Adventuring through twisted time.
The halls of Hallows Hill Manor were silent, not even the sound of a mouse scurrying on through could be heard; for The Sisterhood were asleep or simply too afraid to scare the silence which loomed over their home. The shadows danced by candlelight, and the moon casted shadows to enclose the grand building from the outside. It was unusual for the gothic building to be so incredibly still, however, not unheard of; death still happened, but the screams were muffled, ingested and swallowed. It was common practice, that on the 1st November each year, The Banshee’s would not scream, they would not please their Elders out of due respect. The Sisterhood took a vow of silence to mourn, to remember and to reflect on those that have passed; either by brute force by a common enemy of from the evil hands of The Matron.
The night remained still, and only awoke as the sun peaked through the overindulging fog which plagued the land the Manor sat upon. Ciara spent the night at the Manor, which was becoming more and more unusual, but alas; as she woke, there was a knock upon her door - The Matron’s little sidekick informing her that her presence was needed. A series of foul words fell out of Ciara’s mouth but she did as she was requested, and made her appearance known at the grand oak wood doors which opened up into The Matron’s study.
“My Petal. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes this morning” The Matron encircled Ciara into her arms, and rocked her back and forth ever so gently, making brief hushing sounds. Ciara knew better than to fight the condescending love that was being showered upon her.
“There is tea. Coffee. Whisky should you wish” The Matron indicated to her side cabinet and took a seat behind her desk; the log fire crackling behind her. “I have received word from The Elders” She went on.
“Then, you know where I’m going to send you. To our homeland, to the place of your birth and death” The painted red lips of The Matron’s curled upward as she relished in the thought of Ciara being so tormented. “To retrieve something lost of ours, something that will strengthen our bond to The Elders.” The Matron leaned forwards and lit up a cigarette. Ciara downed the glass of whisky and poured herself another.
“Pack lightly, and head to the airport. You'll be met by a driver on the other side who has all the details to share” The Matron dismissed Ciara with her hand. “Don’t worry, My Precious Petal. I’ll keep an eye on That Eternal for you.” She mocked before spinning her chair round to face the fire.
Ciara found herself at the airport but most importantly in the lounge where drinks were almost bottomless. She sat in the booth nearest to the window, watching the planes come and go. Both hands occupied with a glass of some unknown sin. Her grey coated eyes closed, and her nostrils flared. “What are you doing here?”