At the Royal Bethlehem...again.
I am clay.
I drown in it, now. It fills my lungs, it chokes my breath, it seeps into my nostrils and pores, it is slowly becoming a vital part of me.
Except for my eyes. Those are still green. Or brown. Or red. Or gold. I'm not sure anymore.
I had to learn to walk again, you know? Like a baby. I am reborn into a hybrid of life and earth, a golem, a ( Read more... )
I drown in it, now. It fills my lungs, it chokes my breath, it seeps into my nostrils and pores, it is slowly becoming a vital part of me.
Except for my eyes. Those are still green. Or brown. Or red. Or gold. I'm not sure anymore.
I had to learn to walk again, you know? Like a baby. I am reborn into a hybrid of life and earth, a golem, a ( Read more... )
Asher sweeps his eyes over the room but stops on the hallway nearest his bench. Is that Honoria? He leaves the bench and quietly moves closer until he is close enough to see her face. He sees the tear stains on her face and feels his heart constrict. To avoid startling her, he makes sure his remaining footstep is audible as he moves closer and calls out to her.
If she will let him, he will slowly move his hand to rest on her arm. "Hey," he looks into her eyes, watching for any uncertainty or fear.
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Her last few words come out in a frustrated shout, and she grabs at him, shrieking, "Do you know where he is that one that man of clay that lying clay monster he said we would be together but he never comes never ever he's left me to die?"
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He jerks when she grabs him and tries to interrupt her tirade by repeating her name. As soon as she quiets, he takes her hand firmly and brings it up in front of her face. "Honoria, look at your hand! What do you see - flesh or clay?"
He hopes that she is able to see her hand as it really is, but he has seen enough people in this Hotel talking to invisible beings or agonizing over nonexistent wounds to know that Honoria may see something different than what he sees.
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"Familiar you are to me just like someone I knew once or I still know I can't tell," Honoria says, softly and deliberately. "There is flesh beneath the clay I think I feel it moving like water beneath a bridge pulsing slowly slowly but it's going away melting into me fading gently away. I was once flesh but I am changing from summer to winter from flesh to clay."
Her face is sad as she looks at him, but her voice grows insistent, pleading. "Can you help me save me carry me from this prison of clay this trap this place I find myself? Can you turn me back make me remember how to be flesh and not clay or shale or rock?"
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Only she wasn't freed. Her eyes opened one last time to look at him with- with what? Sadness, pity, hurt, what was behind that look? - as the hammer came down and shattered the clay and everything else with it. The clay man sobbed; Asher could only stare as the girl crumbled to dust in front of him. He must have ran away after that because he can't remember how he got home.
The cats taunted him over the incident for weeks, he was sure of it. "Who makes the clay men?" one cat would loudly ask another. "Why, other clay men, of course," the other would respond.
Clay men make other clay men, clay men make other clay men.
No! It can't be true! But what other reason for the kidnappings? The clay man claimed love, but are they all really for that reason? Honoria has seen it; she's been to the Clay Quarters, probably to investigate another kidnapping. Now she believes that she is the victim - does she even recognize her name when he calls it? They cannot talk here - there are too many cats and lizards around.
Asher finally relaxes and reaches up to place his hand over her hand touching his cheek. If she will let him, he'll take it in his own and begin leading her down the hall. "I'll help you. I won't leave you on your own," he tells her firmly. "Now, do ya remember where your room is?" he asks, thinking she might feel safer being somewhere slightly more familiar. "Or we could go ta mine."
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She suddenly stops. Her voice trembles, and she starts to look around her. "But if he comes he will crush you smash you to bloody pulp to strings and sticks beware my love beware my enemy I don't want you to die. Don't become clay for me I did that and look where I ended up in dark damp despair and pain all pain any pain don't be like me do you hear?"
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If she calms down enough to continue walking, he'll lead her down the hall and up the stairs to his flat and into the sitting room.
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His voice is calming, and she is quieter, though still mumbling softly, as she follows him.
When they reach the sitting room, she looks around for a few moments before locking her eyes back onto Asher. Her hair is unkempt, strands falling every which way, and her eyes are red from crying and lack of sleep. She wrenches away from him, or tries to.
"Why is he gone my love my enemy the golem I love he said he would be with me we would finally be together so why would he leave now?" A sob escapes her throat. "I thought he loved me I did I really did and now I am clay and he is gone he left me left me here to the dark and the damp. He said he wouldn't leave me and now you say the same what is the difference just because he was clay and you were flesh what makes you different from that clay clay man?"
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He fidgets with a button on the sleeve of his jacket and tells her, "I guess...I'm not really sure what ta say, really. But I won't force you to become flesh or clay, an' I won't force you to stay 'ere." He adds quietly, "I jus' want to stay with you."
He looks away blushing then moves to the kitchen to find a clean rag. "You should probably sleep," he says loud enough for her to hear. Once the rag is found, he soaks it in the sink and takes it to Honoria. "Here," he says, holding the rag out for her, "I, uh, thought ya might feel better after washing your face."
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"You are so familiar man of flesh I cannot recall who you are and it hurts my head to try perhaps I have been clay for too long. Tell me who you are your voice is something I would follow anywhere to destruction and beyond if I wasn't already there tell me your name and how do I know you?"
She takes the rag with some confusion. It's warm and somehow comforting, like the touch of his skin, and she shivers. He's said something about her face? Has she been crying? Why would she be crying? She's clay, after all. They dont cry. She doesn't cry. Honoria looks at him, perplexed, feeling tears run down her face.
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He guides her to the couch and sits, pulling her gently down with him. Seeing her confusion over the rag, he takes it from her and begins wiping the tears from her face. "You've been cryin', see," he tells her. He continues to wipe her face while he uses his other hand to push her hair back from her forehead, taking the chance to run his fingers through it. As he does this, he talks softly. "My name is Asher Wilsford. We work together at the Crimson Ring - you as the house manager and me as a guard. But we're friends, too, an'," he trails off a moment, blushing. "Well, we're together, I guess - courting or whatever term ya 'ave for it. I care about ya, in any case - quite a lot, really."
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"Asher," she says softly, touching his face. "I came to this place because I was sad so very sad and my heart hurt and my mind too, Asher, they hurt so badly. There was a woman a comtessa and she loved a Clay Man, Asher, and he loved her back or so I thought. I left her to him in the dark and the damp and now I think she's dead, Asher, but at least she's not alive. She's clay, Asher, and it's my fault isn't it my fault I should have smashed the clay and freed her but now she can never forgive me, Asher."
Honoria pauses, then closes her eyes. "Asher you're kind and dear and I care too I care so much for you it hurts but it's a good hurt and I want it. How can I leave here how can I leave what should I do can you help me?"
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He is quiet a moment before he asks, "Do ya wan'ta talk about it?"
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"What's real?" she says, leaning against him. "You're real I know you I smell you you're Asher but I don't seem to know myself. Perhaps I'm buried behind under through all of these thoughts in my head, Asher, but as soon as I touch one they all come crashing down like glass or stone or brick and I have to start all over again. But thinking about you I don't feel that way Asher some things are solid. I thought I was the Clay Comtessa and now you call me Honoria is that my name is Honoria my name? I remember someone else calling me that my mother when she says it it's like a song."
Suddenly she pulls back to look at him. "Did I ever tell you about my mother she worked so hard so very hard every day and they repaid her with pain, Asher, so much pain. I came out of that pain and she never hated me but sometimes I hated myself but most of all I hated him that Clay Man that liar he lied to me..." Honoria shakes her head. "There was no Clay Man was there not in my life, Asher, that's another life isn't it?"
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"As for what's real - I'm not sure how to tell ya that. Sometimes memories can seem all mixed up then clear up over time. Other times, ya 'ave ta fight with 'em." He tilts his head to touch hers, taking a moment to think on what to say. "It's like...if ya aren't sure whether a memory or thought is your own, try to think about the details. If the memory isn't yours, ya won't know the details, see?"
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She is quiet for a long time after his suggestion. "Yes that seems sensible I can try that I can think about a memory, Asher. I am thinking about the Clay Man. He is tall so tall and made of clay. He worked for my father." Honoria pauses. "I know my father. No Clay Man ever worked for my father. I grew up above ground. My father is...he's..." Honoria shudders with a sudden rush of anger. "He's awful an awful man but he never had a Clay Man working for him."
Honoria looks at Asher, a slow smile growing on her face. "I remember you and I remember a weasel. Her name is Knives and you helped me shop for her. I remember we went out to dinner and I ate my food and your food too, and then we...we..."
She blushes mightily then, and looks down. "We kissed for a very long time...and I remember..." She trails off, smiling shyly.
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