Sings,

The days had fallen into a comfortable new twirl, breakfast becoming more animated and dinner a calming and peaceful atmosphere. Even still, he felt he had rather learned nothing of her- but that was until he started hearing noises in the night again, not the violent random sounds, they were faint words and cut off shouts.

When she once seemed so alive and bright but a week ago, it was now like seeing an orchid wilt. Her hair looked dull and the movements of her eyes had considerably slowed. Nimbe and Hans couldn't be more concerned when her cleared plates were more and more uneaten.

At night, he made a habit of staying up and listening, wondering if it was some figment of his imagination. The half mumbled words slid under his door, and though he wasn't one to pale at strange sights, he was part-way convinced that his house was haunted.

"Please..." There it was- that wisp of a voice. It sounded like no one he knew; it was strained and raspy. It echoed and repeated more like rain assaulting the ocean, the sounds piling together into half-mute noises. Getting up from his bed, he put on his mask and gloves before walking across the dark span of his room, trying not to trip.

The faint creak of his door swallowed all the sounds from the hallway, and as if it really did belong to a ghost, it vanished. He walked further down the hall towards Viera's room, but the more he listened for it, the more he felt like it wasn't real.

The next night, he listened again, not even attempting to get ready for bed or pretend to sleep. He heard the wind hiss outside his window, and if he closed his eyes, he could hear the blood gushing between his ears. Even the night seemed to be listening- the waxed moon tracing its gaze along the fields and casting translucent shadows through the trees and endangered clouds.

"Please..." It said, that rag-stripped voice.

Leaping to his feet, he opened his door- the hallway nearly pitch black in the night, the portraits exuding from the dark walls beckoningly.

"I'm sorry." A faint gulp. "I'm sorry." Little notes of silence, music almost- dripping unevenly.

"Don't- don't." The voice raised in protest, the words shrinking and shattering. For a moment, the silence cut through once more. Rubbing the mask tenderly, he walked in front of Viera's door and sat down against the wall, thinking. So many things were happening, he felt like he never had the chance to think of it. His eyes trained themselves on the wooden grain of the door- to the intricate hinges and knob. Moments and details danced across his mind; what was she, who was she.

And most importantly, who is Jack?

"Don't make me kill it. Please-" The words growled out loudly, fumbling over one another.

"I'm so hungry-" The edge of the word tilted up- cracking and shaking. More silent notes- more numb backdrop as she traveled between two worlds, whatever happening existing only in the land of her dreams.

"Stop-" Her teeth gritted out, tight and dead. "S-stop-"

A cough, fresh- like everything was happening right now. He couldn't stop the pity from picking up his arms as he stood up, the commotion behind the door growing in each passing second.

He knocked on her door- the words cutting off and a faint russling heard.

"Viera? Are you awake?" The silence made him rush on, the lie ungracefully tripping over his teeth. "I was having a hard time sleeping, and thought that maybe you'd want to come down to the kitchen with me."

It was a redundant question- she was awake, and thinking about the 'why's and 'how's of the scenario was worthless to her now. Gratitude peeked its shy head from under her eyes.

The door creaked open revealing her wrapped tightly in her robe.

"Would you like some tea?"

The pot boiled softly amid the quietness of the house- the beautiful silence of it. A small 'thank you' bounced from her as he poured her a cup and set it down it front of her, them both seated at the small wooden table at the back of the kitchen, the dining room feeling too large and empty.

That late evening, Viera looked even more tired, her eyes closing as she sipped her tea. She barely moved her arms- only reaching for the essentials, and even then she didn't eat much. Her hands tried to brush her hair back, trying to wake herself up, but it didn't help. He knew asking her any questions about it would cut too deeply, so instead he said;

"How can I help you?" Somehow the cool air of the dining room made her eyes collapse further. Each morning she felt weak- the power she felt fading away as her mind tortuously replayed the worst memories- the memories she wanted so desperately to forget. The agony of her nightmares surpassed her fear of him hating her because he made a promise. A promise that she hoped would never be broken.

"Can we..." She bit her cheek painfully, her mind cursing at her for things she should and shouldn't do, things that contradicted each other as much as life contradicted death. To escape her thoughts, she looked at her tea and drew in a slow breath.

"Can we go to the hedge maze? And we'll bring a cloth and a basin of water?" At that, his stomach dropped slightly, and though a part of him was curious, he looked at her tired face. Multitudes of questions were building a tower that reached the endless sky, and her worn eyes told him it was time to ascend.

"Of course." His signature response. At her expectant eyes he nearly slipped from his chair.

"Right now?" She nodded meekly.

"Hans and Nimbe remember?"

Hans and Nimbe he huffed to himself. Getting up and going to the bathing room, he handed her two wash cloths and a basic towel, and he filled a basin with crisp, clear water. Leading the way out the back kitchen door and to the tall double doors that opened to the back garden, she opened the door and she led him to the foot of the maze.

She set down the cloths and walked in a little ways before returning without the towel. She guided him to the tree next to the left pillar of the hedge-way, sitting him down and sitting beside him.

"Stay here," She whispered. "And unless I call your name, don't look." Once he nodded in response, she walked towards the maze and looked at him- wondering if he was keeping his word behind the mask. Beyond that, she walked through the first length of the maze and slowly untied her robe and slipped out of her underthings, the damp night air sending a shiver down her spine. Looking back to the entrance one more time, she left her cloths and walked further to a wider lane that was enclosed from the entire yard, her lungs shaking as she took in a deep breath.

A low whimper crunched from her clenched jaw, the once echoing shouts and violence at the back of her mind made hollow- they were hers now- they would be hers and more.

The bones loudly croaked and chuckled as they pressed against her skin, the pressure and heat rising up against the first familiar rip and shower of blood. A string of oil seemed to splash up her back as she tried to focus this time- her fingers twitching as her mind retreated upon itself and the constructional part of her psyche ruled supreme- cells, sinews, fat- they were each instruments of an orchestra that could play any song you could ever think off. Focusing on those sounds- chanting the song she was conducting beneath her skin, the rolling fire and swarm of re-composition was almost more numbed. The muscles and tendons across her shoulders shifted agonizingly, a pure weep breaking past her tightly sealed lips. I should feel used to this, she thought- I shouldn't be crying anymore. But once the first sob broke through, the others followed. Her chest panged as the tears only added yet more flame to her broiling skin, memories resurfacing as scars that could never be healed. Keep going- keep going; the back of her hand covered her eyes as she took in a deep gulp of air.

A shattered breath broke through her teeth as her mouth slacked, sweat slicking her skin and ticklish trails of blood wrapping around her ribs. Her arms shook painfully as her joins protested- her fingers feeling heavy like she was slowly turning to stone. A mangled sound gasped through her throat as deep aches hummed to life from within her bones. Her fingers tangled themselves into the grass as she pressed her hot brow to the cold earth, closing her eyes.

As if time stopped- everything vanished; the pain, the numbness of her hands pressed into the ground. The sweat and blood felt like overkill now as she stood up, attempting to find balance. Despite how the process had ended, tears still spilled down her face and the demon of the past was trashing its claws against her heart. The lack of physical pain only made it feel lighter and easier to cry, and after holding off for months, she wholly submitted herself to her own emotions. Words stung behind her eyes and lashes bit across her skin, but after awhile, the words felt less fresh and the lashes barely ached.

A carved out space grew within her as she wiped the tears off her face and came back to reality. She wondered what John was thinking- what his impression must be from past the hedge, and another ache pushed against her tender skin. Weak- she hated feeling weak- yet she wanted to feel a warm hand on her back, wanted to look into kind, gentle eyes- blue eyes. At that she rubbed the now-cold blood deeper into her skin. This isn't about being weak anymore, its about being true.

At that thought, her muscles twitched and a light shaa hymned into the midnight atrium; broad wings reaching above the hedge walls. The movements were heavy and bulky, perhaps even especially painful to configure and use, but with a deep, strong breath, she moved awkwardly. A dip of the arm, a stretch of a wing, an envious look to the sky- she looked back to the obscure entrance, wondering what would happen if she flew away, right now. She didn't know where she would go- maybe she would go far, far away- someplace where there were no people; someplace so cold it could numb the past. Releasing the fantasy with a controlled huff, she wrapped the warm feathered wings against her bare skin. She told herself she wasn't going to look at them- this shape brought up specially horrible memories, but doing otherwise would be a betrayal to herself. Her fingers twitched awkwardly as they traced a long mouse-grey feather, a slight tickle tracing upon her skin. This is me, she reminded herself. Me and me only.

She shut her eyes before closing her hand and ripping it out, the prick quick and sharp. Holding the grey feather against the light of the young night sky, it looked like a tear that fell from the round moon's face, and here it was, in her hand.

She hoped that by choosing these wings- choosing to design this too familiar shape- would make her feel better. Her tongue pressed against the top of her mouth as she rubbed her face. Did it make her feel any better?

Looking at her shadow, the wounded part of her admitted that it did make her feel better. Against all the memories and nightmares this godly shape had, all the screams and wails that pressed at the back of her head- doing this herself made her feel a little stronger. All that pain- all that history- it was all under her skin since the beginning, so why avoid this? She spun the feather between her fingers before looking at the towel on the ground, realizing it was selfish to make John sit here with her so late in the night.

Cupping her arm with her right hand, the process retreated- the tears all shed and the shouts all counted. The pain wasn't so horrible now that she had claimed it. Maybe, claiming everything back would make things less horrible too.

A cold breeze snaked up her bones, her hands tightly wrapping the towel around herself. Picking up her robe and underthings, she began to walk back towards the entrance before she stopped in her tracks. Turning around, she quickly picked up the feather and returned to the entrance, deep in thought.

There he was, sitting right where she left him. An indescribable new feeling caught in her throat- the world seeming to buzz slightly. She thought for a moment of what to say, before settling on-

"Thank you for waiting." More tears swam in her eyes, but she did not let them fall. He looked up slowly, a sliver of silence sparkling through the air.

"You can say thank you when we're both inside and going to bed," His voice was warm and hushed- a sort of invisible light-hearted smile stamped to his words. An exhausted grin gave him her response as she sat down, only exposing her ravaged back. They were silent- not awkward, not confused, not content- it was a weird sort of silence. Maybe it was less silence and more just the realization that words didn't have to sit here in this moment, these sort of things weren't suited for them.

In the lack of their words, the chirps of crickets echoed across the lawn, and Viera's glossy eyes watched the lightening bugs hover from plant to plant, to and fro. He ran the cloth over her back, handing her the other rag for her arms. Considered to last time, there was less blood and carnage- but considering last time, he could hear everything more clearly- the violent cracking and breaking of bones, the low creak and murmur of muscles and tendons stretching. And most clearly of all, he could hear her- the sobs and choked whimpers. Hearing that made him especially quiet.

The white fuzz once again bloomed from the gashes along her back, quickly and efficiently sealing everything up. He ran the cloth over once more, seeing a new design. He wondered if she could control them, or if they were influenced by her emotions. No matter if they did or didn't, he found the design to be even more beautiful than the last- curved, non-linear formations that reminded him of flowers. In the dim light, he wondered even more about what was inside Viera's head, and more so the causes of her pain.

Causes, he murmured to himself. Pain like this could never only be due to one thing.

Passing her clothing, he turned around as she got dressed, dumping the water and wringing out the rags. She gently tapped his arm, looking at him.

"Thank you," She said again. "I..."

Her mouth bent sideways before she tried again. Though she wanted to say more- wanted to articulate things more, nothing came to her mind.

"I want you to have this." Her hand felt hot as she held the enormous feather out to him, even more so when she couldn't gauge his reaction. As he gently took the feather in his hand, she fought against the multitudes of thoughts crashing over her head, that heated feeling returning to her face once again.

"I..." A lump formed in her throat. With a collected breath she felt everything relax, regaining her composition.

"I think you deserve at least this." The words were as tender as his, her hand hovering over where he was holding it. It was strange, seeing someone with one of her feathers- holding it so gently and curiously. A thought whispered behind her eyes but she shook it away, drawing back her hand.

"I think I'll be going to bed, would you mind if I missed breakfast?" She picked up the basin and rags, holding them tenderly.

"Not at all, and let me take care of those." She opened her mouth to protest, but a yawn broke off her words, her eyes even more curtained than before. With a sheepish nod she passed him the basin and rags before saying goodnight and going inside.

He watched her go inside before he let out a deep sigh and sat back down, covering his face. Not having answers was draining, and he was beginning to worry if at some point it would become dangerous. Those wails, those sounds- he covered his ears. Useless- the word set a heavy stone on his tongue. All he could do was listen and wait. 'What if's and 'how's flashed against his skin- the rampage broken off by a soft brush against his sleeve.

The feather looked metallic under the night sky, the velvet seal of the tufts un-fragmented. He picked it up from his arm and twirled the feather silently, watching the silver moonlight dance around the thin edge of the feather, curved and fluid. As he held it up to the sky amid the backdrop of the stars, he thought vaguely of angels circling the luminous moon.