"Distorted Melody Chapter 2 - Alien Tongue" by Sophie Hansen

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.



In the cellar of the... house of ill repute, in which my sire made her haven once... was where I stayed now. My sire had long since moved on, and remembering this place as safe when I stopped again in Paris we stayed there a few nights, my love and I... a place to hide from the sun of course, and the fearful mortals who might recognize my face if if they could see it... the house was mortal-run, but Undead owned... the humans working there feared me not as they were protected by someone or other I had never met before. It didn't matter to me... so long as I killed none of their herd, the cellar would be haven to us until we left the city.



Sundown was about an hour, perhaps two off. The dull thudding invaded my sleep but for a long few moments I didn't move, hardly sure whether the sound was real or just my imagination. But as each dull thud startled me ever more from my slumber until I was presently quite awake, though still lethargic as it was a bit early for me to be roused from sleep. Still the noise never stopped, and never changed, and as I groaned and turned over, blinking in the darkness, I began to make out what it was.



Thump. Thump. Thump.



She was not asleep. I wonder if she ever does, really...sometimes at midday I've seen her lie there with her eyes open, staring at something above her... something that's there to her yet not at all... I've heard her hum softly all day before. She was sitting against the wall with her legs crossed under her, her pregnant belly resting against them. Her white dress was spotted with dark blood, not a lot, just a drip here and a drop there, speckling the fabric in deep crimson which stood out against the white even in this darkness. She sat there with the needle in her hand, as I've caught her so many times before... pinching the flesh on her arms between two slender fingers and pushing the cold steel through, the blood-soaked thread weaving in and out in a long swirling pattern. The noise I heard was as she rocked, her head hitting the wall. Her eyes were rolled heavenward, looking but not seeing, not even glancing at her hands as she worked the needle and thread. She seemed in no discomfort at all, but I've seen her reach her hand into blazing fires with no visible discomfort on her part... her flesh still burned, but she acted like she never felt a twinge of pain. She would easily be consumed by fire if I never kept my eye out for her... I scrambled out of bed, the thread-bare quit falling to the floor as I ran to her quickly, yanking the needle from her hand.



"What in the name of all holy are you -doing-?" I cried as I pulled my knife from my pouch nearby. I had seen her do this before, and worse... yet it still shook me violently when I saw it. I cut the threads fairly quickly and pulled them out, the punctures healing over once I did. She seemed to not notice at all as I did this, and she continued rocking, her free hand resting on the bulge in her middle, her head still hitting the wall with the steady, dull 'thump'... as I pulled the threads out of her arms I scooped her into mine, sighing softly.



"Why do you do this?" I whispered, my love presently very limp in my arms now. She nearly always was when I touched her... she would stop breathing, stop moving, stop blinking, and for all the world she was dead, dead in my arms as I held her there... though she was no more dead than I. She was more prisoner in the confines of her own mind. God only knows what made her like this... what killed her while she was still undead... I certainly did not know. What had caused this fragile porcelain doll to crack and finally to shatter... I wept tears of blood, which mingled with the drops of hers already staining the fabric of her dress.



My hand moved to the bulge on her stomach, as I saw it twitch. I felt the baby move within her, even as my love was motionless as death. That baby had been within my love since I found her, which was more than three years ago. By my logic she must have been embraced with child, it should have been born long ago. I mused to myself sliently, wondering whose child this would be, if it were to be born... luckily it was not, if it had been with her in this state she might have killed it by neglect or worse. As she was now, I had to force-feed her or else she herself would die of hunger.



I nestled her limp body in my arms, sighing softly. I pick up my knife again and slashed my wrist, the sudden crimson flow soaking her dress further before I tilted her head back and raised my hand to her mouth. Her eyes remained open, staring but not seeing up towards the ceiling as I forced my blood into her mouth, the stains of bloody tears still marking my cheek. At first my blood simply pooled in her mouth, she had not eaten on her own in several years and I never really expect her to remember how to swallow, either... but after a few moments she always does, and I clutch her tighter. Once she stopped I moved my hand away, the cut on my wrist by now mostly healed over.



More than once, every night, I ponder ending it all... taking her up to the moutains and sitting on the summit, watching the sun rise together.. letting the cleansing rays of dawn consume us... wondering if that's what she wants, or if she can even want at all...



While I ponder this, I become ware of the fact that she's moving ever so slightly, lifting her head up. I was surprised, it was... unusual, for her to move at all when I was near her, although not unheard of. However, this time she did something that truly shocked me... she was murmuring something.



I stared at her in shock, leaning closer to her after a moment, trying to make out the faint words coming from her.



"Sor... rah, my.. re..."



My heart sank. She wasn't saying anything... she was babbling incoherently, not actually speaking. With a soft sigh, I began to carry her over to the bed we had been sharing, depositing her onto it gently, Melody still babbling... it was odd, her voice had a vaguely urgent tone to it...



"Sorre myres... sorre myres vaa journe sav!"



I paused. Her words were becoming more clear, now... they still made no sense to my ears, but I briefly began to wonder... was she actually trying to say something, and not simply speaking in tongues? I watched her silently... she was quiet for a long few minutes now, and was completely still... hoping she would speak again, and offer me some chance to understand... eventually, she did speak again, the same urgent and paniced words she'd said a moment ago. She was still speaking quietly, but her voice held a sense of terror.



"Sorre myres vaa journe sav! Sorre myres varr riet!"



My jaw dropped... she was definitely trying to say something. What was it? What was she trying to tell me? I frantically searched my mind for a clue, surely I must have heard whatever language she was speaking before... before long, my thoughts were interrupted by a shriek from Melody, intensely loud, the same words yet again.



"SORRE MYRES VARR RIET!"



She was crying now... I couldn't bear hearing her scream like that, nor see her cry... it was the first emotion I'd seen her show since I'd found her... I immediately scooped her into my arms and tried to comfort her. While I was doing so, I heard the door to the cellar open, and the Madame of the house, who was also Undead, as we were, come down the stairs looking concerned.



"Why is she screaming? Is she hurt?"



"I... don't know," I admitted, stroking Melody's hair. She wasn't screaming, but she was sobbing now.



"I heard her scream about her eyes..."



My head snapped towards the Madame. "You can understand what she said?"



She looked uneasy, wringing her hands. "Well, yes, but..."



"What did she say? I must know!"



"I only know a few words, it's been so long since I've heard that language I thought it was all but dead..."



"What language is it? Surely someone can tell me what she's saying..."



The woman paced, looking uneasy, like she was telling me something I shouldn't be hearing. "It's a language ancient vampires use... my sire spoke it, but only slightly more than I do..."



"She kept saying 'sorre myres'..." I began, rocking Melody gently, like a child, as she wept. "What does that mean?"



"It means 'my eyes'..." The madame began, stepping closer to us, gently tilting Melody's face towards her. "Do you remember anything else that she said?"



"Yes," I answered, clutching Melody tighter. "She said 'varr riet'..."



The woman looked confused and concerned, still studying Melody's eyes.



"She said... 'my eyes are gone?'"


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Sorre - (Pr. sore-rah) Poss.: My



Myr(es) - (Pr. mur[ess]) N.: Eye(s)



Riet - (pr. Ree-yet) adj.: Missing, Gone



journe - (pr. your-nah) v.: function, operate



Varr - Are, is, do


vaa (verb) sav - (pr. vah - sahv) Are not, is not, does not



Sorre myres vaa journe sav - I can't see (literally "My eyes do not work")


Sorre myres varr riet - My eyes are gone