|Alias Noalé's Beginning
Author: Melaye PM
Prequil to The Black Ball Conspiracy, The story follows the Narrator of Black Ball, Noalé as she goes from a normal girl to the most powerful witch of her time and a trader of precious information. Full summary inside.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Supernatural - Chapters: 7 - Words: 2,884 - Updated: 01-18-13 - Published: 12-09-12 - id: 3081418
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The two ghosts took residence in my bedroom. I thanked God Jess was a gentleman and disappeared every time I was about to get undressed, got out of the shower or did anything else which involved me showing skin. Of course I had no way of checking whether or not he peeked…
After making sure the dead had left my chamber, I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it over my chair. It was hot, really, really hot. And I dreaded the heat. I was a winter child, born in January and adored the snow. The soft and fluffy appearance of the cold substance fascinated me. So these hot August afternoons tended to take the best out of me: I had to repress the urge to jump into the shower every time I sat down and discovered my bare skin stuck to the lather couch. I felt sticky and smelly and dirty all the same.
I rolled my shoulders and enjoyed the cold chill on my skin as I stood there in my shorts and bra. I pulled my hair up in a ponytail and plucked a new shirt out of my closet, when I heard the gently sound of my rocking chair rocking. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Jess sit there. He was so lost in thoughts he didn't even seem to realize I was there.
'The last time I felt the influence of the weather; it was a cold so sharp it seemed to cut your skin…'
With my t-shirt still in my hands I took a step to him. 'Do you remember much of your life?'
He shook his head. 'Just the outlines of who I was. When I try to remember something or someone clearly, all I see is a blur. The only clear memory I have is that of the cold. That biting cold and the fresh fallen snow.
What I wouldn't give to feel that clammy heat your cursing.' He had spoken sullenly, ignoring me. But when he said the last sentence he looked at me, a single tear running down his face.
Not realizing I can't touch him I reach out to touch his face. When my fingers graze his cheek they go straight through him. But a cold penetrates me, turning my body into ice or, so it felt.