seemed to gush right up to my brain, and clouded my thoughts so I could not think rationally. Then the door to my bedchamber flew open and Becca, one of our servants, appeared at the threshold, breathless and clutching a stitch in her side.
“Young ladies! Please come quick! Villains have broken into DeLahaye Manor, and it is your father’s wish for his children to stay hidden in the cellar!”
We followed at once, but not without question.
“Who was it that screamed?
“There are intruders in our home? Who?”
“Do you suppose that was a murder?”
“Becca, what is it that Father is intending to do?”
“Young ladies! I cannot give you answers; I can only fulfill the orders of my master. His wish is to get his children to safety while the situation is sorted out.”
Becca’s hands trembled as she fumbled with the locks on the trapdoor into the cellar -- an indication that far worse matters were at hand than she was letting on. Finally the door yielded, and Sara and I climbed inside.
“What about Mother?” asked Sara.
“And where is Elliot?” asked I.
“I will go fetch your brother now,” said Becca. “You young mistresses take care to lock yourselves from the inside. I shall return with young master Elliot soon. Take care of one another.”
With those words, she disappeared.
The cellar was small; only spacious enough for Sara and me to sit but not stand. The stone walls were cold and damp so we huddled close together and intertwined our arms around each other’s waists. Sara’s eyes began to water, and soon she was crying large fat tears. “I knew something awful was to happen to-night. Knew it with all the fibers of my soul. There has been murder in our very home!”
I patted her head. “Let us just hope that the rest of our family will be well. If the intruders are naught but filthy thieves they should take our Father’s wealth but they shan’t harm a soul. Oh, please, let us pray that they shan’t harm a soul!”
Sara and I joined hands and bowed our heads, and thus I lead us in prayer. She then collapsed onto my bosom, and I hugged her tighter still. It seems I had lost sense of time, for I do not know now long has passed. Maybe only an hour, or maybe a day. The cellar was made sound-proof, and rendered us completely unaware of what was happening above. My sister was the only solid thing in the world – I buried my face in her hair to hide my tears and pressed my body against hers to keep her warm. At least I knew that she was safe.
Though we could hear nothing but our own terrified breathing and the rapid beating of our hearts, I could imagine footsteps thundering above us and shouts flying through the night air as though flaming arrows. But all we knew for certain was the fact that intruders had ruthlessly broken into our home – a place dearer to our hearts than any other, and how much they would take or destroy we could only guess.
My heart swelled in my chest and I feared that it was just about to shatter into a million pieces. Inhaling deeply, I mentally commanded myself to remain calm and collective. For a moment it worked – my pulse seemed to slow. Then something sent my blood boiling once more.
“Sara! Sara, where is Elliot? Becca said she was coming straight back with him!”
She replied with a distraught hiccup.
“It should not be taking her this long to fetch that boy from bed!”
“I… I don’t know, Amethyst. Maybe they were forced to hide elsewhere in order to avoid the intruders.”
“I’m going out to look for him,” said I with decisiveness.
Sara sprang erect. “What? Amethyst, are you completely mad?”
“I cannot simply sit here like a spineless worm!”
My words cut through the damp air loud and fierce, and she cowered.
“Amethyst, you can’t go out there!” Sara grabbed hold of my wrist, “You can’t leave me here alone!”
“Sara, it is our small brother! And Mother! Mother is expecting, Sara! They should both be here with us – we all should be together!”
“That is why you cannot leave me! Please, Amethyst! Best we have each other. Please!”
She clung to me so strongly and resolutely that I sank back against the wall, and let her squeeze my hand for comfort, and squeezed hers in return. I let my head drop back and closed my eyes – a futile attempt to hold back bitter tears. Then I could endure it no longer.
“No.” My voice was cold and icy.
“Amethyst?”
“I’m going out there.”
Sara stared at me, aghast, as I threw open the trapdoor and began to climb out.
She caught the hem of my gown, “Amethyst, please don’t do this!”
But I was already out of the cellar and running down the corridor that lead to our drawing room. I could hear Sara keeping pace behind me and hissing my name, but otherwise the house was entirely silent and I didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad indication.
A grisly scene met my eyes when I reached the drawing room. The glass doors of the crystal cabinets were shattered, and all the crystal goblets and vases missing. The room had been thoroughly searched – drawers were left open, paper and glass were strewn across the floor, and several pieces of furniture were overturned. At the foot of the divan laid Becca, white and spread-eagled on her back. I heard Sara’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of her body and then a gasp of horror as realization set in.
I walked up to her lifeless form slowly and carefully, my knees shaking wildly. Traces of perspiration were still visible on her forehead and above the upper lip, and the carpet had turned a deep dark red beneath her. Sweat trickled down my own forehead, and I began to feel faint. Then Sara put her arm around me, which steadied me. Tears were silently streaming down her face, and she too was shaking.
“Come. Let’s get out of here,” I said. My voice broke at the last word.
Silently I led the way to the upper story, unable to shake the image of Becca’s stunning and frightening visage. Her pallid features, so beautiful even in death. Yes, Becca had always been beautiful, with raven black hair and shining gray eyes. She had been part of our household for nearly four years, and the notion that she was now dead simply would not set in. And yet, I could not help but feel glad that it was Becca’s body I saw rather than Elliot’s. I felt shameful and guilty to let such thoughts enter my mind, but deep inside I could not deceive myself. I was relieved, because not seeing Elliot’s body meant that he was alive, and I would obstinately cling to that hope.
Sara and I reached the landing with a heartbreaking creak of the floorboards, a sound that seemed to inflict actual physical pain. With our hearts beating frantically like Afrekhan drums, I barely took notice of a wet substance shining on the floor. We walked slowly and cautiously, not knowing what we were walking to but simply knowing that we ought to keep moving. I peeked into my bedchamber on our way, letting Sara pass ahead. The curtains of my four-poster were torn, and my drawers had also been searched. Somewhere in the back of my mind arose curiosity: what was it that the intruders wanted so desperately to find? I noticed too that my chiffonier stood open, and entirely empty. Barely had I crossed the threshold, however, that I heard Sara yell out.
I did an instant about-face and ran as fast as my legs would carry me, then came to an abrupt halt. Sweat gushed from my every skin pore, chills ran down my spine, and then my entire body went numb. Three bodies were in the room, one of whom was a stranger, but the other two I recognized with a sickening jolt of my stomach. My Father’s throat had been slit, and was still bleeding profusely. Blood flowed thickly over his features, making him barely recognizable. My Father… always so strong, so magnanimous. My head swam. I never thought a human body could hold so much blood, but each second more and more gushed out of my Father’s crumbled body.
The most frightening thing, however, was my Mother’s eyes. They were empty. There was nothing inside them – not a shred of light or the sense of peace that is said to come with death. Her eyes had always been so loving, so bright, and shining with her inner beauty and soul. What I saw now were just two glassy spheres.
I could hear as Sara cried uncontrollably over our parents’ bodies, her hand softly caressing Mother’s pregnant belly and the unborn baby within it. The baby that would never be born, would never see sunlight, and would never even have a name. Her tears became more and more tragic, but I had no tears in me. Tears could not express the raw, murderous hatred that raged within me. Never in my life have I felt hatred passionate such as this, and I fell to my knees with a loud thud. I pounded the floor with my hands, pulled at my hair, and stuffed my fists into my mouth to prevent myself screaming out in rage. But I screamed inwardly. Inwardly I screamed louder and more fiercely than I could in actuality, and I cursed and damned all those who had so savagely taken my parents’ lives.
Something wet was on the floor. The same substance that was on the staircase landing and in the hall. It was colorless, like water. Gingerly I dabbed my finger into it, and sniffed.
Kerosene.
My heart skipped several beats.
“Sara we have to get out of here!”
She looked up, her eyes red and bloodshot. I rushed to her side and tried to pull her up, but she wouldn’t yield.
“Sara, listen to me! We must leave immediately!”
But she did not listen, and desperately held on to Mother’s lifeless body. A red glint in the window caught my eye, and I realized that our orange and apple trees were ablaze. If it hadn’t already done so, the fire would spread on to our veranda within minutes, and in far less than an hour DeLahaye Manor would be transformed into a heap of ashes along with its adjacent surroundings.
Drenched in sweat and shaking from head to foot I wrapped my arms around my sister and dragged her with all the strength I could muster while she stormed and yelled in my ear. She was truly putting up a good fight – she kicked me, slapped me, scratched at my neck, and pulled at my hair. We fell at the bottom of the stairs, and she made an attempt to rush back but I grabbed her long gown and tripped her.
“Sara, for God’s sake, we have to move! The whole house is going to burn down!”
“I don’t care!” Her voice was beyond hysterical, “I long to die!”
“Sara!”
Fire had begun to creep up on us, but she was still fighting to get upstairs. Breathing deeply, I locked my arm on her waist in an iron grasp and ran for our lives. Images flashed before my eyes: the great wooden door of the drawing room being devoured by flames; my Mother’s blank face and depthless eyes; Becca, broken and weak, bleeding into the carpet on which I took my first steps; hot orange tongues licking the walls on which Mother had marked my growth; and Elliot’s sweet little face, his brown eyes twinkling. We never found his body…
I didn’t know if I was still conscious. The fumes from the fire had made me cough profusely. I couldn’t breathe. The heat was pressing in on me on all sides. I was going to suffocate. Was I still moving? I could not feel my legs. My eyes saw nothing but fire. Fire everywhere, fire all around, fire inside me. I was going to die.
“Amethyst, move!”
I could not stop coughing. My lungs were filled with smoke. I could not move anymore. Elliot… Where was Elliot? I had to find him…
Someone was pulling me. It was easier to breathe now. I was running. Cool air washed over my face and I gulped it greedily.
I fell. The ground was soft and moist. Sara was next to me, her face red and dusted with soot.
I was lying on dewy grass. It felt nice… It was comforting. It cleared my head. I began to breathe more steadily, my heart rate slowed. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
It was early morning, foggy and slightly cloudy. The sun had barely just risen. Our manor stood blazed against the horizon, and quickly it crumbled.
Sara and I exchanged glances. We both knew we could not stay here. Standing side by side, my hand clasped tightly in hers, we needed no words. In her dark eyes I saw my own anger and hate reflected, and we turned over our shoulders to see how everything we loved was destroyed.
Burning with fury and driven by wrath, we set out toward the hills.

...

reference photo -- [link]
swirl brushes (on the dress) are from [link]

Description
Erm.. well. Not sure if I like how this turned out. I was actually debating whether or not I should put it up at all.
I have a backstory to go along with this (which you don't have to read if you don't want to):

“Amethyst, awaken. Amethyst?”
A hand ran through my hair, and cool fingertips brushed against my forehead.
“Huh?” I tried to unclose my eyes, but my eyelids were still heavy with sleep.
“Amethyst, I… I think something is wrong.”
I forced my lids apart, and for a moment my vision was obscured by lashes. A figure – my sister – was seated at the foot of my bed, gingerly holding on to one of my hands. The curtains of my four-poster were not drawn shut, and the bright blue moonlight filled the room to the brim.
I sat up and took her hand in both of mine.
“Sara, what has happened?”
“I don’t know!” she cried, “But Amethyst, something is terribly wrong! All night sleep would not claim me, and I kept hearing worrisome sounds. The swishing of a cloak, the crackle of twigs being trodden on, the agitated rustle of the night wind. For many an hour now I have been a bundle of nerves!”
Ever since we were very young children, Sara has had uncanny clairsentient ability. When I was eight, and she was just six, our Mother became pregnant. We were both very happy at the prospect of having a baby sister or brother, but a few hours before the birth Sara suddenly started crying. She was crying like I’ve never heard a child cry in my life, and she wrestled with the maidservant to let her into Mother’s chamber, but the maidservant restrained her. I tired to hush her, and she calmed a little, but still tears streamed down her round cheeks, which had then lost all of their beautiful rosy color. I remember she had tried to talk, but only small and inarticulate sounds escaped her.
When Mother went into labor, she went through great pains and sufferings. She has had numerous hemorrhages, and although Sara and I were at that time too young to fully comprehend the severity of the situation, we understood that our beloved Mother might leave us. But somehow, miraculously, she was pulled back to life – snatched from the very claws of death. That evening she birthed twins, a boy and a girl. Everyone was relieved, our Father ecstatic, and although tired and horribly weak, our Mother shone with beauty and pride. But Sara was still uneasy – there was a strange inexplicable sorrow in her dark eyes. Mother noticed, and offered that Sara should name one of the babies. A smile had momentarily flickered across her lips, and she had christened our baby sister Aurora. Then Mother had asked if I would like to name our new brother, and with great delight I began the speculation of names, finally calling him Elliot. Our Mother looked at the two tiny bundles placed at her breast with such passionate joy and love that I too wished to be the subject of her gaze.
“Aurora and Elliot. Such beautiful names,” said she.
She then kissed both Sara and me, and the maidservant took us to our beds. That night, as Sara later told me, she hadn’t slept a minute. Next afternoon, Aurora had died.

So strong and powerful was Sara’s sense of intuition that I trusted her immediately. I rose from my bed, and hugged her tightly. Then peeked out the window.
“The night looks much too calm and tranquil for disarray,” said I. “See the stars? Look at how brightly they shine to-night, Sara! And the moon! This night it is nearly full. What trouble do you fear could be a-coming?”
“I do not fear, Amethyst, I know. I know that unspeakable horrors are to befall us.”
I turned around to face her. There were worry lines in her usually smooth forehead, and her mouth was stern. For the first time I noticed what had earlier escaped my attention: Sara was fully dressed in a gown and her hair was pulled back neatly. Quickly she understood the subject of my examination and said to me quietly, “I think it’s best if you were also dressed. Here, I’ll help you.”
She pulled my nightdress over my head and handed me a gown from the chiffonier. As she did so, I could feel her anxiety – it grew so rapidly that within minutes it became almost palpable, and I myself began to feel very strange and uneasy.
“Should we perhaps wake Father?” I suggested.
“What shall I tell him?” replied she with another question.
“The same thing you’ve told me.”
“Amethyst, I cannot. Don’t you know Father? He thinks me paranoid and superstitious. He would not believe me.”
A disturbance suddenly sounded downstairs, and Sara and I both jumped. And just as suddenly, a horrible, piercing scream rang through the house. We stared at each other, too dumbstruck to process what had just happened. More shouts followed within the next minutes, but still I stood as if rooted to the spot. Blood seemed to gush right up to my brain, and clouded my thoughts so I could not think rationally. Then the door to my bedchamber flew open and Becca, one of our servants, appeared at the threshold, breathless and clutching a stitch in her side.
“Young ladies! Please come quick! Villains have broken into DeLahaye Manor, and it is your father’s wish for his children to stay hidden in the cellar!”
We followed at once, but not without question.
“Who was it that screamed?
“There are intruders in our home? Who?”
“Do you suppose that was a murder?”
“Becca, what is it that Father is intending to do?”
“Young ladies! I cannot give you answers; I can only fulfill the orders of my master. His wish is to get his children to safety while the situation is sorted out.”
Becca’s hands trembled as she fumbled with the locks on the trapdoor into the cellar -- an indication that far worse matters were at hand than she was letting on. Finally the door yielded, and Sara and I climbed inside.
“What about Mother?” asked Sara.
“And where is Elliot?” asked I.
“I will go fetch your brother now,” said Becca. “You young mistresses take care to lock yourselves from the inside. I shall return with young master Elliot soon. Take care of one another.”
With those words, she disappeared.
The cellar was small; only spacious enough for Sara and me to sit but not stand. The stone walls were cold and damp so we huddled close together and intertwined our arms around each other’s waists. Sara’s eyes began to water, and soon she was crying large fat tears. “I knew something awful was to happen to-night. Knew it with all the fibers of my soul. There has been murder in our very home!”
I patted her head. “Let us just hope that the rest of our family will be well. If the intruders are naught but filthy thieves they should take our Father’s wealth but they shan’t harm a soul. Oh, please, let us pray that they shan’t harm a soul!”
Sara and I joined hands and bowed our heads, and thus I lead us in prayer. She then collapsed onto my bosom, and I hugged her tighter still. It seems I had lost sense of time, for I do not know now long has passed. Maybe only an hour, or maybe a day. The cellar was made sound-proof, and rendered us completely unaware of what was happening above. My sister was the only solid thing in the world – I buried my face in her hair to hide my tears and pressed my body against hers to keep her warm. At least I knew that she was safe.
Though we could hear nothing but our own terrified breathing and the rapid beating of our hearts, I could imagine footsteps thundering above us and shouts flying through the night air as though flaming arrows. But all we knew for certain was the fact that intruders had ruthlessly broken into our home – a place dearer to our hearts than any other, and how much they would take or destroy we could only guess.
My heart swelled in my chest and I feared that it was just about to shatter into a million pieces. Inhaling deeply, I mentally commanded myself to remain calm and collective. For a moment it worked – my pulse seemed to slow. Then something sent my blood boiling once more.
“Sara! Sara, where is Elliot? Becca said she was coming straight back with him!”
She replied with a distraught hiccup.
“It should not be taking her this long to fetch that boy from bed!”
“I… I don’t know, Amethyst. Maybe they were forced to hide elsewhere in order to avoid the intruders.”
“I’m going out to look for him,” said I with decisiveness.
Sara sprang erect. “What? Amethyst, are you completely mad?”
“I cannot simply sit here like a spineless worm!”
My words cut through the damp air loud and fierce, and she cowered.
“Amethyst, you can’t go out there!” Sara grabbed hold of my wrist, “You can’t leave me here alone!”
“Sara, it is our small brother! And Mother! Mother is expecting, Sara! They should both be here with us – we all should be together!”
“That is why you cannot leave me! Please, Amethyst! Best we have each other. Please!”
She clung to me so strongly and resolutely that I sank back against the wall, and let her squeeze my hand for comfort, and squeezed hers in return. I let my head drop back and closed my eyes – a futile attempt to hold back bitter tears. Then I could endure it no longer.
“No.” My voice was cold and icy.
“Amethyst?”
“I’m going out there.”
Sara stared at me, aghast, as I threw open the trapdoor and began to climb out.
She caught the hem of my gown, “Amethyst, please don’t do this!”
But I was already out of the cellar and running down the corridor that lead to our drawing room. I could hear Sara keeping pace behind me and hissing my name, but otherwise the house was entirely silent and I didn’t know whether it was a good or a bad indication.
A grisly scene met my eyes when I reached the drawing room. The glass doors of the crystal cabinets were shattered, and all the crystal goblets and vases missing. The room had been thoroughly searched – drawers were left open, paper and glass were strewn across the floor, and several pieces of furniture were overturned. At the foot of the divan laid Becca, white and spread-eagled on her back. I heard Sara’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of her body and then a gasp of horror as realization set in.
I walked up to her lifeless form slowly and carefully, my knees shaking wildly. Traces of perspiration were still visible on her forehead and above the upper lip, and the carpet had turned a deep dark red beneath her. Sweat trickled down my own forehead, and I began to feel faint. Then Sara put her arm around me, which steadied me. Tears were silently streaming down her face, and she too was shaking.
“Come. Let’s get out of here,” I said. My voice broke at the last word.
Silently I led the way to the upper story, unable to shake the image of Becca’s stunning and frightening visage. Her pallid features, so beautiful even in death. Yes, Becca had always been beautiful, with raven black hair and shining gray eyes. She had been part of our household for nearly four years, and the notion that she was now dead simply would not set in. And yet, I could not help but feel glad that it was Becca’s body I saw rather than Elliot’s. I felt shameful and guilty to let such thoughts enter my mind, but deep inside I could not deceive myself. I was relieved, because not seeing Elliot’s body meant that he was alive, and I would obstinately cling to that hope.
Sara and I reached the landing with a heartbreaking creak of the floorboards, a sound that seemed to inflict actual physical pain. With our hearts beating frantically like Afrekhan drums, I barely took notice of a wet substance shining on the floor. We walked slowly and cautiously, not knowing what we were walking to but simply knowing that we ought to keep moving. I peeked into my bedchamber on our way, letting Sara pass ahead. The curtains of my four-poster were torn, and my drawers had also been searched. Somewhere in the back of my mind arose curiosity: what was it that the intruders wanted so desperately to find? I noticed too that my chiffonier stood open, and entirely empty. Barely had I crossed the threshold, however, that I heard Sara yell out.
I did an instant about-face and ran as fast as my legs would carry me, then came to an abrupt halt. Sweat gushed from my every skin pore, chills ran down my spine, and then my entire body went numb. Three bodies were in the room, one of whom was a stranger, but the other two I recognized with a sickening jolt of my stomach. My Father’s throat had been slit, and was still bleeding profusely. Blood flowed thickly over his features, making him barely recognizable. My Father… always so strong, so magnanimous. My head swam. I never thought a human body could hold so much blood, but each second more and more gushed out of my Father’s crumbled body.
The most frightening thing, however, was my Mother’s eyes. They were empty. There was nothing inside them – not a shred of light or the sense of peace that is said to come with death. Her eyes had always been so loving, so bright, and shining with her inner beauty and soul. What I saw now were just two glassy spheres.
I could hear as Sara cried uncontrollably over our parents’ bodies, her hand softly caressing Mother’s pregnant belly and the unborn baby within it. The baby that would never be born, would never see sunlight, and would never even have a name. Her tears became more and more tragic, but I had no tears in me. Tears could not express the raw, murderous hatred that raged within me. Never in my life have I felt hatred passionate such as this, and I fell to my knees with a loud thud. I pounded the floor with my hands, pulled at my hair, and stuffed my fists into my mouth to prevent myself screaming out in rage. But I screamed inwardly. Inwardly I screamed louder and more fiercely than I could in actuality, and I cursed and damned all those who had so savagely taken my parents’ lives.
Something wet was on the floor. The same substance that was on the staircase landing and in the hall. It was colorless, like water. Gingerly I dabbed my finger into it, and sniffed.
Kerosene.
My heart skipped several beats.
“Sara we have to get out of here!”
She looked up, her eyes red and bloodshot. I rushed to her side and tried to pull her up, but she wouldn’t yield.
“Sara, listen to me! We must leave immediately!”
But she did not listen, and desperately held on to Mother’s lifeless body. A red glint in the window caught my eye, and I realized that our orange and apple trees were ablaze. If it hadn’t already done so, the fire would spread on to our veranda within minutes, and in far less than an hour DeLahaye Manor would be transformed into a heap of ashes along with its adjacent surroundings.
Drenched in sweat and shaking from head to foot I wrapped my arms around my sister and dragged her with all the strength I could muster while she stormed and yelled in my ear. She was truly putting up a good fight – she kicked me, slapped me, scratched at my neck, and pulled at my hair. We fell at the bottom of the stairs, and she made an attempt to rush back but I grabbed her long gown and tripped her.
“Sara, for God’s sake, we have to move! The whole house is going to burn down!”
“I don’t care!” Her voice was beyond hysterical, “I long to die!”
“Sara!”
Fire had begun to creep up on us, but she was still fighting to get upstairs. Breathing deeply, I locked my arm on her waist in an iron grasp and ran for our lives. Images flashed before my eyes: the great wooden door of the drawing room being devoured by flames; my Mother’s blank face and depthless eyes; Becca, broken and weak, bleeding into the carpet on which I took my first steps; hot orange tongues licking the walls on which Mother had marked my growth; and Elliot’s sweet little face, his brown eyes twinkling. We never found his body…
I didn’t know if I was still conscious. The fumes from the fire had made me cough profusely. I couldn’t breathe. The heat was pressing in on me on all sides. I was going to suffocate. Was I still moving? I could not feel my legs. My eyes saw nothing but fire. Fire everywhere, fire all around, fire inside me. I was going to die.
“Amethyst, move!”
I could not stop coughing. My lungs were filled with smoke. I could not move anymore. Elliot… Where was Elliot? I had to find him…
Someone was pulling me. It was easier to breathe now. I was running. Cool air washed over my face and I gulped it greedily.
I fell. The ground was soft and moist. Sara was next to me, her face red and dusted with soot.
I was lying on dewy grass. It felt nice… It was comforting. It cleared my head. I began to breathe more steadily, my heart rate slowed. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
It was early morning, foggy and slightly cloudy. The sun had barely just risen. Our manor stood blazed against the horizon, and quickly it crumbled.
Sara and I exchanged glances. We both knew we could not stay here. Standing side by side, my hand clasped tightly in hers, we needed no words. In her dark eyes I saw my own anger and hate reflected, and we turned over our shoulders to see how everything we loved was destroyed.
Burning with fury and driven by wrath, we set out toward the hills.

...

reference photo -- [link]
swirl brushes (on the dress) are from [link]