Post by caera on Apr 23, 2021 2:38:23 GMT
The soft sound of rain can be heard, as a singular woman sits alone on her porch, in front of her home in Spearfish, South Dakota. Looking out at the rain, a stoic, almost icy look hidden within her eyes. Just looking out at the rain as it falls as she sits on her favorite green chair. A chair that she has had since she was 9. To her, the rain is a symbol. An indication of the downpour that has been her life. Especially recently, as everything has come upon her in a deluge. Even if it's unknown who she is, or even what precisely has been a deluge to her. Blinking, she hears the sound of each droplet of water hitting the tin roof of her hold, yet shows no emotion, continuing to blankly stare forward. Appearing to be focused on a silhouette that can be made out of a tree, right in front of her home.
Why this tree in particular, is unknown, but it is what she is fixated upon. Even as the howling sound of the cold breeze making its passage through the tree resonates within the air, causing her expression to turn from stoic into fascinated. A small smile appearing on the left hand corner of her mouth, accompanied by her gently leaning forward. Using the howl as a soft, comforting serenade.
"Isn't it wonderful?" She remarks, fully aware that there is nobody around to hear her except for the tree, and the owls flying in the sky above. That doesn't phase her, however, as she softly exhales, as if she had been expecting a reply. If not from someone, then from something and looking disappointedly at the tree when no such response is forthcoming.
To most people, this would be a sign of insanity, or at the very least, an indication that something within their head isn't wired correctly. Not to her though. To her, this is an indication that all is serene. That all is simply wishing to remain quiet, instead of divulging its intentions. That now isn't the time for idle chatter, but instead, to just listen to the rain. Sit in tranquility as it washes away the clogs. The burdens in her mind, much as it washes away the dirt from the grass. Operating both in a metaphorical and physical sense. Yet all she feels within her, is ice. An emotionless void, manifested through the stoic, icy cold stare within her pale blue irises. Her interior is pitch black, just like her pupil and the night sky.
Humming to herself, she begins to rock back and forth. Slowly and in harmony with the breeze, before she tilts her head equally as slowly to her right, and the old, raggedy doll that sits by itself. Isolated from everything else. Its frizzy, raven black hair flowing down to the middle of its back. It's midnight black eyes looking up at the ceiling, devoid of any life. Though the girl wryly smiles at it, as if it was the intended target of her previous statement.
"It's okay." She whispers, just loud enough for the doll to hear. The soft breeze being the only response she receives. Normally, people would take it as a sign that they aren't going to be the recipient of an audience. At least, an audience that will respond, but she continues, undeterred: "Just as we have always been." A soft, childish giggle leaving her mouth thereafter.
Slowly rising from her chair, she calmly, leisurely wanders over to where the doll is lying, bending over and picking it up as the fabric of her jet black t-shirt slides up her back. She then stands back upright, cradling the doll in her arms like a child. "You're safe now," she remarks, tilting her head downward and gently smiling into the doll's coal black eyes. Her reflection smiling back at her. A smile that serves as the only fracture within her otherwise emotionless, almost drained face. Her chocolate brown hair flowing down to about two inches below her shoulder blades. The fabric of her t-shirt pressed against her milk white skin.
Continuing to sway the doll back and forth, she softly hums a gentler, softer tune than she had been before, but retaining the dark, morbid undertones the previous song had contained. Gentle tears begin to roll down her cheeks, as the rainstorm continues around her. Her mind, singularly focused on ensuring the doll in her arms is in a blissful state.
"What's that?" she remarks softly, stopping her tune as she glances down. "You want to go for a walk?" She states, imagining that the doll had responded to her, causing her to look outward, admiring the rainstorm. "Okay, if my darling wants to go for a walk, then we shall," she states, following her words with another giggle. This one is more sadistic in nature when compared to her more childish one earlier. She then rotates her body ninety degrees to the right, calmly beginning to make her way toward the stairs leading from the porch to the walkway. Her eyes returning to their icy cold, emotionless stare as she does, her mouth unfurling to match.
Navigating her way down the three steps, she exhales as the rain droplets hit her shirt, black denim jeans and knee high boots as well as the doll, which she has now cuddled close to her chest. A futile attempt to protect it from the storm. Slowly making her way down the walkway, she resumes humming her chorus, the sound resonating through the air in a ballad alongside the owls flying overhead. Creating a shrill choir alongside the rainstorm that surrounds them.
"Hush now, sweetie. It'll be okay," she softly comments while looking down at the doll, although it is only her, the wind, the rain, the owls, and her boots softly click-tapping against the concrete sidewalk that can be heard. Though she is treating the doll in her arms as a sentient being, even if it can only convey its desires. Its wishes through a soulless, lifeless look and the slight smile stitched into its fabric. "Mommy's here," are the next words to leave her mouth, her eyes still fixated ahead of her. Each word floating into the air, accompanying the chilling breeze.
A breeze that has caused a few small goosebumps to appear on her arms, yet she continues walking. Not feeling the cold in the slightest, or at the very least, not allowing it to deter her from this stroll. She strives on, glancing forward, the dim luminescence of the streetlamps guiding her path. The doll still nestled tightly within her arms. Bobbing with each step the woman takes.
"Remember when Grandma would walk us down this street?" She tilts her head down, looking at the doll as she inquires. An inquiry to which the breeze responds by whirling past her ear, causing her to take a step backward. However, it is not because she is being cautious or wary. No, it is because she is ecstatic. Delighted that the wind would finally give her a proper audience, or at least, one that will enable her to tell the tale of her journey, even if it cannot physically hear her or comprehend her.
"Wasn't it wonderful, Alvera?" She questions, her eyes returning their fixation onto the doll, and naming at least one of the two beings within this street. Though unlike the previous occasions, where she had allowed the doll to speak vicariously through the wind, this time she replies in a sweet, soft voice. Much like that of a child's: "Yes, Caera. This is lovely. Just like when Grandma would walk with us." as Caera gently lifts Alvera upward. Tenderly kissing the doll atop the forehead before lowering it down to her chest as the downpour continues soaking them.
Yet Caera is gleeful, even as her make up begins to smear her top as it runs down her face. Looking down at Alvera, she gives it a 'oops, I forgot the umbrella' look, masked behind a sly smile. She hadn't forgotten it at all, no. She had elected not to bring it, as she understood that Alvera enjoyed the rain as much as she does. She then reaches the end of the street, swiveling her body and glancing slightly above her head, as an owl hoots from above.
"I guess it is getting late, isn't it my darling?" She remarks, glancing around at all the darkened houses, where each resident within has given in to the temptation. The lustful desire of sleep. Caera however, lives within the night, when all else is deathly silent. When all there is to comfort her, are those very owls. The occasional cat that scurries about, whether it be in pursuit of a mouse or even simply prowling along the street. Caera commences her own venture toward home, breaking into a skip as she begins humming the tune that can commonly be heard while riding a carousel. Or, her own personalized rendition of it.
About ten feet into her skipping, she changes her voice into the same sweet voice she had put on earlier, and remarks: "Mommy, I wanna ride." before giggling and using Alvera's arm to excitedly point down the street, as if there was a carousel there, waiting for them.
"Sorry sweetie, maybe tomorrow," she sadly remarks, slowing down her skip to a leisurely pace. "No, I meant I want you to be my carousel," are the next words to leave her lips in a whinier voice than normal, but one that elicits an internal response from her. One that is externalized by the soft, caring smile that crosses her face, as she lifts the doll onto her shoulders and swivels it around, so that they are both facing in the same direction.
"You ready, sweetie?" Caera asks, preparing herself to resume skipping.
"Yes mommy. I'm ready." is the reply she gives.
"Okay, count to three." Caera states, her inflection more so that of a teacher than her usual innocent, calm tone. "One... Two... Three!" she states, exhaling after each number in order to measure a second in time. As soon as the "three" leaves her lips, she begins her skipping once again. This time at a more steady pace than before, ensuring that Alvera remains balanced on her neck and shoulders, as if she were riding a horse. For all intents and purposes, she is riding one on the carousel. Complete with Caera's serenading humming reverberating through the cold, rainy night sky.
Synchronizing in perfect harmony with the owls, even more so than earlier. Sounds that continue to fill the air, even as Caera pivots her body to the right and skips back onto their walkway. A soft, innocent smile across her face as she lifts Alvera off and cradles her in her arms. Crossing them so that they are a near, albeit small, bed for the cherished doll to rest its head.
"Good night, sweetie," Caera states, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on Alvera's forehead. Looking straight ahead, she methodically makes her way down the walkway, the rain surrounding them starting to dissipate while she stoically glances around.
Her eyes return to their icy, emotionless, blank state. The blue that had begun to shine within her eyes, following by returning to its usual pale blue coloring. As cold as the ice that pulsates through her veins. Devoid of anything but the desire. The love of the doll she sees as her own daughter. Walking down the walkway, and up the steps to the porch, she looks down. Gently rocking Alvera so that she can manage her body weight with each step and not fall flat on her face. She survived falling down the stairs earlier, but with how the rain had continued to bombard the already decaying wood, she realized climbing back up would be the true challenge. Especially having to be extra careful that Alvera didn't fall out of her hands, and onto either the wood or the concrete either. To her, that would have been a worse outcome than if she had taken the tumble.
Luckily, the porch was protected from the storm and Caera can easily make her way to the flaky brass handle on her front door. It is in desperate need of repair, as the wood is starting to splinter, and jet black paint flakes are falling to the porch floor each time the door is opened. Yet ever since her father, who was the one who handled all the maintenance around the home, disappeared, no one has been able to carry out any required restoration works. Or, if anyone could, they have been too fearful to even venture within the halls. Especially not when Caera would have been the one to greet them, if she didn't want to play with them first. Though presently, Caera slightly raises her left eyebrow, noticing something out of place. Something she didn't recall seeing when she checked prior to leaving the house for the stroll.
Bending over and picking it up, whilst pressing Alvera close to her chest, she sees it's a white envelope, with her name and address on the front. Turning it around, there is no return address on the back. Meaning that it was either hand delivered earlier and she ignored it or somehow, the postman managed to enter without her noticing any sign of him whilst on the stroll. The former being more probable than the latter. Walking down the hall slowly, she exhales. The letter doesn't even have an indication of who it might be from, and she hadn't been expecting any mail for another three weeks at the absolute earliest. Though she turns her body to the right, reaching the door to Alvera's room.
Complete with a violet painted cot positioned in the far left hand corner. Softly smiling, Caera appears to have something cross her mind, but she doesn't reveal what it could be externally. Or if it is bothering her, as she remains stoic, save for her ever so slight smile peering through the veneer. Gently placing her "daughter" atop a soft blanket, the youngest human member of the Bellamira family turns her body back around and begins to leave the room. Her obsessive fixation on the envelope she calmly holds in her hands.
What is it? Who requested it be brought to her? Why her specifically? Is it communication from her mother and father? Is it a message informing her that the fears about them being dead were correct? Or is it just affirming that they are still considered 'missing persons? Is it even about them at all? If any of those questions are floating around within Caera's head, she's masking them phenomenally, as she only slightly twitches her right eyebrow. Opening it, she notices a neatly folded-up A4 sheet of paper within, extracting it before unfolding it. A gentle sigh leaving her lips as she notices the letterhead. One that is unfamiliar to her and contains four letters. Each in artic blue, with a blood red outline. Those four letters are FCPW.
Curious about what, if anything, they may know about her parents, or anything related to her, she continues reading. A flirtatious smile crosses her face as she realizes that this doesn't have anything to do with her parents, but instead, is exclusively about her. More so, from the way she is taking her time reading its contents, it appears to be something that has piqued her interest. Even if she doesn't know how this supposed 'promotion' got her address, nor does she remember ever partaking in a wrestling tryout. Yet here she is, reading a personalized invitation to sign on the famed dotted line, and officially become a wrestler. She allows each word to linger in her mind as she reads them internally. Not knowing what sort of emotional response to conjure up to this.
She knows of wrestling, but had never truly considered it or looked too deep into enlist herself into anything pertaining to the sport. Yet here she is, assessing a legitimate contract offer from a place that must see some potential in her. Or seen her via some means, as she has been reclusive. Locked away within this home ever since her parents vanished, with only Alvera keeping her company, making her perplexed as to how they could know anything about her or what she might provide to them.
Glancing around, she aims to verify that there aren't any secret cameras. Spying on her, and sending the tapes to various people or companies. Though it is more of a cursory glance than a proper surveilling as the letter does intrigue her and she'll check again in the morning, as the dull glow of the lights in the ceiling doesn't enable as rigorous of a search as she would like to commit. Exhaling, she tilts her head back around, resuming her reading of the offer laid out in front of her. Her eyes scan it over a second time, ensuring that she doesn't miss any details that might dissuade her from agreeing.to their terms. Gently nodding, she ponders over a portion about a quarter of the way through the contract. A look of curiosity furrowing her brow at its wording.
"Where did I leave my pen?" she ponders, as she glances to her right, looking diagonally into her pocket, realizing that it isn't there. Sauntering toward a coffee table that is set up in her kitchen, she glances 360 degrees around the room. Once again checking for any hidden bugs or cameras that could have been the origin for FCPW to identify who she was, but none are apparent. Nodding, she didn't expect any would be left in the open. Visible. Rather, they would likely be either inside the wall itself, or in some of the more... private, secluded areas of the house.
Areas that she only visits on special occasions, to ensure that any suspicions she might have aren't able to rise to the surface. Making her way to the table, she surveys it, noticing the soft oak starting to crack and the legs appearing to slightly wobble with each step she takes along the vinyl floor. Making a mental note to call somebody to move the table in the morning, as it's something she has been meaning to do for a little while. Other, more pressing issues always come up for her, however, which is why she keeps shifting this task to the back of the line in regards to having it repaired. It also doesn't help that despite the table being a prominent fixture of the house; somewhere that she regularly sits, the rest of the house is in such a state to where it's not the primary portion of the house she wishes to maintain at this time.
The crumbling walls and splintering doors are more important to her, and even those haven't been repaired satisfactorily either. That's not her primary concern now, however, as she reaches for her black ballpoint pen, positioned about two inches from the front of the table, grasping it with her right hand before gently placing the contract onto the table. Revising it once more; making sure she didn't accidently miss anything, making another mental note. This time of the address for FCPW. The one they had told her to send the signed contract to within the letter itself.
"I promised I would take you on vacation, darling," Caera whispers gently, fully aware Alvera cannot hear her from the room, but knowing that she will love the surprise when she tells her tomorrow, as soon as she wakes up from her slumber. Signing her name atop the dotted line that was provided for her, she smirks calmly, before placing the pen on top, ensuring that she will remember its location when she prepares to send it to the FCPW tomorrow, before Alvera wakes up. Lest she forget and leave it in the open, ruining the surprise factor of announcing it to her without any indication as to where they are headed.
Gently laughing, she turns her body around, a light smile peering through her otherwise calm exterior. Resuming her walk, she surveys the room again, the dim, almost burnt out glow of the light not offering much in the way of support. Though this time, she isn't checking for surveillance cameras or recording devices. Rather, she is checking to see if there's anything else she had neglected to put on her internal checklist to tell potential maintenance workers, even in spite of a soft yawn breaking up her train of thought. Another yawn, this time more audible than the previous, follows as she continues navigating her way through the room. Determined to finish her mental notes before she drifts off to sleep for the night. Storing them within her expansive memory bank. In spite of her earnestly preferring the decrepit, battered aesthetic the house holds presently.
It reminds her of how the house was the day her parents last left, claiming that they had to run some errands but ultimately, vanishing; not even a peep from or about them since. In her mind, anything that enables her to reflect on her parents; remember the memories they shared, both positive and negative, is worth keeping locked away. Manifested through the home, as if it were an enlarged time capsule. At least until she is able to obtain some form of communication with them. Even if that communication is merely proof of death.
"I wish you were here," she states, her voice wavering as she attempts to hold up the deluge of tears hidden within her eyes. Overwhelmed with emotions. The pain of not knowing where they are, or if she will even hear from, yet alone see them again causing fractures to appear within her stoic expression. Tearing away at the masquerade she has adopted as somewhat of a coping mechanism. A way to preserver; push on despite the strings tugging at her heart. Reminding her that she has entrapped herself within a void of loneliness and nothingness. Isolated from the rest of the world by her own choice.
Yet to her, it is how it must be if she is to truly heal. If she is to accept that it has been four years; the odds of them being alive are slim, if any. Sauntering toward her room, she softly sighs. Refusing to concede to the tears; just wishing for a means to escape the train her thoughts are currently riding. A train that continues its winding path toward self-destruction with each passing reference to her parents. Whether it be visual or mental. It's why she cherishes Alvera; sees her as being her daughter.
She is all Caera truly has; it's all that she knows she truly needs. Her eyes almost at the point of popping out of their sockets due to the stain of withholding her tears, slightly close as a stream begins to run down her cheeks. Raising her left hand, she runs it against her bottom eyelid, collecting the excess tears before sighing. At least Alvera is sleeping; unable to see her vulnerable. For she promised that she would be her pillar. Her rock, when everything else crumbles around her.
Reaching her doorknob, one of the very few things in the home that isn't neglected, she places her hand atop it. Feeling the cold steel against her skin as she turns it clockwise. Swinging it open and entering. Softly exhaling as she leans over; taking off her boots, neatly placing them against the wall on the right side of the door. Neat and orderly, much like the room itself.
The jet black painted walls are adorned with different gothic inspired paintings. Some using watercolor paint, others using oil-based paints; most of them being either of a graveyard or just morbid painting. The soft, innocent smile upon her face reminding her that she was the one who painted these; hung them up. Making her way across the soft, wine red carpeting, she lets out a yawn before calmly pulling up her blanket; sliding into bed. Her eyes fixated on the ceiling, having managed to reach her bed due to the soft glow peering through the window from outside. Her mind slows down, enabling her to pull the blanket over her body; close her eyes as she begins to enter the land of dreams.
The following morning, she sits on the left side of a midnight black, two seat leather couch, about four feet in front of a twenty-eight inch TV screen, which is currently switched off. Wearing fresh clothing, but the same color scheme as the night prior. A black t-shirt, black denim jeans, and her favorite pair of black knee high leather boots. On the right hand side couch cushion, is Alvera. Wearing a midnight black dress with white trimming; seated so that she is facing Caera, who is looking deep into her eyes. Trying to contain the joy that is lurking inside of her. So as not to give away her secret too early.
"Mommy?" Alvera asks gently, not comprehending why Caera woke her up and insists upon her dressing pretty if there aren't any visitors. Nor are any supposedly coming, as she would have known by now. Yet Caera doesn't respond, instead simply clasping Alvera's right hand with her own hand. Softly smiling. "What is it?" she presses on with this comment, this time getting a reaction from her mother. In the form of a soft, surprisingly friendly laughter.
"You remembered how I promised we would go on vacation?" She inquires, attempting to jog her daughter's memory back to the time she made that statement. Gave her word that they would venture away from this home; attempt to escape everything and find enjoyment for the first time in a long while. It's Alvera turn to merely look deep into Caera's eyes. Attempting to process her words; conjure up a response, or if Caera is telling the truth.
"Yes." she flatly replies, as Caera leans in toward the doll, her mouth right at Alvera's right ear.
Lowering her voice to a whisper, she comments: "We're taking that vacation," eliciting a beaming smile from Alvera, though assisted by Caera positioning her head upright.
"When?" she excitedly asks, as Caera's face emits a calm smile. Gratified that she has lit up her daughter's day with those words.
"Soon, I promise," is the response Caera gives her. Not wanting to reveal anything else about the vacation until they arrive at their destination. She knows however, that Alvera will love it, as it will give her a chance to roam about. Experience a location she, and even Caera, have never ventured to before. Discover more about the world that surrounds them; the residents that have made their homes within the city.
Most importantly, it allows them to spread their wings beyond Spearfish, even if this will always be their true home. Where they are the most comfortable. Placing a kiss on Alvera's forehead, Caera giggles to herself, before pulling her head back and staring out the window. Knowing that this vacation has ulterior purposes, but those, she will reveal to Alvera in time. There is no need to dampen her joy by revealing what those are right now. The first time in a long while that either of them have felt joy.
Not just joy that has been an extension of their scars, attempting to mask the fractures underneath their skin; numb the seeds of worry within them. Actual, legitimate joy, like Alvera is feeling right now. A feeling Caera wishes to cling onto. Especially with the gloom, the storms that have encapsulated them over the last few years. She then slowly rises, allowing Alvera to absorb everything she has heard, before swiveling to her right; walking around the couch.
Preparing to write down the itinerary they wish to take with them on this journey. Her soft smile radiating. Nothing else matters to her right now, aside from this adventure; ensuring that it is the best it can be for Alvera. That it can liberate her from the agony residing within her core. That it wasn't just a ploy to lure them away from isolation, into a trap laid by somebody who wishes to deceive them. Whoever they may be. Yet Caera is unfazed, for she sees this as a chance to discover just what lays within the mystery. The enigma that is FCPW.
Why this tree in particular, is unknown, but it is what she is fixated upon. Even as the howling sound of the cold breeze making its passage through the tree resonates within the air, causing her expression to turn from stoic into fascinated. A small smile appearing on the left hand corner of her mouth, accompanied by her gently leaning forward. Using the howl as a soft, comforting serenade.
"Isn't it wonderful?" She remarks, fully aware that there is nobody around to hear her except for the tree, and the owls flying in the sky above. That doesn't phase her, however, as she softly exhales, as if she had been expecting a reply. If not from someone, then from something and looking disappointedly at the tree when no such response is forthcoming.
To most people, this would be a sign of insanity, or at the very least, an indication that something within their head isn't wired correctly. Not to her though. To her, this is an indication that all is serene. That all is simply wishing to remain quiet, instead of divulging its intentions. That now isn't the time for idle chatter, but instead, to just listen to the rain. Sit in tranquility as it washes away the clogs. The burdens in her mind, much as it washes away the dirt from the grass. Operating both in a metaphorical and physical sense. Yet all she feels within her, is ice. An emotionless void, manifested through the stoic, icy cold stare within her pale blue irises. Her interior is pitch black, just like her pupil and the night sky.
Humming to herself, she begins to rock back and forth. Slowly and in harmony with the breeze, before she tilts her head equally as slowly to her right, and the old, raggedy doll that sits by itself. Isolated from everything else. Its frizzy, raven black hair flowing down to the middle of its back. It's midnight black eyes looking up at the ceiling, devoid of any life. Though the girl wryly smiles at it, as if it was the intended target of her previous statement.
"It's okay." She whispers, just loud enough for the doll to hear. The soft breeze being the only response she receives. Normally, people would take it as a sign that they aren't going to be the recipient of an audience. At least, an audience that will respond, but she continues, undeterred: "Just as we have always been." A soft, childish giggle leaving her mouth thereafter.
Slowly rising from her chair, she calmly, leisurely wanders over to where the doll is lying, bending over and picking it up as the fabric of her jet black t-shirt slides up her back. She then stands back upright, cradling the doll in her arms like a child. "You're safe now," she remarks, tilting her head downward and gently smiling into the doll's coal black eyes. Her reflection smiling back at her. A smile that serves as the only fracture within her otherwise emotionless, almost drained face. Her chocolate brown hair flowing down to about two inches below her shoulder blades. The fabric of her t-shirt pressed against her milk white skin.
Continuing to sway the doll back and forth, she softly hums a gentler, softer tune than she had been before, but retaining the dark, morbid undertones the previous song had contained. Gentle tears begin to roll down her cheeks, as the rainstorm continues around her. Her mind, singularly focused on ensuring the doll in her arms is in a blissful state.
"What's that?" she remarks softly, stopping her tune as she glances down. "You want to go for a walk?" She states, imagining that the doll had responded to her, causing her to look outward, admiring the rainstorm. "Okay, if my darling wants to go for a walk, then we shall," she states, following her words with another giggle. This one is more sadistic in nature when compared to her more childish one earlier. She then rotates her body ninety degrees to the right, calmly beginning to make her way toward the stairs leading from the porch to the walkway. Her eyes returning to their icy cold, emotionless stare as she does, her mouth unfurling to match.
Navigating her way down the three steps, she exhales as the rain droplets hit her shirt, black denim jeans and knee high boots as well as the doll, which she has now cuddled close to her chest. A futile attempt to protect it from the storm. Slowly making her way down the walkway, she resumes humming her chorus, the sound resonating through the air in a ballad alongside the owls flying overhead. Creating a shrill choir alongside the rainstorm that surrounds them.
"Hush now, sweetie. It'll be okay," she softly comments while looking down at the doll, although it is only her, the wind, the rain, the owls, and her boots softly click-tapping against the concrete sidewalk that can be heard. Though she is treating the doll in her arms as a sentient being, even if it can only convey its desires. Its wishes through a soulless, lifeless look and the slight smile stitched into its fabric. "Mommy's here," are the next words to leave her mouth, her eyes still fixated ahead of her. Each word floating into the air, accompanying the chilling breeze.
A breeze that has caused a few small goosebumps to appear on her arms, yet she continues walking. Not feeling the cold in the slightest, or at the very least, not allowing it to deter her from this stroll. She strives on, glancing forward, the dim luminescence of the streetlamps guiding her path. The doll still nestled tightly within her arms. Bobbing with each step the woman takes.
"Remember when Grandma would walk us down this street?" She tilts her head down, looking at the doll as she inquires. An inquiry to which the breeze responds by whirling past her ear, causing her to take a step backward. However, it is not because she is being cautious or wary. No, it is because she is ecstatic. Delighted that the wind would finally give her a proper audience, or at least, one that will enable her to tell the tale of her journey, even if it cannot physically hear her or comprehend her.
"Wasn't it wonderful, Alvera?" She questions, her eyes returning their fixation onto the doll, and naming at least one of the two beings within this street. Though unlike the previous occasions, where she had allowed the doll to speak vicariously through the wind, this time she replies in a sweet, soft voice. Much like that of a child's: "Yes, Caera. This is lovely. Just like when Grandma would walk with us." as Caera gently lifts Alvera upward. Tenderly kissing the doll atop the forehead before lowering it down to her chest as the downpour continues soaking them.
Yet Caera is gleeful, even as her make up begins to smear her top as it runs down her face. Looking down at Alvera, she gives it a 'oops, I forgot the umbrella' look, masked behind a sly smile. She hadn't forgotten it at all, no. She had elected not to bring it, as she understood that Alvera enjoyed the rain as much as she does. She then reaches the end of the street, swiveling her body and glancing slightly above her head, as an owl hoots from above.
"I guess it is getting late, isn't it my darling?" She remarks, glancing around at all the darkened houses, where each resident within has given in to the temptation. The lustful desire of sleep. Caera however, lives within the night, when all else is deathly silent. When all there is to comfort her, are those very owls. The occasional cat that scurries about, whether it be in pursuit of a mouse or even simply prowling along the street. Caera commences her own venture toward home, breaking into a skip as she begins humming the tune that can commonly be heard while riding a carousel. Or, her own personalized rendition of it.
About ten feet into her skipping, she changes her voice into the same sweet voice she had put on earlier, and remarks: "Mommy, I wanna ride." before giggling and using Alvera's arm to excitedly point down the street, as if there was a carousel there, waiting for them.
"Sorry sweetie, maybe tomorrow," she sadly remarks, slowing down her skip to a leisurely pace. "No, I meant I want you to be my carousel," are the next words to leave her lips in a whinier voice than normal, but one that elicits an internal response from her. One that is externalized by the soft, caring smile that crosses her face, as she lifts the doll onto her shoulders and swivels it around, so that they are both facing in the same direction.
"You ready, sweetie?" Caera asks, preparing herself to resume skipping.
"Yes mommy. I'm ready." is the reply she gives.
"Okay, count to three." Caera states, her inflection more so that of a teacher than her usual innocent, calm tone. "One... Two... Three!" she states, exhaling after each number in order to measure a second in time. As soon as the "three" leaves her lips, she begins her skipping once again. This time at a more steady pace than before, ensuring that Alvera remains balanced on her neck and shoulders, as if she were riding a horse. For all intents and purposes, she is riding one on the carousel. Complete with Caera's serenading humming reverberating through the cold, rainy night sky.
Synchronizing in perfect harmony with the owls, even more so than earlier. Sounds that continue to fill the air, even as Caera pivots her body to the right and skips back onto their walkway. A soft, innocent smile across her face as she lifts Alvera off and cradles her in her arms. Crossing them so that they are a near, albeit small, bed for the cherished doll to rest its head.
"Good night, sweetie," Caera states, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on Alvera's forehead. Looking straight ahead, she methodically makes her way down the walkway, the rain surrounding them starting to dissipate while she stoically glances around.
Her eyes return to their icy, emotionless, blank state. The blue that had begun to shine within her eyes, following by returning to its usual pale blue coloring. As cold as the ice that pulsates through her veins. Devoid of anything but the desire. The love of the doll she sees as her own daughter. Walking down the walkway, and up the steps to the porch, she looks down. Gently rocking Alvera so that she can manage her body weight with each step and not fall flat on her face. She survived falling down the stairs earlier, but with how the rain had continued to bombard the already decaying wood, she realized climbing back up would be the true challenge. Especially having to be extra careful that Alvera didn't fall out of her hands, and onto either the wood or the concrete either. To her, that would have been a worse outcome than if she had taken the tumble.
Luckily, the porch was protected from the storm and Caera can easily make her way to the flaky brass handle on her front door. It is in desperate need of repair, as the wood is starting to splinter, and jet black paint flakes are falling to the porch floor each time the door is opened. Yet ever since her father, who was the one who handled all the maintenance around the home, disappeared, no one has been able to carry out any required restoration works. Or, if anyone could, they have been too fearful to even venture within the halls. Especially not when Caera would have been the one to greet them, if she didn't want to play with them first. Though presently, Caera slightly raises her left eyebrow, noticing something out of place. Something she didn't recall seeing when she checked prior to leaving the house for the stroll.
Bending over and picking it up, whilst pressing Alvera close to her chest, she sees it's a white envelope, with her name and address on the front. Turning it around, there is no return address on the back. Meaning that it was either hand delivered earlier and she ignored it or somehow, the postman managed to enter without her noticing any sign of him whilst on the stroll. The former being more probable than the latter. Walking down the hall slowly, she exhales. The letter doesn't even have an indication of who it might be from, and she hadn't been expecting any mail for another three weeks at the absolute earliest. Though she turns her body to the right, reaching the door to Alvera's room.
Complete with a violet painted cot positioned in the far left hand corner. Softly smiling, Caera appears to have something cross her mind, but she doesn't reveal what it could be externally. Or if it is bothering her, as she remains stoic, save for her ever so slight smile peering through the veneer. Gently placing her "daughter" atop a soft blanket, the youngest human member of the Bellamira family turns her body back around and begins to leave the room. Her obsessive fixation on the envelope she calmly holds in her hands.
What is it? Who requested it be brought to her? Why her specifically? Is it communication from her mother and father? Is it a message informing her that the fears about them being dead were correct? Or is it just affirming that they are still considered 'missing persons? Is it even about them at all? If any of those questions are floating around within Caera's head, she's masking them phenomenally, as she only slightly twitches her right eyebrow. Opening it, she notices a neatly folded-up A4 sheet of paper within, extracting it before unfolding it. A gentle sigh leaving her lips as she notices the letterhead. One that is unfamiliar to her and contains four letters. Each in artic blue, with a blood red outline. Those four letters are FCPW.
Curious about what, if anything, they may know about her parents, or anything related to her, she continues reading. A flirtatious smile crosses her face as she realizes that this doesn't have anything to do with her parents, but instead, is exclusively about her. More so, from the way she is taking her time reading its contents, it appears to be something that has piqued her interest. Even if she doesn't know how this supposed 'promotion' got her address, nor does she remember ever partaking in a wrestling tryout. Yet here she is, reading a personalized invitation to sign on the famed dotted line, and officially become a wrestler. She allows each word to linger in her mind as she reads them internally. Not knowing what sort of emotional response to conjure up to this.
She knows of wrestling, but had never truly considered it or looked too deep into enlist herself into anything pertaining to the sport. Yet here she is, assessing a legitimate contract offer from a place that must see some potential in her. Or seen her via some means, as she has been reclusive. Locked away within this home ever since her parents vanished, with only Alvera keeping her company, making her perplexed as to how they could know anything about her or what she might provide to them.
Glancing around, she aims to verify that there aren't any secret cameras. Spying on her, and sending the tapes to various people or companies. Though it is more of a cursory glance than a proper surveilling as the letter does intrigue her and she'll check again in the morning, as the dull glow of the lights in the ceiling doesn't enable as rigorous of a search as she would like to commit. Exhaling, she tilts her head back around, resuming her reading of the offer laid out in front of her. Her eyes scan it over a second time, ensuring that she doesn't miss any details that might dissuade her from agreeing.to their terms. Gently nodding, she ponders over a portion about a quarter of the way through the contract. A look of curiosity furrowing her brow at its wording.
"Where did I leave my pen?" she ponders, as she glances to her right, looking diagonally into her pocket, realizing that it isn't there. Sauntering toward a coffee table that is set up in her kitchen, she glances 360 degrees around the room. Once again checking for any hidden bugs or cameras that could have been the origin for FCPW to identify who she was, but none are apparent. Nodding, she didn't expect any would be left in the open. Visible. Rather, they would likely be either inside the wall itself, or in some of the more... private, secluded areas of the house.
Areas that she only visits on special occasions, to ensure that any suspicions she might have aren't able to rise to the surface. Making her way to the table, she surveys it, noticing the soft oak starting to crack and the legs appearing to slightly wobble with each step she takes along the vinyl floor. Making a mental note to call somebody to move the table in the morning, as it's something she has been meaning to do for a little while. Other, more pressing issues always come up for her, however, which is why she keeps shifting this task to the back of the line in regards to having it repaired. It also doesn't help that despite the table being a prominent fixture of the house; somewhere that she regularly sits, the rest of the house is in such a state to where it's not the primary portion of the house she wishes to maintain at this time.
The crumbling walls and splintering doors are more important to her, and even those haven't been repaired satisfactorily either. That's not her primary concern now, however, as she reaches for her black ballpoint pen, positioned about two inches from the front of the table, grasping it with her right hand before gently placing the contract onto the table. Revising it once more; making sure she didn't accidently miss anything, making another mental note. This time of the address for FCPW. The one they had told her to send the signed contract to within the letter itself.
"I promised I would take you on vacation, darling," Caera whispers gently, fully aware Alvera cannot hear her from the room, but knowing that she will love the surprise when she tells her tomorrow, as soon as she wakes up from her slumber. Signing her name atop the dotted line that was provided for her, she smirks calmly, before placing the pen on top, ensuring that she will remember its location when she prepares to send it to the FCPW tomorrow, before Alvera wakes up. Lest she forget and leave it in the open, ruining the surprise factor of announcing it to her without any indication as to where they are headed.
Gently laughing, she turns her body around, a light smile peering through her otherwise calm exterior. Resuming her walk, she surveys the room again, the dim, almost burnt out glow of the light not offering much in the way of support. Though this time, she isn't checking for surveillance cameras or recording devices. Rather, she is checking to see if there's anything else she had neglected to put on her internal checklist to tell potential maintenance workers, even in spite of a soft yawn breaking up her train of thought. Another yawn, this time more audible than the previous, follows as she continues navigating her way through the room. Determined to finish her mental notes before she drifts off to sleep for the night. Storing them within her expansive memory bank. In spite of her earnestly preferring the decrepit, battered aesthetic the house holds presently.
It reminds her of how the house was the day her parents last left, claiming that they had to run some errands but ultimately, vanishing; not even a peep from or about them since. In her mind, anything that enables her to reflect on her parents; remember the memories they shared, both positive and negative, is worth keeping locked away. Manifested through the home, as if it were an enlarged time capsule. At least until she is able to obtain some form of communication with them. Even if that communication is merely proof of death.
"I wish you were here," she states, her voice wavering as she attempts to hold up the deluge of tears hidden within her eyes. Overwhelmed with emotions. The pain of not knowing where they are, or if she will even hear from, yet alone see them again causing fractures to appear within her stoic expression. Tearing away at the masquerade she has adopted as somewhat of a coping mechanism. A way to preserver; push on despite the strings tugging at her heart. Reminding her that she has entrapped herself within a void of loneliness and nothingness. Isolated from the rest of the world by her own choice.
Yet to her, it is how it must be if she is to truly heal. If she is to accept that it has been four years; the odds of them being alive are slim, if any. Sauntering toward her room, she softly sighs. Refusing to concede to the tears; just wishing for a means to escape the train her thoughts are currently riding. A train that continues its winding path toward self-destruction with each passing reference to her parents. Whether it be visual or mental. It's why she cherishes Alvera; sees her as being her daughter.
She is all Caera truly has; it's all that she knows she truly needs. Her eyes almost at the point of popping out of their sockets due to the stain of withholding her tears, slightly close as a stream begins to run down her cheeks. Raising her left hand, she runs it against her bottom eyelid, collecting the excess tears before sighing. At least Alvera is sleeping; unable to see her vulnerable. For she promised that she would be her pillar. Her rock, when everything else crumbles around her.
Reaching her doorknob, one of the very few things in the home that isn't neglected, she places her hand atop it. Feeling the cold steel against her skin as she turns it clockwise. Swinging it open and entering. Softly exhaling as she leans over; taking off her boots, neatly placing them against the wall on the right side of the door. Neat and orderly, much like the room itself.
The jet black painted walls are adorned with different gothic inspired paintings. Some using watercolor paint, others using oil-based paints; most of them being either of a graveyard or just morbid painting. The soft, innocent smile upon her face reminding her that she was the one who painted these; hung them up. Making her way across the soft, wine red carpeting, she lets out a yawn before calmly pulling up her blanket; sliding into bed. Her eyes fixated on the ceiling, having managed to reach her bed due to the soft glow peering through the window from outside. Her mind slows down, enabling her to pull the blanket over her body; close her eyes as she begins to enter the land of dreams.
The following morning, she sits on the left side of a midnight black, two seat leather couch, about four feet in front of a twenty-eight inch TV screen, which is currently switched off. Wearing fresh clothing, but the same color scheme as the night prior. A black t-shirt, black denim jeans, and her favorite pair of black knee high leather boots. On the right hand side couch cushion, is Alvera. Wearing a midnight black dress with white trimming; seated so that she is facing Caera, who is looking deep into her eyes. Trying to contain the joy that is lurking inside of her. So as not to give away her secret too early.
"Mommy?" Alvera asks gently, not comprehending why Caera woke her up and insists upon her dressing pretty if there aren't any visitors. Nor are any supposedly coming, as she would have known by now. Yet Caera doesn't respond, instead simply clasping Alvera's right hand with her own hand. Softly smiling. "What is it?" she presses on with this comment, this time getting a reaction from her mother. In the form of a soft, surprisingly friendly laughter.
"You remembered how I promised we would go on vacation?" She inquires, attempting to jog her daughter's memory back to the time she made that statement. Gave her word that they would venture away from this home; attempt to escape everything and find enjoyment for the first time in a long while. It's Alvera turn to merely look deep into Caera's eyes. Attempting to process her words; conjure up a response, or if Caera is telling the truth.
"Yes." she flatly replies, as Caera leans in toward the doll, her mouth right at Alvera's right ear.
Lowering her voice to a whisper, she comments: "We're taking that vacation," eliciting a beaming smile from Alvera, though assisted by Caera positioning her head upright.
"When?" she excitedly asks, as Caera's face emits a calm smile. Gratified that she has lit up her daughter's day with those words.
"Soon, I promise," is the response Caera gives her. Not wanting to reveal anything else about the vacation until they arrive at their destination. She knows however, that Alvera will love it, as it will give her a chance to roam about. Experience a location she, and even Caera, have never ventured to before. Discover more about the world that surrounds them; the residents that have made their homes within the city.
Most importantly, it allows them to spread their wings beyond Spearfish, even if this will always be their true home. Where they are the most comfortable. Placing a kiss on Alvera's forehead, Caera giggles to herself, before pulling her head back and staring out the window. Knowing that this vacation has ulterior purposes, but those, she will reveal to Alvera in time. There is no need to dampen her joy by revealing what those are right now. The first time in a long while that either of them have felt joy.
Not just joy that has been an extension of their scars, attempting to mask the fractures underneath their skin; numb the seeds of worry within them. Actual, legitimate joy, like Alvera is feeling right now. A feeling Caera wishes to cling onto. Especially with the gloom, the storms that have encapsulated them over the last few years. She then slowly rises, allowing Alvera to absorb everything she has heard, before swiveling to her right; walking around the couch.
Preparing to write down the itinerary they wish to take with them on this journey. Her soft smile radiating. Nothing else matters to her right now, aside from this adventure; ensuring that it is the best it can be for Alvera. That it can liberate her from the agony residing within her core. That it wasn't just a ploy to lure them away from isolation, into a trap laid by somebody who wishes to deceive them. Whoever they may be. Yet Caera is unfazed, for she sees this as a chance to discover just what lays within the mystery. The enigma that is FCPW.
