Eliza In The Flesh!: eye of the storm. V

Eliza turned away from Vector’s confused look, holding the dead creature in his arms. “Oh. Well, I thought I’d let you know—”

“Know WHAT?! Vector?!” She snapped, suddenly rounding on him. “That I’m bleeding in one of my legs?! That presents in Avangard are SENTIENT?! That my dress looks—”

 

“Hideous?” A guest from behind Vector prompted. Darling Cyn-Derstorm looked her up and down with a disapproving scowl. “I think that thing,” she said, gesturing to the gift. “Did you a favor, Lowery. You look like my grandma.” Darling chuckled at her own snide. “What?” She frowned when no one else was laughing. “C’mon, that was a good one.”

 

Eliza fumed. She went through all this trouble just to get the stupid present only for one: it not working out, and two: Darling laughing in her face. She very, desperately wanted to bring the present monster back to life so it could snap at Darling’s unnaturally buff arms. So much so, that she yanked the box out of Vector’s arms and threw it at her.

“I’m sure it was,” she said in the most passive voice she could muster. As angry as she was, she needed the Junket Tank more. “I got you a gift, Cyn-Derstorm. Why don’t you open it?” And you can keep what’s inside!

 

“A gift? For moi? Dear goodness, I think she’s possessed!” Darling mocked a fainting gesture. “You didn’t give me a gift,” Vector muttered quietly. “Well, did you want it to snap at you?!” Eliza scoffed. The gift by now looked oddly dissolved. The silver tin began to peel itself away, revealing a strangely normal looking brown package instead. “What is this thing anyway?” She asked. Eliza had hoped she wouldn’t. Darling untied the strings, and the package flung itself open. A bright light shimmered in relief as the room began to fill with the sensation of freedom. Only if you were in the room could you hear the ghastly whispers of a child murmuring, “play it again, nonna.”

 

The melodious tune of a somber lullaby played in their ears. A citrus taste, like grapefruit, held on to their tongues whilst fresh cut grass lingered in the air. A phantom kind of warmth tingled in their fingertips like a sunny day with breezy winds. 

 

The music slowed until the song finally came to an end. The parchment went up in flames, but as the smoke rose, Eliza could feel the promise of return. Like a music box waiting to be wound back up. Whatever pain lingering in her body was washed with the present.

 

“That’s not beer,” Eliza noted, being the first to speak in the silence. “Well, anyways, since I’m such a considerate friend, I was thinking—”
“If you get me drunk enough, I’ll let you steal it from under my nose,” Darling told her, still looking down at her hands. Eliza blinked. “I didn’t even—” Darling patted her shoulder. “Nonsense, Lowery,” she looked anywhere but her eyes. “Hey, Tool Belt,” she called, turning to Vector. “I’ll pay you sixty gold if you can beat me in a drinking contest.” Vector’s eyes widened in surprise, maybe at the amount or at the inclusion in a social activity. “Be warned, she’s a menace,” Eliza informed him. “I— sure, I don’t see why not…” Vector shrugged. “By the way, Crawtz, drinks are on you. Merry Christmas,” Eliza flashed him her award-winning smile. Perhaps Darling was right. She was possessed. By the Spirit of Christmas.

 

(the end.)