r i s s a & b e t t i e;

It had been a boy; a beautiful baby boy already with a full head of hair; fine, wispy black. His eyes had been open, wide and blue and shocked. Surprised at the vast expanse of world he would never see. He was warm and soft and had his father's pale skin; but skin which would never know life pulsing through his veins. He was perfect, perfect, but he was dead. She couldn't remember how long she cried, but the world had turned into a tear-blurred place, and she had to be forcibly removed by Bettie (before he had given up on her). He had dragged her back to the small cave they called home. She didn't leave it again - Bettie gathering all the food - until the wave struck. Somehow she got to the castle without dying, leaving the corpse behind. Not the memories though, the grief-laced pain. The guilt. The anger. The depression.

She is punching him, but he seems distracted. This is not what she wanted. She wanted a vent to her rage, something to take the heat out of her fury. And he was standing there, taking it, passively. She stands, glowering at him. He reaches up and puts a finger under her chin. She remembers how much touch hurts him, how much she must be hurting him, but she allows the hands to hover above her skin. She doesn't particularly want to inflict actual harm on him, she just wants understanding. Someone who knows what it's like - someone who she can trust and who trusts her. "I don't want your apologies," she says through gritted teeth, and then as an afterthought; "Don't touch me, Patrick." Another wave of anger is already rolling through her, when she sees a change in his eyes; an almost animal look.

A hand slips around her waist, but she can find no protest in it. She knows it's not him. Her eyes narrow and she gently pats his hand, lifting it from the bony angle of her hip. As she starts turning to leave, his lips brush against hers and she is surprised; but that feeling is insantly quelled. "Well," she says, frozen in place by the touch of mouth against hers. "What sort of person do you think I am?" Certainly not the desperate type, who will throw all of her clothes off at the first hint of manflesh. She disengages her lips from his, and icily turns to leave.

She can see who he is now; no-one. Perhaps the baby was better off dead than with Paddy as a father.

She has barely gone two steps when the same curse which has, er, cursed Patrick comes to her. She can feel it seeping into her and she crumples to the floor with her back still turned to Patrick, as the tentacles worm through her flesh, stripping her of anything she has left. The pain falls free and Bettie, who has just arrived, seems startled and goes to stand next to the sabre tooth. "What's happening? Is this the curse?" he asks Lolli, anxious eyes fixed on Rissa and Paddy.

Rissa turns, her eyes alight with hunger, all anger absent. She stands, her hands on the walls as she squeezes past Lolli and Bettie, who are standing on the opposite side, outside a door. She srhinks back, hopefully blending into the wall. There's a vague stirring in the back of her mind; and there's someone in there, breaking to be free. But she's overwhelmed with the scent of sabre tooth and gorilla and Paddy. She walks until she is standing next to him, with Lolli on his far side. Her lips reach up to meet his, and her hands scrabble at her clothing. Thoughts of the dead baby which had been blocking her from getting close had disappeared; as had all the emotion which had gradually been building up.

And by the way, Rissa won't be very pleased if he comes too early also.

l e t t h e m w a l k m i l e s ; ;