Incanto Anima

Chapter 1: The Puppeteer

She shouldn't be here; she didn't belong here. Yet Dear Mater insisted she attend church because it was a duty, an obligation. They needed to keep up the pretense of spirituality in this ancient town, which harbored several rituals and deep religious devotion to God. It started as far back as the medieval ages, where religion was the accepted worldview of the time. So Victorique clasped her hands together in prayer, bowing her head so aureoles of golden wisps veiled her face. Even if the people of the Church would burn and condemn her for being here, considering the arts that she was a practitioner of, Victorique actually liked the meditative silence of the church, the smell of incense and burning candles.

She didn't actually pray to God when the priest told the people in church to kneel and pray. To Victorique, God wasn't real. What was real, what was in front of her, was a dreary town with lethargic people and gray skies. Withered plants, crows everywhere on the rooftops and rafters and church steeples. They watched with beady black eyes. The townspeople regarded them as an ill omen. The crows came when old Severus died. People didn't like Severus, since people thought that he practiced the dark arts. He was a rather odd man, one that isolated himself in his house with all its dust and books and loneliness.

Victorique didn't talk to any of the townspeople, really. Their minds were dull from the dreariness of this life. Everything about this forsaken place reeked of ennui. So Victorique continually repeated to herself how bored she was with this place, how the people were boring and how God was boring and wasn't even real in the first place. Then her thoughts drifted to the void, the stillness, absolute nothingness. The end of the world-death. The people here feared death. They feared being condemned to a life of eternal damnation. But really, what was there to fear about death?

There were no demons with pitchforks waiting to spur the sinners into working in flames, nor was there a heaven with singing angels and the benevolent hand of God. While life was a presence, death was an absence. When Victorique saw death with her own eyes, she saw the dead souls walking through the shadowed lands. There was no sadness, no pain. Yet people who wandered in the shadows lands moved without purpose, aimless. Souls that were once lovers passed by one another, a mother and her son didn't even walk hand in hand with one another. Yes, there was no pain or sadness, but there was also no recognition and love either. Death was the absence of all things. After seeing all this, the people in this town, in the land of the living, might as well be dead.

As the churchgoers murmured their 'amens' and rose, Victorique simply stood up without uttering the word. She brushed off dust from the frills of her dress, before she turned to leave. Alas, these poor people thought that their God would save them from their deaths. No matter how devoted someone was, no matter if someone believed in God or not, no matter how good or sinful a person was, they all ended up in the same place in the end.

When Victorique opened the doors and made her way out into the gray afternoon, crows scattered about in a tethered frenzy, leaving a flurry of black feathers in their wake. A girl with brown curls and dark eyes stood by the entrance, beneath the stairs. A smile remained on her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes. Upon closer inspection, Victorique noticed something odd about the girl's eyes. Simply put, they looked dead. Black tunnels, absence of light and vitality and warmth. Cold eyes, chilling even, even though the smile could be seen as pleasant.

Victorique flicked her golden hair with a single hand, before she descended down the steps and walked straight up to the girl, making direct eye contact with her. The girl stared back, and Victorique remembered the shadowed lands, the souls of people blurred like something half-forgotten, the unmoving stars above the deathly realm. Even if those stars cast a semblance of light into that world, they were a cold comfort, unchanging. Everything in death was a standstill.

"Good day. My name is Marionette. And you are Victorique, are you not?"

Victorique's lips curled into a vicious smile and her eyes glinted with a hint of madness in them. "You have no soul. You're stuck between two worlds, the living and the dead. Pitiful girl, wretched girl. I feel sorry for you."

The pleasant smile on the other girl's face never changed. "Good day. My name is Marionette. How do you do?"

"A fitting name for someone who is nothing more than a doll. Dolls are hollow, you see? Hollow in body and soul, which connects you with death. But since you are stuck in the void between life and death, you try to seek something that will fill your emptiness. Even now as we speak, you're trying to draw something from me. But dear Marionette…" Victorique placed her hands on Marionette's porcelain cheeks. "I am death. The Grim Reaper. Hades. Tartarus. I draw the life out of living things and use that soul residue to imbue life into hollow things. That's why you're here."

"Should you be talking about such things in front of a church, I wonder?" Marionette said with that same smile on her face. Her eyes fluttered once, giving the illusion of life to her face. Marionette then took her face away from Victorique's hands and plucked a fallen feather from the ground. "Such a shame they fly away. I wonder what they look like on the inside? They have such pretty colors inside, don't they?"

Victorique leaned back and let out a laugh. This girl really was a treasure! She liked her already. Victorique then put a hand on Marionette's shoulder while giving her a conspiratorial smile. "I think that you'll do. I need someone like you around. I think that you can help ease my boredom around this place. Do you understand how dull it is to have these people do nothing but go to Church and pray and then live fearfully of the inevitably of death? Come, we'll go to the graveyard and I'll show you something special."

Marionette then faithfully followed Victorique to the ancient cemetery with iron gates and ancient tombstones. There was a statue of an angel that looked like it was weeping, after it has been weathered down from the elements of nature, from rain and snow and eroding wind. Victorique took a glance to make sure that Marionette followed, before she opened the grate gates and then twirled on the little dirt path that led to various sections to the cemetery.

Nobody bothered to take care of the cemetery. The people of this town were afraid of death, and they think that the graveyard had ill omens. The crows liked to gather around here as well, but once they caught sight of Marionette, they fluttered off into a tethered frenzy of feathers. Victorique managed to pick up a stone and throw one, braining a crow directly in the head. The poor thing fell down bonelessly, a crumpled heap of feathers on the ground.

Marionette seemed impressed with this display and clapped her hands together. "Oh, nicely done. I wonder, I wonder, could I take this little thing apart and see what's inside?"

"Not yet. But I'm going to show you what I can do for you if you promise to work under me," Victorique said with a secretive smile, before she plucked the crow from the ground and held it in the palm of her hand. "It's dead, see. This is nothing but an empty vessel. In the meantime, its soul has departed into the shadow lands. It shouldn't have wandered too far-the more recent something has been killed, the easier it is to bring its soul back. But of course, with my powers, I can go even further into the shadowed lands without losing my soul and make my way back into the land of the living. That is the power of a necromancer."

Victorique then closed her eyes and went into a kind of meditative trance. She listened for that subtle vibration that echoed with soul resonance, trying to find the crow's soul before it departed into the shadowed lands and then made its way into the void, where none shall return. Using her magnetic will, Victorique managed to draw the soul towards herself. However, as she did so, the paltry grasses in the cemetery turned withered and eventually crumbled into dust, and an ancient tree turned completely black liked a rotted thing. In a heartbeat, in a single pulse, the crow let out a terrible caw and fluttered away into the grey skies. Rain started to pour from the darkened underbellies of the clouds.

"That was wonderful, Miss Victorique," Marionette said while clapping her hands together, that same strange smile on her face. If anybody else would have witnessed what just happened, they would have ran screaming 'Witch! Witch' and then burned her at stake. "However, it's a shame that I couldn't dissect it."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"This was a mere parlor trick in comparison to the other stuff that I can do. Watch this."

Victorique then swished her hand in the air like a theatrical piece, making a wide loop which caused the crow to spin around in midair and come circling back to them. Marionette clapped her hands again, seeming impressed with this display. Victorique then held out a finger, inviting the crow to land there. The crow landed there obediently, though its dark eye reflected Victorique's sharp-toothed smile. Victorique then mentally willed the crow to dance on the palm of her hand, as though the bird were a marionette and she a puppeteer. Marionette continued clapping, watching in amusement. That smile remained, yet those eyes never flickered with any sign of emotion, voidless, empty.

"I'm an avatar between worlds, you can say," Victorique said as she finally relinquished her will on the crow and let it fly off again. "I was able to bring the crow's soul back, at the cost of the trees and the grass there. Then again, the crow has such a meager soul resonance that it didn't require much. A human, on the other hand, has such a beautiful soul resonance that is vibrant with so much life."

Victorique twirled again in childish glee, letting her hair stream all about her like a golden banner. "Don't you see? Death requires compensation. I told you before that hollow things try to fill in their emptiness."

Marionette cocked her head to the side, before saying. "Poor Miss. You say you feel sorry for me, though I feel more sorrow for you than for me. I was already a doll when I came into existence. Though you, you are becoming one. I wonder..."

Victorique looked up to the gray cast, before she nodded in agreement with Marionette. "Yes. I am becoming a doll. That is the price with the art of necromancy. But you know, I can still have my fun all the same."

She then turned around clasped her hands around Marionette's. "Say, Marionette. I can give you life, unlike your Master."

"Can you? I wonder."

Victorique then gently placed a hand against Marionette's cheek, tenderly. How strange, she felt warm even though she was a doll. Victorique then smirked, before she leaned forward and captured Marionette's lips in her own. A hunger gleamed in her eyes and something inside them sought to devour, to overtake everything until there was nothing left.

--x--

Victorique used to live a wonderful life. Everything seemed to vibrant and wonderful-colors seemed brighter, sounds more vivid, and food delicious. Yet as Victorique grew older, as she became more aware of the powers that she was capable of, these things started to decay-colors became gray, sounds muted and dull, and food tasted like ashes. No, Victorique ate very little if at all. No, there was a greater sustenance than food, and that was life, the soul resonance that emanated from things. Even inanimate things like rocks and dirt had a certain soul resonance to them, but their vibrations were so muted and slow that they weren't worth much.

Victorique first experimented on animals. Birds, cats, dogs, squirrels, anything that happened to cross her path. She especially like cats. A black kitten came to her once, a starved thing with ribs flashing underneath matted fur. Poor thing, Victorique thought. It was suffering. Victorique then gave it a saucer of milk and watched the cat lap it up greedily, curling its tongue and splashing white droplets on its whiskers. She took care of it, lending it a saucer of milk each day to help stave its hunger. Yet no matter how much it drank, that hunger could not be sated. There was nothing here for the poor thing.

While Victorique was lying in her bed at night, staring up at the ceiling and letting the sounds of the house comfort her into a lolling drowse, a vision came to Victorique. She sensed something, an inner world of psychic vibrations and a beautiful music that she never heard before. Victorique sensed these sounds coming from the things around her-the oak dresser vibrated with the muted tones of something that once lived but turned into something else, a mere hollow of its former self. Spiders weaving their webs in the dark corners of the mansion vibrated with a particular resonance that was like the flicker of a candle flame. Mindless things, dumb things that weren't aware of their self-existence, and their life force could be snuffed out like a candle flame and they wouldn't even contemplate their passing.

The greatest music of the soul vibrations came from her. It was beautiful, heartwrenching, and there was a greater self beyond the scope of the universe, and Victorique felt that she extended through all the infinite black of space and all through the world and even in the narrow spaces like rabbit holes and even the microscopic spaces that filled the world. Victorique woke from this weeping, holding her hands to her face and feeling a gentle ache in her throat.

Everything was so beautiful, that soul resonance. She wanted to listen to that music forever.

Victorique went out and tried to look for the kitten, though it wouldn't come when she called its name. So when Victorique looked around and tried to find it, she found it in a dark alleyway where it had been stoned to death. The villagers probably thought that the cat belonged to a witch or someone with dark powers. The poor thing lay so still, so still, its soul resonance cut off. No pulse, no music.

She knelt down by the cat, before another startling vision of clarity overcame her. The poor thing was starving before, a filthy thing with matted fur and such forlorn looking eyes-though on the ground here, it looked like it was merely sleeping. Victorique then realized, at that one point in time, at that very moment, that the cat was released from pain. Death embraced it, and took away all the pain and torment the cat endured during life.

Death was the absence of pain. Death was the absence of misery. Victorique saw this beautiful, startling truth before her, as she cradled the little kitten in her arms and held it in her hands. She wept, not because the kitten had died, but because the cat had finally found peace.

No more pain. No more misery.

Victorique didn't bother giving the thing a proper burial. It was only an empty shell. Its true self, the soul, was long gone and crossed the shadowed lands. She could have brought the cat back from life, but what good would have that done? It would have to spend its life hiding from the cruel boys that stoned it to death, believing it to be the servant of a witch. No. it was in a better place now.

Its body would be food for the crows. The crows would pick at the eyes and the vulnerable flesh, but even as the body turned into nothing but a pile of bones, it was only a mere shadow of what it had once been.

That is, unless if Victorique decided to bring the cat's soul from death. When Victorique revived things from the dead, they are merely shadows of their former selves. Though they still live, if you can call it that. It was after that incident happened that Victorique learned not to fear death.

--x--

Marionette blink as Victorique pulled back. Victorique simply gave her a secretive smile before the church bell tolled in the distance. Crows fluttered from the sound, cawing in desperation.

"What I just saw right now," Marionette said while folding her hands in front of her. "Was that your memory?"

Victorique twirled again, dancing on the dirt path through the cemetery before stopping, her dress billowing about her.

"Yes, what you just saw was a memory of me when I was eight years old. I liked that cat. I wanted to help it. But death cuts off your ties in this world."

"Oh?"

"When we have an attachment to someone or something, we suffer for it. That is why….if we have a lack of desire and attachment, we are truly free. Death frees us from desire, attachment."

"You have no desire or attachment? How strange. What about your family or friends? Isn't that a lonely existence?"

Victorique sighed, before rolling her blue eyes to the heavens. "In death, you don't recognize the face of your mother or father, your brother and sister in death. Death cuts ties with everyone. Everyone is equal in death. When you are a soul, you look just like everyone else."

Marionette bowed her head. "Should you be talking about such things, I wonder?"

Victorique smiled. "Even if the townspeople put me at stake and burned me alive, I will not die."

"Then you are immortal?"

Victorique smiled. "That's a secret. But between you and me, the flames don't burn."

Marionette bowed her head, her brown curls bouncing. "As you say, Mistress. I believe you."

Victorique then flicked a golden curl idly with her fingers, taking on a bored expression now. She had her little bit of fun, though the idleness and ennui started to take over again. As she thought before, the town was dull full of dull people full of dull dreams. Actually, she wasn't sure these people even dreamed. They might as well have been marionettes (to make a pun) moving with stiff awkward limbs. Damn, this was so boring. When was she going to find some entertainment?

Then an idea bubbled into her consciousness, a brilliant idea that involved risk. But that was the thrill of it all-what was the point of excitement if there wasn't any risk involved. It was so beautiful, the idea of re-enacting the scene that happened centuries ago, in another lifetime, when Victorique was a village witch that provided healing instead of bringing death, but because of her strange magic, she was condemned, put at stake, and then burned. Victorique remembered this in vivid detail, though sometimes the memory would leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

"My dear, sweet Marionette," Victorique said in honeyed tones. "I believe that you will be the perfect candidate for being my companion. I am sure that, as long as I am with you, that I won't be bored."

Marionette clasped her hands in front of her before saying. "Whatever are you thinking about, my Mistress?"

"I'm thinking about stirring up a bit of excitement in this dull, dull town," Victorique said with a secretive smile. "I will tell you more about it later. For now, my dear puppet, we shall play the part of good citizens until the time has come."