Leon and Violet first poems

Series of Bloodchains By Rose Jekyll

Bloodchains tie like ribbons.

Chains in the light. Chains in the dark.

The Blackening Town

Once upon a long time ago, this town was alive and bright

The valley streets would always be bathed in rich golden light. 

But now these streets are empty, save for the stains of pain

Since the horrors of its people, it will never be the same.

All goodness and reality has faded, like a shadow in the sun

Bad souls have poisoned this place 

And now the sane have come undone.

Now the people are contained here, unless they can break free

But very few ever do escape past the black consuming sea.

The town has become a place for the dead; mostly spirits are in these streets.

The living, dead and the dying are forced to entwine into a heart that never beats.

Far from a world we know, between the waking child and hellish dream.

For really how can the revenants continue to rest when the living continue to scream?

The blackening town, deep at the valley floor

A place where the sun’s light cannot reach anymore.

For this place is cursed, deeds of the ones within

The demons and the damned all drenched in sin…

*

The air was dense but forceful; it seemed to circulate around her like a hurricane – snatching her breath away and emitting blasts of wind across the surface of her skin, until tiny hairs sprung up and the flesh puckered. It was not yet dark but where she resided was cast in shadow.
      Violet crouched, bony knees pressed together and cold white hands curled into fists. She was half-hiding from her brother, although he was barely looking now. She hated the selfish, vindictive bastard child but was at his mercy – a fact that sickened her to the core. The view from beside the coal bunker was restricted but Violet could see that the field cattle had been taken in for the night. The sky was opening up like glorious rupture and it could only mean that a storm was coming. And she could feel the looming tempest above her; she could feel it like needles of ice in her bones. And terrible omen seemed to engulf her like the impeding darkness swallowed the daylight.

Abandoned inside, regarded as nothing outside;
A corpse afloat in a sea of inhabitants.
And her eyes revealed – those bloodshot threads, 
Striking like red lightning deep within her mind.
But the clashes of thunder were heard much too late;
Hands covered her face, but there was no escape.
Beckoning calls continued from within the house,
And the intense anger built up over the endless hours.
But a winter’s moment helped hold her breath,
As it drifted on an icy breeze of captured mist.
And if only these restless times could expose a truth,
Praying for anything worthwhile from within her deluge -
Tied to the fence, her bones a cage/ held by a cage of bones.
Lost to/from sorrow, but fuelled by rage.

Violet

The first of the rain droplets struck the window pane and ran down the glass appearing as splintering ice. The bedroom was icy; the walls seemed to contract with the cold. Leon imagined the walls buckling under the weight of a slaughtering blizzard while they were contained within. But her room always had that feeling – with or without turbulent weather.
Leon looked at the book resting in his hands, yet he could hardly focus on the words. They appeared to form patterns of their own in front of his unfocused eyes, like moving symbols but they still meant nothing. Legs outstretched and back against the legs of a chair, he looked up and across the floor. A chill crawled up from the base of his spine and seeped through flesh seeming to spread over every bone in his body. It was as if breathing was almost too loud in here, like the enforced silence held within Cathedrals. Except there was little comfort here – the only aspect of ease would be that both bodies that resided here were living. One of them had not slipped away just yet.

Guided by nothing, into an abyss of sorrow;
The lights all around burn the mind further within.
Turn away! Seize up the body to the world.
Hide inside; gain strength from the habits you claim.
And looking towards the horizon for the sunrise,
It does not arrive to greet you and bring hope.
Salvaging treasures from a tainted wreckage -
The empty shell continues to endure profoundly;
Nestled deeply and sleeping duly,
A creature of broken body, a demon of ruin.
And the heart pumps one last time -
The pulse thunders, but the host does not stumble.
Apathy drowned the fit of fury,
And weary permanence killed the passion.

Those unworthy 

Leon

Chapter 1

Living In The Town (Shy Violet)

The day had dawned grey, and now closed the curtain in fast receding darkness that crept over the distant rooftops with the stealth of silence beast. A day in last August was coming to a close. The fading colours of streaking light barely reached through the windows of the residents. Silent were the afternoons of a chilling summer. Chilling being an understatement, but it was only to be expected regarding the position of the town itself. Sunken deep, near to the floor of a heavy-sided valley, sheltered by many precipices and rocky ledges at high altitudes shielding it from the direct shot of the sun’s rays and restricting hours of sunlight.

Frost had formed itself along the windowsill and frame outside. Tiny crystals and needle teeth festered along the rotten splintered wood, glistening like an array of glamorous jewels. Collections of hoarfrost also had embedded themselves in the corners of the glass, making it cold to the touch and causing the glass pane to creak and crackle. The entire house seemed to be in a hardened state of shock as if the cold had got into the core of it, freezing the very foundations.

All of this was observed and felt by Violet. She had sat herself in a rough high-backed chair turned towards the wideset windows. Her head was tilted to the side, inclining the unseasonal elements, while her eyes were focused on her lap where a book rested. Her long flowing hair covered parts of her young face, lightened by the setting sun it glowed a dirty gold though in truth her hair was of the darkest ebony and thick as twisted rope. Her eyes sparkled out an ocean-blue through the curtain of her locks yet there was a hollow look around them; smudged rings, although obviously clear, matched the dark shadows that always seemed to be cast over her face, reminding one of a corpse-like appearance.

This morose behaviour of hers was common-place as far as her family was concerned, even if it was frequently seen as exasperating and senseless. Sometimes, more than often by her mother, this behaviour was ignored or went unnoticed. It was especially habitual for Violet to be withdrawn in the late afternoon towards and through the evening. But it was uncommon for her to station herself within the family room in such clear view of the household members and so susceptible to interruption. This was not her usual place for contemplation, isolated thinking, sketching or writing. And her brother had noticed her unusual presence immediately. Glowering in the shadows, Johann lingered. His face was dirty from outside work and his hands were curled into fists.

 ‘Violet! Why do you sit in here on such a glorious evening?’

Violet stirred ever so slightly at the voice of her brother, but only lightly like the twitch of an animal composed.

Johann’s husky voice seemed to rise and fall; speaking as though he was struggling through a hoarse whisper, as if his vocal cords did not really wish him to speak at all. It seemed as though a sarcastic note was intended but it was portrayed more as a pathetic enquiry, timid and unexpected. Her brother was five years mature and a great deal taller in height than Violet. His body was proportional with a stocky frame with wide set-back shoulders and sturdy limbs, opposite to his sister’s petite form. Yet, sometimes one could notice something weak about his stature, like the stubborn tougher outer layer was only a shield against a soft and vulnerable interior; his Achilles’ heel was always unequivocally exposed his sister.

Johann’s dark hair also lay tousled over his face, strands combing across his long forehead, his stone-grey irises as piercing as razor mountain ridges and as menacing. His expression remained tense and poised as he surveyed his sister. The partition between the two stretched to a screeching blankness, breaching the gap of filial love. Invisible creatures seemed to claw at the air before the siblings, scraping a void that could not be leapt.

Violet could barely find it in herself to suffer a reply. Her pupils kept flickering back and forth from the outside view to Johann and back, quivering with undecided perception. Her lips mouthed words but it took a long duration before Violet could vocalise them.

‘Why would you think I should wish to venture outside in whole-hearted enjoyment at any point in the day?’

‘I thought you were the one whom revelled in outdoor pursuits, your “adventures.”’

‘I do not revel in any experiences you would know of.’ Violet, tried to steady her tone but her words were spat out of her mouth like an awful taste.

‘No…’ Johann continued his face solemn but his eyes twinkle with amusement, ‘I have seen you dancing…’Violet looked up alarmed, the blood in her veins pumping fast, ‘...dancing in the rain.’

Johann smiled at Violet’s reaction grinning widely with his teeth, his least desirable trait. Violet stared at him, watching him intently, horror mixed with mortification. Her cheeks almost flushed but it was hardly with embarrassment, more from an embedded fury. Triumph played on her brother’s lips; his eyes still glistening, peculiarly. Violet’s mouth curled in revulsion while her eyes narrowed.

Then light flashed across her vision and the room grew dim; blacker and blacker as though the slow sunset had plunged into the ocean. Rings of red and visions of the rippling rivers cascaded in Violet’s mind; sights of the drenching rain, covering and coating the town in blood appeared to her as clear as normal vision. The tirade dark blood was falling from the Heavens onto to Violet’s body, and she felt like dancing in that moment; witnessing sudden flashes of corpses lying in the streets abandoned in a violent and empty world.

Violet blinked and the room reappeared before her. Johann was no longer smiling. The corners of his mouth sagged downwards in a child-like way, the heavy crease of his brow scrunching his eyes. They silently returned the violent retort but there was a hidden unreadable element. He stepped back a little, a stumbled limp-legged backtrack. Violet was vacant once again. Johann turned away from her, his skin suddenly felt heated and nausea crept over him. Then in a hurried swinging of his clothes he exited the room a lot quicker and quieter than he had entered. Just as he left Violet’s mother entered screaming.

‘You devilish children! Why do you torment me so? Johann? Johann! Where is my tonic?!” Gretchen Revenal stood in the centre of the room, breathing rapidly. She looked haggard; her gravel-coloured hair haloed her head and her eyes were like dark holes set back in her skull. She stared around the room in an apparent daze, seemingly aware of her surroundings.

‘Violet? Violet!” Her vision scanned in Violet’s direction but she did not seem to register her. Violet swallowed hard and ripped her eyes away from her lap and turned to look at the woman; the room was marginally gloomier.

‘Mother?’ Violet spoke clearly but her voice was quietened. Gretchen was startled and looked at her daughter, her realisation quickly turning into displeasure.

‘Violet,’ she barked out, ‘where in hell is my toxic? Do not defy me; I know Johann and yourself have been indulging yourselves.’

‘I do not know,’ Violet said focusing on her laced shoes.

‘Do not intimidate me, girl! You better watch your tone with me.’ A silence passed between them which lingered like ringing metal. Her mother blinked.

Violet felt sickened in the presence of Gretchen, and especially today. Her mother was forever out of touch with reality, just a suspended ghost never truly aware of her surroundings or the people around her. She was continuously disconnected from the days, weeks and even time itself it seemed. Gretchen’s tonic was strong liquor (and/or laudanum). It is an unpleasantness that Johann and Violet were forced to endure, while their father was not present at least.

A sigh shuddered through Violet, a quivering gasp wriggling out of her lungs though she was unsure why. The night was rapidly consuming the rest of the bronze sky, eating its way through all remaining streaks of fire. Radiant colours as vivid as vibrant pastel were all dying in darkness and in the wake of the sinking sun; the darkness that swallowed the Town and brought the shadows alive.

Violet sat still, her teeth clenched and body shaking with muscle tension, praying her mother would retreat to some other station within the house. Their house was dissimilar to the other building in the Town, based on the foundations and large structure, and not entirely sturdy but still durable enough to stay standing. The building itself bore the name Blackthorn and it was as desolate and dismal as the name suggested. It had been constructed countless decades before Violet’s Great Grandfather had settled in the area, and had been chosen for its elevated position and exposure to the morning sunlight. But as it happened the soil was barely fertile and the land had a permanent chill nestled around it. And now it just remained as an obscene decaying structure with no use, grey and ugly on its pedestal. To Violet, the house seems to have no past or memories, as though it had just emerged on its own accord, lost in time and reality. Annulled and silent, the poisonous shell stood hard and unfeeling. There was nothing there.

Violet awoke from her partial hypnosis to find her mother had left the room but her essence of squalor still remained. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, pressing her back against the backboard, trying to return to her own thoughts. Presently, she found herself reminiscing the day that had passed. Her darkened reflection in the window looked morphed and altered, reminding her acutely of the face of her companion; Mariah. The two had spent the early hours together, involved in idle pursuits. In fact, as she recalled, later past noon Mariah and herself had disregarded meaningless activities and had travelled to the main section of the town to engage and tempt people to purchase the items Mariah had to offer.  Though she cannot remember precisely what it was she had been selling.

Fortune would have it that little profit was obtained so they soon retired and had wandered off together passing through the tall rye fields with careless ease. They had spent many a day together since childhood and had grown accustomed to each other’s ways, but over the years their childish bond had become fraught and now it seemed only a tolerance (as they reached their mid-teens). The same way an adolescent grows into an adult and childhood memories seem but a distant glimmer; hazy and indistinct - impossible to recapture or reinvent, another world beheld with wistfulness over the loss. That particular afternoon the pair had taken the route through the fields as it was the quickest retreat back to their homes. The scene literally materialised before Violet’s eyes as she sat in fading light by the window; her senses hyped by the ambience of her memory.

Violet walked with a wide determined stride ahead of her friend, the back of her dress fluttering while the front hem clung to her long and slender legs. Despite Mariah’s tall willowy frame she trailed behind, walking in a series of hurried footsteps, almost too many at once making her look as if she would trip over on the uneven ground. Mariah’s light brown stringy hair whipped around her thin face, and the reeds around them bowed in the wind as it glided through the fields. Violet had been looking towards the horizon with misty sight; the whims of the world were an utter void of distance and thoughts were beyond her, as if she were within a dream. Her friend spoke lightly of sweet nothings, and her usual sharp tone drifted over Violet like natural music. Mariah had kept the supplies they had not sold within a leather strap bag, fastened around the waist band of her black cord dress with a slim belt. She had had the intention of consuming some of the products but both parties had become too lethargic, and Mariah even seemed restlessly irritated as she walked beside Violet, trying to catch up with her rapid pace. 

‘Violet! These days you are forever detached!’ Mariah suddenly exclaimed; annoyance clear in her voice, ‘You act like everyone treats you with discontent. What is wrong with you?’ Violet took a moment to reply, Mariah’s inquiry rearranging itself in her head. Mariah was the only person she really spoke to, everyone else she ignored or only uttered a few words to when absolutely necessary.

‘Nothing. It may be that I am finding myself detached from everything.’ Mariah watched her companion carefully, scanning Violet’s expression fixedly.

‘Everything appears as beauty upon the surface, do you not think?’ Violet asked after a moment, gesturing around her at the grey spindly reeds. The stalks were freckled with bits of frost like shrapnel pieces, their needles pointing up at the glacial sky stretching above them.

‘But upon second glance or close observation, it all is blunt and empty.’ Mariah looked alarmed as Violet spoke in monotone, robbed of all visible emotion. It was as if the words and thoughts were just bleeding through a shell, and in truth Violet had felt like she had not really been there.

Mariah kept quiet but Violet said nothing more and fell into her usual silence. The two walked through the last of the remaining fields reaching the backyard of the vast stable consecutively along the outskirts of the streets. The entire area was covered in copious amounts of wild thickets, thorn bushes, rapid streams and, of course, meadow after meadow of fallow land for the few remaining horses to graze on.

Conversation could not have been rekindled. Both travelled into the mud-sodden cobbled streets where they separated to return to their houses. Violet recalls herself pausing at the corner, one leading forward right towards Blackthorn and down left towards the more derelict buildings and down to the steep canyon with its deep sunken rocks like jagged teeth. Although the day was already terrible cold, Violet desperately did not want to go home.

      The front porch door suddenly swung inwards hitting the wooden panels hard and making the rusty hinges scream. Violet started abruptly. Then she heard the jarring weighty thuds that were Marcus Revenal’s leather labour-worn boots. His footsteps were unmistakable; fast and heavy - bulk weight slamming down on the old boards with such force it seemed as if he would go through the floor. Violet’s Father was an unassuming man, one of very basic emotions and actions; like glass you could look right through him and see all his cogs and mechanisms revealed. He had not the intelligence of deceit or art of trickery, only physical strength and a hostile attitude to prove his authority. His occupation, therefore, came natural to him. He worked down the mine shafts where duties involve physical labour, endurance and barking orders, all of which he was gifted at from family practice. He ruled with a literal iron fist and many had the marks to prove it, and he considered himself a forceful controller over his minors. Of course, Violet did not see her father in any way that he assumed; to her he represented overpowering masculinity in its decline, a violent brute. And yet he possessed elements of something she could have once cared about, but now what remained was utterly destroyed and left to die away years ago. However, Violet had far greater respect for her Father than her Mother.

And so her Father continued his journey throughout the house, his path clearly heard as he crashed from each room to the next. Violet quietened her breathing and remained motionless. If her Father should hear her he would enter and stand before her, willing for her to do his wishes and perform a child’s affections upon him. This nauseating pretence would force Violet’s stomach to grow steadily sicker and she knew it would be difficult to secrete her repulsion.

Fortune prevailed and her Father did not come into the room. His commanding voice could be heard shouting inaudible words from out in the parlour moving towards the kitchen. Gretchen’s voice was then heard, a hysterical squeal compared to Marcus’. Violet shut her eyes but there was no fight to come. Then her Father left much in the same fashion as he arrived; shaking the house on its roots. Violet’s chest did not loosen. A furious, sick worry enclosed in on her – thick and choking her, like a gloved hand over her nose and mouth.

The night was in its fullest now. Her father had left to go to the great black pits and Violet knew these were darker and more repugnant then the decaying hole of a grave. And the further you go down, the worse it became. Beneath her closed eyes, she could see deeper and deeper into the valley floor, past solid rock and sticky clay down to something much more terrible. (She shuddered). Back on top it was not much better; the ones above would wait around the dark hollows holding meagre lanterns against the consuming blackness, waiting for the wooden carts and trays to come back out. All the time filled with dread and wondering whether the men below would return to the surface this time. The town above was already a hellish ditch itself, so much so that Violet did not wish to imagine what would be found as one ventured further down. Down to where it was darker than night; like travelling into the Underworld. Violet gripped the fabric of the chair arms, pressing down until she could feel the rigid bone of the wood beneath it. For reasons she could not comprehend a riotous terror dominated her logical thinking and threatened a frantic panic. This had happened before, many a time.

The entire day’s ordeal flooded back into her system at speed. To her horror she saw the world outside crumble before her eyes; the Town blistered and spat like the blood of a demon was circulating through its veins. The sight of her friend’s daunt expression, the look of trepidation on Johann’s face, her mother’s rancorous words aimed at her children, her father tyrannical footsteps… Everything felt as if it was falling from her grasp in a strange and sudden moment – Like a phantom fear was ripping all forms of reason and recognition from her, and all of a sudden bemusement transformed to bewildering fright! 

*

Violet vomited into the shallow sink. Clutching onto the porcelain sides with shaking hands, her head ducked and reeled sending tremors down the core of her spine nearly making her muscles convulse. She turned on the green-stained copper tap; it screeched, she cupped her hands and threw water over her face and hair. Gasping greatly, she raised her head up and straightened her back to view her reflection. She observed a pale spectre gazing back with bloodshot eyes. Her skin was ivory white and speckled with drops of water like a cold sweat had broken through her pores. Inside her head it thundered faintly like a storm sounding from a distance, and her vision flashed and dipped. The small dank bathroom swayed in and out of sight as her eyes rolled, the white tiled room glowed; cracked grey with the stripes of light spilling in from the other candlelit rooms. Violet slammed her palms against the sides of her head and screwed her eyes tight shut. Leave me alone. What are you trying to tell me? Please, leave me alone! LEAVE ME!

Violet backed up, faltered and nearly fell to the floor, reaching onto the steel tub to her left for support. Her head bowed as she prayed to be rid of this faux fear. Facing down, her eyes caught sight of the book she was reading, open on an empty page. Violet’s eyes widened incredulously and terror swarmed her mind as she noticed a tiny scribbled note aSeries of Bloodchains By Rose Jekyll

Bloodchains tie like ribbons.

Chains in the light. Chains in the dark.

The Blackening Town

Once upon a long time ago, this town was alive and bright

The valley streets would always be bathed in rich golden light. 

But now these streets are empty, save for the stains of pain

Since the horrors of its people, it will never be the same.

All goodness and reality has faded, like a shadow in the sun

Bad souls have poisoned this place now, and the sane have come undone.

Now the people are contained here, unless they can break free

But very few ever do escape past the black consuming sea.

The town has become a place for the dead; mostly spirits are in these streets.

The living, dead and the dying are forced to entwine into a heart that never beats.

Far from a world we know, between the waking child and hellish dream.

For really how can the revenants continue to rest when the living continue to scream?

The blackening town, deep at the valley floor

A place where the sun’s light cannot reach anymore.

For this place is cursed, deeds of the ones within

The demons and the damned all drenched in sin…

*

The air was dense but forceful; it seemed to circulate around her like a hurricane – snatching her breath away and emitting blasts of wind across the surface of her skin, until tiny hairs sprung up and the flesh puckered. It was not yet dark but where she resided was cast in shadow.
      Violet crouched, bony knees pressed together and cold white hands curled into fists. She was half-hiding from her brother, although he was barely looking now. She hated the selfish, vindictive bastard child but was at his mercy – a fact that sickened her to the core. The view from beside the coal bunker was restricted but Violet could see that the field cattle had been taken in for the night. The sky was opening up like glorious rupture and it could only mean that a storm was coming. And she could feel the looming tempest above her; she could feel it like needles of ice in her bones. And terrible omen seemed to engulf her like the impeding darkness swallowed the daylight.

Abandoned inside, regarded as nothing outside;
A corpse afloat in a sea of inhabitants.
And her eyes revealed – those bloodshot threads, 
Striking like red lightning deep within her mind.
But the clashes of thunder were heard much too late;
Hands covered her face, but there was no escape.
Beckoning calls continued from within the house,
And the intense anger built up over the endless hours.
But a winter’s moment helped hold her breath,
As it drifted on an icy breeze of captured mist.
And if only these restless times could expose a truth,
Praying for anything worthwhile from within her deluge -
Tied to the fence and held by a cage of bones.
Lost to sorrow, but fuelled by rage.

Violet

The first of the rain droplets struck the window pane and ran down the glass appearing as splintering ice. The bedroom was icy; the walls seemed to contract with the cold. Leon imagined the walls buckling under the weight of a slaughtering blizzard while they were contained within. But her room always had that feeling – with or without turbulent weather.
Leon looked at the book resting in his hands, yet he could hardly focus on the words. They appeared to form patterns of their own in front of his unfocused eyes, like moving symbols but they still meant nothing. Legs outstretched and back against the legs of a chair, he looked up and across the floor. A chill crawled up from the base of his spine and seeped through flesh seeming to spread over every bone in his body. It was as if breathing was almost too loud in here, like the enforced silence held within Cathedrals. Except there was little comfort here – the only aspect of ease would be that both bodies that resided here were living. One of them had not slipped away just yet

Guided by nothing, into an abyss of sorrow;
The lights all around burn the mind further within.
Turn away! Seize up the body to the world.
Hide inside; gain strength from the habits you claim.
And looking towards the horizon for the sunrise,
It does not arrive to greet you and bring hope.
Salvaging treasures from a tainted wreckage -
The empty shell continues to endure profoundly;
Nestled deeply and sleeping duly,
A creature of broken body, a demon of ruin.
And the heart pumps one last time -
The pulse thunders, but the host does not stumble.
Apathy drowned the fit of fury,
And weary permanence killed the passion.

Leon