Eliza In The Flesh!: the call of godspawn. IV

Eliza’s heart fragilely thumped between her ribcage, breaths becoming more uneven as her muscles twitched and ached, and her arms quietly giving up on her. She huffed quietly as she grasped the stone in her hand, wild sparks flying out. The girl— a crease of vexation forming between her brows— threw everything she could muster, the extra limbs lurching forward, flexing in strange and unfathomable ways. Fingers spreading wide as a table just nearly missed the duchess.

 

Another spark of fire and her palm ignited into a blaze. She pressed her palm against the next piece of furniture, in this case a chair, heading towards her. It crashed against her at full force, but it was one she could control. She held onto it, watching the fires lick the wooden frame, voraciously consuming it with an unquenched hunger. With the remains of her might, she tossed the chair back at the girl, smoke and flames engulfing the chair. Hopefully everything with it.

 

For once, the girl’s expression changed from condescending smiles to a brief glint of surprise buried in her eyes. “FOOL!” she hissed. “YOU’LL KILL ALL OF US!” Yeah, she didn’t think that far ahead, but by now, the damage was done. Like a lighter to a fuse, the ignited furnishing suddenly grew its brightness, revealing a wall of messily stacked appliances rapidly becoming engulfed.

 

A cocky grin formed on Eliza's face instinctually. She tried to open her mouth to tell her off, but she felt her body slowly drift from the ground. In her confusion she looked down to see her feet suspended in the air. “It’s best to snuff out the sparks,” she whispered over her shoulder. Voices began to ring through her head, replaying the words like a chant. 

 

Eliza remembered being thrown into a well and colliding with inky darkness. She watched as the walls turned from stone bricks to a clouded, starless, sky. Instinctively, she stretched her hands outward, a rare feeling of something other than indifference swallowed her, overwhelmingly. She felt the walls of the stone at her fingertips.

 

The illusion of freedom was a bitter thing. Like the air was being sucked right out of her lungs. Because it was. She was drowning.

 

Despair, as some might call it, was the only way she could describe what she felt. Just as quickly as it came, it was soon morphed into anger, spite, and a mix of emotions she otherwise could not register. She was a Lowery for Providence's sake! 

 

A stone in one hand, nothing in the other. They say that the most remarkable achievements come in times of war, and Eliza was planning to go beyond those feats. She saw her skin pale and her fingers wrinkle, yet she pursued the need to surface regardless. A stone in one hand, nothing in the other. She was currently drowning underwater, and the most she could muster with her remaining strength were sparks of fire, and

 

Transmutation. The careful science and art of transforming one matter of substance into another. She had to think quickly. Water was out of her league for now since she had no idea how deep it went, but the walls of the well…

 

She tried to propel herself upward in the water. First with her legs, then with the walls of the well. She tried using it as a surface to jump off at an angle, higher and higher against the resistance of the waters until her vision blackened, until she was choking on the sky. If she ever lived to tell the tale, she made a mental note to buy herself a swimming tutor.

 

Eliza was exhausted when she made her way to the surface, struggling to keep afloat. She could turn the place into ladders? But where was the well? Below soft dirt that would seep through the holes and swallow her alive? Would she have the strength to? She thought instead of a ledge to nestle upon. First, below her flailing feet, then one at her hands. She carved a quick symbol with the tips of her sharpened crown, a practice she would hopefully never have to do again. The drawing itself would be something that would definitely have her tutor quit, but the sloppiness was the least of her worries.

 

It engraved itself into the stone, illuminating with an orange hue before a sudden CRACK revealed a semicircle of a platform made of clay, her heels sinking through. She drew the same symbol with more accuracy, and a smaller piece of clay jutted out from the sides. The higher she went, the more the clay solidified until she reached the top. 

 

Muddy, angry, and now incredibly starved, Eliza crawled out with a fiery emotion she had never registered before. Ah, yes. Determination.

 

“You’ve done well, duchess,” the girl voiced, not through her ears, but through her mind. “Though, I think you’re out of tricks now.” Eliza pictured a crooked grin on the godspawn’s face, sharp yellow teeth with worms coming out of them. Next time she saw it, Eliza was going to give her a trip to the orthodontist. Whatever that was.