buried in water

[Ophelia Debienne]

"Martha? Where's Katrina?" Ophelia asked, hesitating in the doorway of her room. The housekeeper turned to her with a smile, but something about it seemed hollow, as it always did to Ophelia. Not even Rin and Father liked to be around Martha. She made them nervous. No… only a few ghosts showed themselves with Martha in the room--the hanged woman in the foyer and the bleeding man in the kitchen, for sure. Ophelia hadn't had a chance to test it on the women in the cellar with their wide eyes. She didn't like it down there.

"Katrina had to go take care of her mother, dear, she's got a fever something awful," the older woman explained as she rolled up her sleeves. "I'll help you with your bath, same as she would have."

"But Katrina and I--"

"No buts, child, you're getting a bath."

"That's not--"

"Come now, come get in. I made sure the water is nice and hot so you won't get cold."

Cautiously, Ophelia stepped closer so she could peer into the pewter basin. It was full almost to the top and steam rose off the surface along with a floral scent. The young woman recoiled. Too full, too much water in one place. She'd talked to Katrina about not filling it so high, and perhaps not even having to sit down in it except to do her hair. The girl had been sweet and helpful, making her feel at ease--the opposite of her abrasive superior.

"You're not going to drown in a bath, Miss. Nobody drowns in a bath."

"It's deep! You could fit all of me in there."

"Come here, Miss, I'll show you. You can't fall under, I'd be there to pull you up. Come here."

The woman grabbed Ophelia by her wrist, rough fingers clamping down like a vice as she yanked the frail woman over to the basin. Ophelia whimpered and twisted her arm back and forth, trying to get loose, but all she managed to do was leave her wrist wrenched and painful. The housekeeper wouldn't let go. Ophelia's knees bumped against the tub and water sloshed all over her feet and onto the floor. The housekeeper groaned. Ophelia tried to pull away again, but her foot slipped--she fell to her knees, barely catching herself on the tub before she cracked her head against the edge. Her face was inches from the surface of the water, dark and reflective, shiny with the oil of soap and perfumes.

"Look, you couldn't drown in that. It's just a bath."

"I could, I really could, I will--"

"The only way you'd drown in there, you stupid girl, is if someone pushed you under."

"Wha--"

Before she had a chance to look back at the housekeeper, the woman's strong hands were tangled in her hair, forcing her face into the water. The water seemed to boil as Ophelia tried to scream, creating a stream of useless bubbles that foamed past her ears. The water was hot in her nose, her mouth, pushing into her lungs. Arms and legs scrambled against the tub and the floor, trying to get loose, but the housekeeper's sturdy body was behind her, pressing her against the tub. She was going to die.

Panic began to set in--she could feel the water taking over, dragging her deep, pressing blackness against her mind and her eyes. But she couldn't let this happen. Instead of trying to pull away, she kicked against the bottom of the tub and pulled the top toward her chest, making it tip. She managed a gasp of air before Martha pushed her deeper. Again she kicked, another gasp, one more kick--there! The tub toppled over, pouring its contents all over both women and the floor.

"Useless little witch! Why can't you just die quietly and save your family the suffering?"

Martha tossed Ophelia to the floor like a ragdoll and her face crashed into the wood floor. But she was loose. She scrambled away, using the wall to push herself to her feet as she coughed and heaved the water from her lungs. Swearing, Martha lurched after her, but slipped on the slick floor and fell. Ophelia took advantage of her fall to make a run for the door--she made it. Out the door, down the hallway. Martha was hot on her trail, shouting her name. Her wet skirts slapped against her legs, nearly tripping her, but she couldn't stop. Another servant saw her on the way past the kitchen. Ophelia didn't slow. That wasn't far enough. She needed to be away, away, away.

Through the mudroom, out the back door, through the garden. Faster, faster. Martha stopped in the doorway, screaming after her. "If you know what's good for you, you won't come back, you miserable wretch! Go join your cursed ghosts!"

It wasn't until she'd cleared the gardens and run into the wood that she realized she was crying. Sobs ripped violently from her chest. Barefoot and dripping wet, she ran aimlessly into the woods she hadn't seen since she was a child. She was lost already, but she ran deeper. Branches tore at her face and arms. Singsong voices called her name from many directions. She slowed, looking around. Who was there?

There! Behind the oak! A glimpse of a white shirt. She ran toward it, but it vanished just as fast, leaving only an echoing giggle in its wake. There! Just ahead, a mass of dark curls disappeared behind another trunk. She followed the child deeper and deeper until she finally neared a clearing. No more trees to hide behind. And there, beyond the tree line, was the ink-bottle green surface of the lake. She stopped cold in her tracks, feeling as if the bathwater that had been so hot was now turning to ice. This was. where Rin had drowned.

Ahead of her, the surface of the lake began to churn. She took one step forward, then another, creeping towards it to get a better look. A small arm rose from the water, waving frantically, then a dark-haired child, gasping for air. Rin!

Ophelia ran forward--she had to help him. The water was cold as ice, up to her shins, her knees, her thighs--Rin was still ahead of her, arms waving, screaming for Mother. She pushed against the heaviness of her soaked skirts, against the suction of the water. She had to get to him!

"Ophelia! Lia come back!" Rin's voice screamed… from behind her. "Lia, run!" [/b]She stopped. What? She looked back to where Rin stood on the shore, screaming for her to come back, to get out of the lake. But wasn't he…?

The giggle from before sounded behind her, close as could be. She whipped back around in time to see a smiling face...one with too many teeth. She screamed as something dragged her deep into the lake. This was nothing like the bath--cold, thick, and everywhere, there was nothing to struggle against but water. Her limbs thrashed in the oily darkness, but the grip on her ankle never lessened. She couldn't tell which way was up and which was down--everything was water.

She was going to die.

Amias Draven

[Amias Draven]

There was nothing but silence and the wind now, brushing passed him up on one of the highest cliffs of Tresteria. He was alone there, except for the poor, dead sap who was a collapsed heap at the rocky edge. Amias drew his dark gaze away from the ocean ahead, planting a booted foot against the man's side before giving him a good shove. He watched quietly as the corpse rolled off from the cliff, dropping swiftly into the cold waters below where the tide and fish would take care of him.

A slow, drawn in breath, he lingered no more than a second before turning to mount the horse awaiting to take him back into the trees. Spring meant the forest was a bit more alive and welcoming, more green again as the sounds of crashing waves dissipated with each passing minute and were replaced with crunching of leaves and song birds. It was strange how it seemed to immediately calm him.

But a frightened, feminine scream did not.

Amias drew the equine to a slow halt, wondering if he was imagining things. Then, he heard it again, along with the crazed splashing of water. It was still far, but close enough for him to pinpoint the location. There was a pond nearby, he had past it numerous times before, but still he did not move. Some fool probably found themselves in a horrible predicament, and that wasn't his problem.

Only, when he heard the cries again, it echoed in his head. The scars on his face suddenly burned icy hot.

He grimaced, his body already turning the horse in the direction before his mind could accept it and possibly stop him. Urging the animal faster, he steered it further into the woods until he broke through into the clearing, immediately spotting the thrashing figure in the middle of the pond.

Cursing under his breath, he practically leapt off from the saddle before the horse came to a complete stop; unclasping the light cloak from his shoulders, followed by the belt with his sword. They were haphazardly thrown aside as Amias rushed into the murky, cold water. He found the immediate slope, where he slipped beneath the surface temporarily but a hand managed to seize one of her small wrists and pull her to him. An arm wrapped around her waist, leaving him one to try and swim with, yet those skirts of hers, heavy with water, made it difficult.

When he was able to find his footing finally, he hauled her up and out of the water before collapsing to his knees at the edge.

[Ophelia Debienne]

Ophelia was oblivious to the stranger running into the water, summoned by her scream. Controlled completely by panic and instinct, she'd lost all sense of reality. All sense, that is, until something distinctly human grabbed her wrist. As soon as she was grounded to something living, the skeletal grip on her ankle weakened. Although it still tugged on her, making it hard for the man to clear that spot, he still managed to drag her free.

She tried to stay aware of what was happening, trying to understand, but the darkness sang sweetly to her. Her head lolled, and her body was limp as she was pulled from the water. When the stranger fell to his knees, however, Ophelia was tipped so that she was sitting upright, which was apparently enough to remind her lungs that they weren't meant to be full of water.

Somehow she was aware enough to instinctively decide that spitting algae and filth all over a stranger wasn't polite when they'd just saved your life. She rolled away from him onto her hands, although they slipped on the mossy stones. She caught herself on her elbows and heaved, inky water falling from her mouth. Even when it was gone her lungs heaved for air as if she'd forgotten how to breathe. Her hair hung in wet curtains around her face as she coughed and sputtered.

When she'd finally managed to stop choking, she slowly rolled back to where she'd been, though she propped herself up with her hand in the mud behind her rather than relying on the man to hold her up. Her breathing was still coming in hard pants, but she was starting to fall back into a decent rhythm. She pulled her hair out of her face with one hand, tucking it over the opposite shoulder as she turned to look curiously at the person who'd pulled her out of the water.

It was a man dressed all in black, with longish hair that might have been wavy if it weren't just as soaked as her own. He looked rough. Unpolished, somehow. All his edges were uneven, his clothes were asymmetrical, the scars on his face were only on one side… And yet, she didn't think he was bad. He was haunted; she could tell that without even looking around. She could just see it in his face. He carried a heavy weight.

"He ran right in to get you, Lia. He didn't even wait for his horse to stop." Lin's voice supplied from behind her, reminding her what she'd seen.

There had been someone in the lake… Lin… No. That was not Lin out there. Whatever it was, it was evil. She shivered and pulled her knees towards her chest, curling in on herself at the memory of all those teeth. "It had too many teeth. Too many sharp teeth…" she murmured, shaking her head as the tremors spread through her body. The movement made her realize how close they still were to the water; the man's legs were still in the shallows. She skittered clumsily back a foot or so, before leaning forward to grab the man by his arm and tug him away from the water.

"You shouldn't be in that water. Out. Out, out, out. Something evil is in there," she insisted desperately.

[Amias Draven]

Heaving lightly for breath, he eventually slumped forward a little on his hands just as the young woman turned to heave violently, ridding her lungs of the foul, pond water. He could feel the grime from it all over his clothes and leather armor, causing him to grumble under his breath in mild annoyance. What the hell was she even doing out here?

Amias looked around, trying to see if there was anyone else nearby, if she had come by horse, or a carriage perhaps, anything. There was nothing but the trees with their happily chirping birds as if someone hadn't just nearly died.

Before he could inquire any further, she was talking, immediately drawing his attention back over to see her curled up there on the ground. 'It had too many teeth. Too many sharp teeth...' she said, bringing him pause. What on earth was she speaking of? It was a small lake- it wasn't big enough to house anything deadly like that.

Still, she was suddenly tugging on his arm, urging him away from the water's edge. Instinct was to pull his arm free and ignore this stupidity, but he relented, only because he would have to worry about drying off now. Amias crawled away from the water, but growled quietly the entire way.

'You shouldn't be in that water. Out. Out, out, out. Something evil is in there.'

As he moved to sit on the forest floor, he was glancing over to her with this mixed look of confusion and annoyance. Clearly there was something...off about her. Maybe she swallowed too much pond water. Frustrated, he ran hands through his sodden hair. "There's nothing in there, girl," he chided lowly. "What were you even doing in there?" Honestly, he didn't care, so he didn't know why he asked. "You should go back the way you came, it's not safe out here." Clearly. He wasn't going to save her a second time if she decided to go for another swim.

[Ophelia Debienne]

"I'm not a girl, I'm a grown woman," Ophelia retorted sourly through chattering teeth, in spite of an unpleasant twinge in her stomach reminded her that she was echoing her mother. The tremors were getting stronger, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were merely cold, but she knew better. This was the same way it always happened: trembling, weak knees, then the edges of her vision would start to go black, and once she couldn't hold it off any longer, she'd be gone. She'd wake up somewhere else, sometimes in minutes, sometimes hours, with no memory of what had happened. But this was no time for one of her fits. She just needed to stay calm, and it would pass.

"I wasn't just out for a swim. I would never. I hate water. I hate it. But I thought I saw…" She looked past him, out at the water. She'd thought someone was in trouble. Just like him. "I jumped in the same reason you did. I thought I saw someone drowning out there. A child. I was wrong, that's all."

She sighed and pulled her hair forward from her shoulder, twisting it to wring it out. Back the way she came, he said, like it was that simple. She wished it were. But she couldn't go back. Martha had finally tried to kill her, and she wasn't about to give that monstrous woman a second chance at it.

"As for going back, I can't do that. There's nowhere left to go." Saying it out loud, the finality of it hit her. She didn't have a home to go to. Her lips trembled for a moment before she pressed them into a thin line. She wouldn't cry anymore. She'd done enough of that.

[Amias Draven]

Dark eyes drifted sidelong to her as she clearly appeared to be bothered by the slight name calling. Well, to him, anyone who foolishly found themselves alone out here, in the most obvious section of water, was a damned child in his eyes.

Amias scoffed at her retort, but was quick to notice how she shivered, her teeth chattering violently. Somehow, it just annoyed him further because he needed to get back to the estate...not babysit this "grown woman". Normally, he wouldn't have lingered. He would have been on his way already, leaving her there, and yet this was turning out to be one of those very rare occasions where an ounce of chivalry showed. It wouldn't last.

At her explanation, he glanced over his shoulder at the murky water that had finally stilled. How on earth could she think anyone would be in that water? His lips pursed, as though he was ready to ask that very question but he refrained.

'As for going back, I can't do that. There's nowhere left to go.'

Amias was rolling his eyes before looking back at her. "Is that so?" he challenged, his voice quiet; groaning slightly as he finally got up to his feet. "You certainly haven't been out here for very long...in your fine undergarment." He wasn't blind- she came from money, even if she looked like a drowned rat right now. "Go home," he added sternly, moving to approach his horse.

[Ophelia Debienne]

Ophelia scowled back at him, irritated that he insisted on treating her like a child in spite of her protests. He was right, she hadn't been out here long, yet, but that didn't make her situation that much better. It just meant it hadn't had time to get worse.

As he went to her horse, she tried to get to her own feet. She made it almost all the way up before her knees buckled and she wound up right back on her hands and knees in the mud and gravel. "Bloody hell," she swore under her breath as she took a moment to breathe, resting her forehead against the ground. Come on, girl, you can do this, she encouraged herself. "You're not going to let yourself wither away without a struggle after escaping a murderer, are you?"

She pushed herself to her feet again, and by spreading her feet a little farther and keeping her arms out a ways on either side of her, she was able to stay standing. Her knees were shaking just as hard as the rest of her, of course, but she was upright. "I told you," she argued, taking a tentative step toward the far side of the clearing, "I'm not," Another step. Another push of the darkness around her vision. She swayed slightly and put her hand against a large rock for balance, then pushed herself off it and stepped far enough to catch her balance on another one. "Going back." One more, just one step at a time... She could do this. "I'm not giving that--" Each time she stepped, she had to pause and focus on her feet. --bloody murderess--" She must look like a drunkard, wobbling her way along the shore. "--a second chance."

She was making decent enough progress, despite having to work at it. "But by all means--be on your--way--I'm f--" She stopped and pressed a hand to her eyes. It was getting worse, but she couldn't stop this close to the house, let alone this close to whatever had just tried to drown her. The darkness pressed back, even as she struggled against it. "I'm fi--" She swayed like a tree in a strong wind, and her last word disappeared along with her consciousness in a soft sigh. "Fine..."

Ophelia crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, all in an unnatural heap, and her head cracked sharply against the rocks. Blood leeched onto the wet stone, unnaturally bright against their darker shades.

[Amias Draven]

Amias didn't have to look to hear her struggling to get up. Maybe it was why he subconsciously took his time in checking the horse's tack when he knew very well that he didn't have to.

He should just ignore this and head back to La Belle. He had already helped her once, it wasn't in his nature to do so again. Not to mention, if she refused to go back to her home, what in all of Tresteria was he expected to do with her? Drop her at the nearest tavern?

'I told you-'

Well, here we go again. With his back facing her, Amias rolled his eyes and sighed heavily as she continued to struggle and attempt to berate him at the very same time. Any other time, he might have found it admirable...but he was tired, wet, now cold, and just had a scuffle with a now dead man. He wasn't in the mood for childish antics.

'I'm not giving that...bloody murderess...a second chance.'

Alright, so that paused him for a second. Maybe his curiosity shouldn't have piqued, but he was turning to glance over his shoulder at her, watching as she wobbled like a newborn fawn.

Did someone try to kill her? Amias looked to the lake as if wondering whether this murderess she spoke of tried drowning her in it. She was a poor killer if that were the case, not checking to see if her victim had stopped breathing. Regardless, it made sense why this girl was out here then.

'I'm fi- fine...'

Down she went like a doll, her blood spilling across the rocks.

"Fuck." He clenched his jaws tightly, and after a second, he grabbed his cloak that had been draped across the horse's saddle, and rushed back over to her. Immediately examining that head wound, he realized it wasn't as terrible as it looked.

Then again, for a man who killed for a living, he probably shouldn't be the judge of that.

Tearing off a piece of that cloak, Amias made quick work of wrapping the fabric strip around her head, tightly but not too tightly, to try and stop the bleeding. Once he was able to wrap the dry cloak around her shoulders, he wasn't thinking any further as he hauled her up into his arms.

"Foolish, fuckin' girl..." he murmured to himself all the while bringing her back to his patient equine. It took a bit of finagling, but he managed to get both of them up into the saddle, bracing her against his chest, before taking off towards La Belle in a hurry.

[Ophelia Debienne]

Ophelia was lost to the world. In her mind's eye, she was running through the forest again--though this time the trees never ended. They grew more twisted and sharp, ripping at her skin with thorns like needles as that haunting laughter echoed behind her. Other voices mixed in as fog seeped between the trees. They questioned her, demanding to know why she wasn't fulfilling her calling, why she wasn't carrying their messages.

In the world of the living, her body was still limp, though her eyes moved rapidly beneath fluttering lids. She mumbled here and there in her unnatural sleep, though little was clear enough to understand save for a few words here and there: "No...No I'm sorry… Rinaldo please…"

It wasn't until they were nearing the end of her journey that she began to stir. She groaned and brought a hand to her head, automatically feeling for the source of the pain. Her hand brushed fabric, and she frowned, sitting up a bit more. She'd missed something. A fit? Her memory came back in hazy patches. She couldn't remember what she'd been saying, only that she'd been trying to walk away until the fit had taken her.

She realized slowly that she was on a horse, that someone was riding behind her. "Jules? No..." she murmured, opening her eyes just barely enough to squint between her lashes--any more light than necessary was like a knife to the brain. She turned over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the grumpy stranger who'd pulled her from the lake. Huh. She wouldn't have thought he'd be willing to help her again, but apparently, his instinct was to do it, whether he liked it or not. Ophelia sighed.

"Thank you, whoever you are," she said quietly, feeling a bit guilty that she'd had to rely on his kindness not once but twice. She owed him her life twice over--and the first thing she'd done when they met was argue with him. "Sorry about earlier. I was...not myself."

[Amias Draven]

He didn't know why he was doing it. Amias normally didn't meddle in the affair of others unless it was the Venturi, and it was only if he had do. He was a good dog, he'd taken orders from Francisco and never questioned the man, doing exactly as he was told. With the master gone now and his son, Enzo, needing to step into the spotlight, Amias was beginning to feel a little lost. The only thing was, he still wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing. Enzo was his closest and dearest friend, but he wasn't like his father. Not entirely.

Still, Amias was having to clean up Francisco's leftover mess, even in his death. He didn't want to see it affect Enzo, so he did it quietly and willingly.

However, this? This foolish girl and her strange ramblings, he owed her nothing. In all honesty, he mostly did not care whether she lived or died, but the man still had some sort of conscience. Someone had tried to hurt her, and she clearly needed assistance- he already had enough blood on his hands, he wasn't ready to let her blood stain them further.

'...Rinaldo please...'

Amias stiffened at the name, his jaws clenching. It was the name of the one he, quite literally, just stabbed to death and pushed over the cliffs. Of course, there could be any number of men with that name in Tresteria, and he fought to push it out of his mind, as strange as it was.

Nearly to La Belle, the girl began to stir again, calling him by another's name. Even though she realized that he wasn't this "Jules", he didn't bother acknowledging it further. In fact, his eyes only flickered over to her face for a brief moment before they returned to their path ahead.

She was thanking him then, but he didn't bother to answer with anything but a soft noise from his throat, something akin to a light grunt. No, he didn't share his name. Then, she apologized, and for whatever reason, he refrained from rolling his eyes. Perhaps he just wasn't the type for small talk. "Sure," he said flatly before the path opened up and they would be able to view La Belle manor there in the short distance.

"This is the residence of the Venturi, girl," he warned lowly. "It's best you remain yourself while here." Was he mocking her? Maybe, but it hadn't been his full intention.

[Ophelia Debienne]

Ophelia's brow furrowed, and she tipped her head so far to the side as she considered his remark that it nearly touched her shoulder. Venturi? Why did that sound familiar? It wasn't a title, so it must be a family name, she thought. Venturi….Venturi… No, she couldn't remember. It had been too long since she'd been out of the house.

"Hm," she answered noncommittally, looking curiously at the landscape. The house she could begin to see was a pretty one, not quite so dreary as home. She wondered what kind of people lived there. Did they have servants too? A mother, father, and children? And what kind of ghosts would they have? Would there be a hanging woman in their foyer?

Hm, ghosts. That reminded her...hadn't she been dreaming of them just now? She raised a hand to rub her temple. There had been a lot of fog...A cliff… And someone had pulled her over with him. She couldn't remember why. What a strange dream. She'd never even stood on a cliff before, let alone fallen off one.

She peeked over her shoulder at the stranger again. He looked as grumpy as he sounded. Well, beggars couldn't be choosers, as they said, so she oughtn't to be ungrateful. She'd gotten away from her murderess and that monster in the lake...so that was what mattered, wasn't it?

"What's a Venturi?" she asked curiously, tipping her head to the other side. "Are you a Venturi?"

[Amias Draven]

Any respectable noble knew of the Venturi, while a lot of the lower class envied them for rising up from nothing. So, the fact that this girl- this young woman- didn't know who the family was was surprising to him. Had he been wrong about her being from money? All the signs were there, almost loud and clear.

Amias didn't turn his head, but he regarded her briefly with a sideways glance and furrow of his brow. What's a Venturi? He nearly scoffed at that.

"They run one of the most prominent banks in Tresteria," he answered lowly, steering the horse around the side of the manor, quite clearly avoiding the front entrance, or any main entrance for that matter. They were headed towards the servants door. "And no, I am not one of them. I work for them."

Perhaps Enzo would argue that, but Francisco had always reminded him of who he was, and Amias was not of their blood. He was nothing but a filthy rat from the street.

Finally drawing to a stop, Amias quickly but carefully slipped down from the saddle; barely asking her if she needed assistance as he was pulling her down soon after. That was when an elderly woman rounded the corner with a large basket full of folded laundry.
"None of that in this house, y'hear!" she practically bellowed in an accusing whisper.
Amias cringed only a little, but he actually had to suppress a smile because he knew what Fayette was insinuating. The other woman was in nothing but a shift, albeit a filthy and wet one. And his cloak, nonetheless.

"I found her in the woods," he corrected, just as quietly, as if he also didn't want anyone in the household to hear. "You'll see to it that she's washed and fed, won't you?" His tone was almost softer when speaking to her, and yet still maintained that gruffness.
The old maid immediately paused in her steps to glare at him. Normally, he would at least offer Faye a grin, but he really wasn't in the mood, even if, deep down, he was at least a tiny bit amused by this whole thing. It helped that the woman always made him feel at ease, despite the fact that she was often berating him. She might've been the mother he never had if he ever allowed himself to get attached in such ways.
Amias added, still keeping a grin from his face, "Could put her to work after-" A pause, he regarded Ophelia with an almost knowing look. "Since she refuses to let me take her home." What else was he supposed to do with her?