The Seamstress of Hulda Street(8-Chapter Challenge for @justwriteit)

Chapter Two

Down a dank and shadowy corridor Rose trudged, the bottom of her dress fluttering over creaky and worn ebony floorboards. She skirted cracked and faded vases sprouting dead, petrified flowers, their faint musty smell no match for the blood in the bucket, and she flitted past her cramped bedroom, her tiny kitchen and her even smaller water closet, until she reached the end. 

The blood sloshed as she came to a stop before a framed painting spanning from floor to ceiling and where a dim lamp cast a ghostly glow. 

The painting was of a landing with walls on either side and adorned with portraits of family members, Rose's grandparents, her father, her mother, sisters and brothers, all gone, all having met their maker in the War of Ages. And at the end of the landing was the top of a set of stairs descending into darkness. 

After a deep breath, one filled with a tremor of many things, of sadness, anger and regret, Rose whispered, 'My love. My army.' 

As always, her words had their usual outcome. 

The lamp above sputtered as the painting began to shimmer with a bright radiance. 

Though blinding, Rose didn't blink, didn't cower from the luster, for the effect of her magic was calming and gave her jaded mind a brief respite. She kept her eyes focused until the flicker waned and vanished like an embering piece of parchment, the canvas disappearing with it. 

Instantly, the light above ceased its faltering, and Rose stepped over the frame, plodding down onto the now existing landing beyond. And as she walked on, she gazed at the portraits, her beloved, giving them all somber smiles, before plunging into the abyss. 

Countless times she had made the journey down so no lantern was needed. But she counted every tread until a hundred was reached. A single step less or more and a horrible death would await not just her but anyone who was too prying.

It had to be as such.

With her free hand, Rose pointed a finger at the pitch black before her and gave it a twirl, bringing a speck of light to the corner of her eye. With more revolutions, the light lengthened and curved until there was an outline of a dazzling arched door. 

A flick of the finger and the entrance burst open with a vaunt, revealing a large circular room with walls of stone and a jagged ceiling dripping with murky, foul water. Tables strewn with an array of objects dotted the floor and a glass vat bubbled away with a purple luminescence at the side. The visible magic was the chamber's only source of light, the sparkling sorcery casting eerie shapes that lurched and wrested like many of the residents and dwellers of Hulda Street. 

Stepping inside the room, Rose glanced at the other end and to another painting similar to the other. There was a landing and a set of stairs but the walls were adorned not with portraits of her family, but weapons. Many of them. Swords, daggers, axes, arrows and guns. And all speckled with a silvery glint. 

My Love. My Army. 

Though impossible for anyone other than her or another rare magic wielder to infiltrate, like the other, seeing that it was still a painting gave Rose comfort. Her secret was still hers and hers alone. 

After setting the bucket down on a table, Rose meandered over to the vat and waved her hand with a flourish, breaking a charm to show its contents. And from the gurgling magic, as if hanging like a puppet, floated a young man three years younger than her. A young man not dead yet neither alive. Suspended in time. 

The young man's face was the most beautiful Rose had ever seen and it sent her heart pounding. It was a face that hadn't aged since it happened, the hideous bite mark gouging into the chin not fouling her opinion. And it never would. 

Rose's gaze lingered on the injury, the memory of the very moment that filthy monster took her love from her soon churning through her mind like a fierce whirlwind as it always did. 

On that fateful day, it was the overpowering stench that had woken her with a start. And she had barely stirred her love when the monster stormed into their new home, their humble dwelling in the woods. All it had wanted to do was kill, Rose's budding magic having no effect on the beast. But she was able to run it off with a hail of bullets but not before it sunk its fangs into her future, into her world. 

Staring into her love's hazel eyes, Rose caressed the glass in front of her, wishing to touch him again, and said, even though the young man could not hear, and definitely not reply, 'My magic has strengthened since. I don't know if it will ever be powerful enough to bring you back so more blood is needed. I know you'd disapprove, to want me to forget and carry on with my life without all this violence but I can't let it lie. The last batch brought no breakthrough in finding a cure and Daegol has asked again for a bigger supply. I promise it will eventually be found. It has to. And when that day comes, we will be reunited, be together again, my love.' 

A faint huff escaped Rose before she continued, 'I wish I could stay to tell you of my day – oh, my what customers came by. You would laugh to no end – but like I said, more blood is needed and I must be off once more.' After blowing her love a kiss, lingering her pining gaze for just a bit longer on his handsome features, she waved her hand again and the young man disappeared back into the purling magic, back into his cocoon. 

A mirror hanging on the wall behind took Rose's attention next. And as she looked at herself, she combed a strand of long brown hair from her face, revealing a small scar on her cheek, her own injury from that fateful day. Though painful, she had been lucky it had been only a claw that inflicted it. 

'I look tired,' Rose then said dolefully. 'I feel tired. Beyond weary. But there's no rest for the wicked. Nor for me. Now, what do I fancy for tonight's outing? Maybe something older this time.' She focused on her reflection, imagining every change in detail before saying, 'Converto te a puero usque ad senem.' 

With a wink, the mirror rippled as though a pebble had been plunged into water. And the moment it concluded, her appearance began to change. First, her bright blue eyes grew pale as if a clear sky had turned cloudy with wisps. Her hair started to shrink and thin, and its color changed to a pure white. And her face began to age, her faint unnoticeable wrinkles lengthening and deepening as if the wind and rain were eroding each one. Her skin and ears sagged, moles sprouted and aging spots blotted all over. Lastly, her short and upturned nose expanded, filling out until it looked like a bulbous and veiny growth, her nostrils budding with sprigs and crust. 

Rose smiled a weak smile as a stranger now stared back. Although, she was sure she could see a hint of her grandmother, the one who uncovered the world of magic for her. 

'This will do,' Rose said before changing her voice into something more appropriate, into a strained tone as if her lungs were filled with the smoke that choked the city. 'They will never suspect little old frail me. Time to rid this world of more monsters. I wonder how many there will be this time? I'll try for five. One more than the last. Now to make my appearance more inviting and innocent.' She focused again and said, 'Resiliunt ossa mea ad me parva.' 

A snap of her fingers sent her back and neck twisting with ear-piercing cracks. Her neck then crooked and she violently hunched over. She felt no pain and snapped her fingers again. This time her legs bowed out from the knees, shortening her stature even more. 

Now with her gaze forced down, Rose saw that her dress was too long, too baggy, much of its fabric bunched up on the floor. But with only a thought, her garment tightened and hemmed until she could see her swollen and patchy ankles bulging out from her boots. Another wave brought holes, a seeping of color and a foulness that could rival her prey. 

Now she was ready. 

Turning around, she craned her head, her bones groaning in protest, and spied the vat again. 

'Hopefully one day we will both grow old like this. Together. Yes, wouldn't that be nice.' Rose then hobbled across the room, gathered up a few empty buckets from the tables, and made her way back up the stairs.